Призрак Оперы
XX In The Cellars Of The Opera
more...that’sit!...Handatthelevelofyoureye,asthoughyouwerefightingaduelandwaitingforthewordtofire!Oh,leaveyourpistolinyourpocket.Quick,comealong,down-stairs.Levelofyoureye!Questionoflifeordeath!...Here,thisway,thesestairs!"Theyreachedthefifthcellar."Oh,whataduel,sir,whataduel!"
Onceinthefifthcellar,thePersiandrewbreath.Heseemedtoenjoyarathergreatersenseofsecuritythanhehaddisplayedwhentheybothstoppedinthethird;butheneveralteredtheattitudeofhishand.AndRaoul,rememberingthePersian’sobservation—"Iknowthesepistolscanbereliedupon"—wasmoreandmoreastonished,wonderingwhyanyoneshouldbesogratifiedatbeingabletorelyuponapistolwhichhedidnotintendtouse!
ButthePersianlefthimnotimeforreflection.TellingRaoultostaywherehewas,heranupafewstepsofthestaircasewhichtheyhadjustleftandthenreturned.
"Howstupidofus!"hewhispered."Weshallsoonhaveseentheendofthosemenwiththeirlanterns.Itisthefiremengoingtheirrounds."
Thetwomenwaitedfiveminuteslonger.ThenthePersiantookRaoulupthestairsagain;butsuddenlyhestoppedhimwithagesture.Somethingmovedinthedarknessbeforethem.
"Flatonyourstomach!"whisperedthePersian.
Thetwomenlayflatonthefloor.
Theywereonlyjustintime.Ashade,thistimecarryingnolight,justashadeintheshade,passed.Itpassedclosetothem,nearenoughtotouchthem.
Theyfeltthewarmthofitscloakuponthem.
