Призрак Оперы
VIII The Mysterious Brougham
MammaValerius’hairwasnowquitewhite,buthereyeshadgrownnoolder;never,onthecontrary,hadtheirexpressionbeensobright,sopure,sochild-like.
"M.deChagny!"shecriedgaily,puttingoutbothherhandstohervisitor."Ah,it’sHeaventhatsendsyouhere!...WecantalkofHER."
Thislastsentencesoundedverygloomilyintheyoungman’sears.Heatonceasked:
"Madame...whereisChristine?"
Andtheoldladyrepliedcalmly:
"Sheiswithhergoodgenius!"
"Whatgoodgenius?"exclaimedpoorRaoul.
"Why,theAngelofMusic!"
Theviscountdroppedintoachair.Really?ChristinewaswiththeAngelofMusic?AndtherelayMammaValeriusinbed,smilingtohimandputtingherfingertoherlips,towarnhimtobesilent!Andsheadded:
"Youmustnottellanybody!"
"Youcanrelyonme,"saidRaoul.
Hehardlyknewwhathewassaying,forhisideasaboutChristine,alreadygreatlyconfused,werebecomingmoreandmoreentangled;anditseemedasifeverythingwasbeginningtoturnaroundhim,aroundtheroom,aroundthatextraordinarygoodladywiththewhitehairandforget-me-noteyes.
"Iknow!IknowIcan!"shesaid,withahappylaugh."Butwhydon’tyoucomenearme,asyouusedtodowhenyouwerealittleboy?Givemeyourhands,aswhenyoubroughtmethestoryoflittleLotte,whichDaddyDaaehadtoldyou.Iamveryfondofyou,M.Raoul,youknow.AndsoisChristinetoo!"
"Sheisfondofme!"sighedtheyoungman.
