Forget the Name of the Man's Voice

The day after Christine had vanished before his eyes in a sort of
dazzlement that still made him doubt the evidence of his senses, M. le
Vicomte de Chagny called to inquire at Mamma Valerius'. He came upon a
charming picture. Christine herself was seated by the bedside of the
old lady, who was sitting up against the pillows, knitting. The pink
and white had returned to the young girl's cheeks. The dark rings
round her eyes had disappeared. Raoul no longer recognized the tragic
face of the day before. If the veil of melancholy over those adorable
features had not still appeared to the young man as the last trace of
the weird drama in whose toils that mysterious child was struggling, he
could have believed that Christine was not its heroine at all.

She rose, without showing any emotion, and offered him her hand. But
Raoul's stupefaction was so great that he stood there dumfounded,
without a gesture, without a word.

"Well, M. de Chagny," exclaimed Mamma Valerius, "don't you know our
Christine? Her good genius has sent her back to us!"

"Mamma!" the girl broke in promptly, while a deep blush mantled to her
eyes. "I thought, mamma, that there was to be no more question of
that! ... You know there is no such thing as the Angel of Music!"

"But, child, he gave you lessons for three months!"

"Mamma, I have promised to explain everything to you one of these days;
and I hope to do so but you have promised me, until that day, to be
silent and to ask me no more questions whatever!"