A Master-Stroke of the Trap-Door Lover
eyes that showed only in the dark; and they did not stop before they
came to the eighth floor on the way down.
There was no performance at the Opera that night and the passages were
empty. Suddenly, a queer-looking form stood before them and blocked
the road: "No, not this way!"
And the form pointed to another passage by which they were to reach the
wings. Raoul wanted to stop and ask for an explanation. But the form,
which wore a sort of long frock-coat and a pointed cap, said: "Quick! Go away quickly!"
Christine was already dragging Raoul, compelling him to start running
again.
"But who is he? Who is that man?" he asked.
Christine replied: "It's the Persian."
"What's he doing here?"
"Nobody knows. He is always in the Opera."
"You are making me run away, for the first time in my life. If we
really saw Erik, what I ought to have done was to nail him to Apollo's
lyre, just as we nail the owls to the walls of our Breton farms; and
there would have been no more question of him."
"My dear Raoul, you would first have had to climb up to Apollo's lyre:
that is no easy matter."
"The blazing eyes were there!"
"Oh, you are getting like me now, seeing him everywhere! What I took
for blazing eyes was probably a couple of stars shining through the
strings of the lyre."
