"No, no," she said, shaking her head sadly. "Not now! ... It would be
too cruel ... let him hear me sing to-morrow evening ... and then we
will go away. You must come and fetch me in my dressing-room at
midnight exactly. He will then be waiting for me in the dining-room by
the lake ... we shall be free and you shall take me away ... You must
promise me that, Raoul, even if I refuse; for I feel that, if I go back
this time, I shall perhaps never return."
And she gave a sigh to which it seemed to her that another sigh, behind
her, replied.
"Didn't you hear?"
Her teeth chattered.
"No," said Raoul, "I heard nothing."
"It is too terrible," she confessed, "to be always trembling like this!
... And yet we run no danger here; we are at home, in the sky, in the
open air, in the light. The sun is flaming; and night-birds can not
bear to look at the sun. I have never seen him by daylight ... it must
be awful! ... Oh, the first time I saw him! ... I thought that he was
going to die."
"Why?" asked Raoul, really frightened at the aspect which this strange
confidence was taking.
"BECAUSE I HAD SEEN HIM!"
This time, Raoul and Christine turned round at the same time: "There is some one in pain," said Raoul. "Perhaps some one has been
hurt. Did you hear?"
"I can't say," Christine confessed. "Even when he is not there, my
ears are full of his sighs. Still, if you heard ..."
They stood up and looked around them. They were quite alone on the
immense lead roof. They sat down again and Raoul said: "Tell me how you saw him first."
"I had heard him for three months without seeing him. The first time I
heard it, I thought, as you did, that that adorable voice was singing
in another room. I went out and looked everywhere; but, as you know,
Raoul, my dressing-room is very much by itself; and I could not find
the voice outside my room, whereas it went on steadily inside. And it
not only sang, but it spoke to me and answered my questions, like a
real man's voice, with this difference, that it was as beautiful as the
voice of an angel. I had never got the Angel of Music whom my poor
father had promised to send me as soon as he was dead. I really think
that Mamma Valerius was a little bit to blame. I told her about it;
and she at once said, 'It must be the Angel; at any rate, you can do no
harm by asking him.' I did so; and the man's voice replied that, yes,
it was the Angel's voice, the voice which I was expecting and which my
father had promised me. From that time onward, the voice and I became
great friends. It asked leave to give me lessons every day. I agreed
and never failed to keep the appointment which it gave me in my
dressing-room. You have no idea, though you have heard the voice, of
what those lessons were like."