Raoul heard nothing after that. Nevertheless, he did not go away,
but, as though he feared lest he should be caught, he returned to
his dark corner, determined to wait for the man to leave the room.
At one and the same time, he had learned what love meant, and hatred.
He knew that he loved. He wanted to know whom he hated. To his
great astonishment, the door opened and Christine Daae appeared,
wrapped in furs, with her face hidden in a lace veil, alone. She closed
the door behind her, but Raoul observed that she did not lock it.
She passed him. He did not even follow her with his eyes, for his
eyes were fixed on the door, which did not open again.
When the passage was once more deserted, he crossed it,
opened the door of the dressing-room, went in and shut the door.
He found himself in absolute darkness. The gas had been turned out.
"There is some one here!" said Raoul, with his back against
the closed door, in a quivering voice. "What are you hiding for?"
All was darkness and silence. Raoul heard only the sound of his
own breathing. He quite failed to see that the indiscretion
of his conduct was exceeding all bounds.
"You shan't leave this until I let you!" he exclaimed. "If you
don't answer, you are a coward! But I'll expose you!"
And he struck a match. The blaze lit up the room. There was no
one in the room! Raoul, first turning the key in the door, lit the
gas-jets. He went into the dressing-closet, opened the cupboards,
hunted about, felt the walls with his moist hands. Nothing!
"Look here!" he said, aloud. "Am I going mad?"
He stood for ten minutes listening to the gas flaring in the silence
of the empty room; lover though he was, he did not even think of stealing
a ribbon that would have given him the perfume of the woman he loved.
He went out, not knowing what he was doing nor where he was going.
At a given moment in his wayward progress, an icy draft struck
him in the face. He found himself at the bottom of a staircase,
down which, behind him, a procession of workmen were carrying a sort
of stretcher, covered with a white sheet.
"Which is the way out, please?" he asked of one of the men.
"Straight in front of you, the door is open. But let us pass."
Pointing to the stretcher, he asked mechanically: "What's that?"
The workmen answered:
"‘That' is Joseph Buquet, who was found in the third cellar,
hanging between a farm-house and a scene from the ROI DE LAHORE."
He took off his hat, fell back to make room for the procession
and went out.