“Then Daaé has friends?” he asked.
“Yes, she has.”
“Whom?”
Richard glanced across at a box on the grand tier containing no one but two men.
“The Comte de Chagny?”
“Yes, he spoke to me in her favor with such warmth that, if I had not known him to be Sorelli’s friend …”
“Really? Really?” said Moncharmin. “And who is that pale young man beside him?”
“That’s his brother, the viscount.”
“He ought to be in his bed. He looks ill.”
The stage rang with gay song:
“Red or white liquor, Coarse or fine! What can it matter, So we have wine?”
Students, citizens, soldiers, girls and matrons whirled light-heartedly before the inn with the figure