out of Christine’s dressing-room one evening. He asked if he could speak to Mme. Valérius. He was told that she was ill in bed and was not receiving visitors.
“Take in my card, please,” he said.
The maid soon returned and showed him into a small and scantily furnished drawing-room, in which portraits of Professor Valérius and old Daaé hung on opposite walls.
“Madame begs monsieur le vicomte to excuse her,” said the servant. “She can only see him in her bedroom, because she can no longer stand on her poor legs.”
Five minutes later, Raoul was ushered into an ill-lit room where he at once recognized the good, kind face of Christine’s benefactress in the semidarkness of an alcove. Mamma Valérius’ hair was now quite white, but her eyes had grown no older; never, on the contrary, had their expression been so bright, so pure, so childlike.
“ M. de Chagny!” she cried gaily, putting out both her hands to her visitor. “Ah, it’s Heaven that sends you here! … We can talk of her .”
This last sentence sounded very gloomily in the young man’s ears. He at once asked:
“Madame … where is Christine?”
And the old lady replied calmly:
“She is with her good genius!”
“What good genius?” exclaimed poor Raoul.
“Why, the Angel of Music!”