“Provided that you promised never to leave me again! But have you promised that, Christine?”
“Mamma, all this can not interest M. de Chagny.”
“On the contrary, mademoiselle,” said the young man, in a voice which he tried to make firm and brave, but which still trembled, “anything that concerns you interests me to an extent which perhaps you will one day understand. I do not deny that my surprise equals my pleasure at finding you with your adopted mother and that, after what happened between us yesterday, after what you said and what I was able to guess, I hardly expected to see you here so soon. I should be the first to delight at your return, if you were not so bent on preserving a secrecy that may be fatal to you … and I have been your friend too long not to be alarmed, with Mme. Valérius, at a disastrous adventure which will remain dangerous so long as we have not unraveled its threads and of which you will certainly end by being the victim, Christine.”
At these words, Mamma Valérius tossed about in her bed.
“What does this mean?” she cried. “Is Christine in danger?”
“Yes, madame,” said Raoul courageously, notwithstanding the signs which Christine made to him.
“My God!” exclaimed the good, simple old woman, gasping for breath. “You must tell me everything, Christine! Why did you try to reassure me? And what danger is it, M. de Chagny?”
“An impostor is abusing her good faith.”
“Is the Angel of Music an impostor?”
“She told you herself that there is no Angel of Music.”
“But then what is it, in Heaven’s name? You will be the death of me!”