mistaken if he imagines that brotherly love will triumph over love pure and simple.
“You see, Raoul,” said the count, “you are making us ridiculous! That little girl has turned your head with her ghost-stories.”
The viscount had evidently repeated Christine’s narrative to his brother, during the night. All that he now said was:
“Goodbye, Philippe.”
“Have you quite made up your mind? You are going tonight? With her?”
No reply.
“Surely you will not do anything so foolish? I shall know how to prevent you!”
“Goodbye, Philippe,” said the viscount again and left the room.
This scene was described to the examining-magistrate by the count himself, who did not see Raoul again until that evening, at the Opera, a few minutes before Christine’s disappearance.
Raoul, in fact, devoted the whole day to his preparations for the flight. The horses, the carriage, the coachman, the provisions, the luggage, the money required for the journey, the road to be taken (he had resolved not to go by train, so as to throw the ghost off the scent): all this had to be settled and provided for; and it occupied him until nine o’clock at night.
At nine o’clock, a sort of traveling-barouche with the curtains of its windows close-down, took its place in the rank on the Rotunda side. It was drawn by two powerful horses driven by a coachman whose face was almost concealed in the long folds of a muffler. In front of this traveling-carriage