“Yes, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, you will have no resolve left!”
“Then, Raoul, you must run away with me in spite of myself; is that understood?”
“I shall be here at twelve tomorrow night; I shall keep my promise, whatever happens.
You say that, after listening to the performance, he is to wait for you in the dining-room on the lake?”
“Yes.”
“And how are you to reach him, if you don’t know how to go out by the glass?”
“Why, by going straight to the edge of the lake.”
Christine opened a box, took out an enormous key and showed it to Raoul.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The key of the gate to the underground passage in the Rue Scribe.”
“I understand, Christine. It leads straight to the lake. Give it to me, Christine, will you?”
“Never!” she said. “That would be treacherous!”
Suddenly Christine changed color. A mortal pallor overspread her features.
“Oh heavens!” she cried. “Erik! Erik! Have pity on me!”
“Hold your tongue!” said Raoul. “You told me he could hear you!”