only have taken birth in the disordered brain of a youth mad with love. It was evident, also, that Mr. Commissary Mifroid shared their view; and the magistrate would certainly have cut short the incoherent narrative if circumstances had not taken it upon themselves to interrupt it.
The door opened and a man entered, curiously dressed in an enormous frock-coat and a tall hat, at once shabby and shiny, that came down to his ears. He went up to the commissary and spoke to him in a whisper. It was doubtless a detective come to deliver an important communication.
During this conversation, M. Mifroid did not take his eyes off Raoul. At last, addressing him, he said:
“Monsieur, we have talked enough about the ghost. We will now talk about yourself a little, if you have no objection: you were to carry off Mlle. Christine Daaé tonight?”
“Yes, M. le commissaire .”
“After the performance?”
“Yes, M. le commissaire .”
“All your arrangements were made?”
“Yes, M. le commissaire .”
“The carriage that brought you was to take you both away. … There were fresh horses in readiness at every stage. …”
“That is true, M. le commissaire .”
“And nevertheless your carriage is still outside the Rotunda awaiting your orders, is it not?”
“Yes, M. le commissaire .”