“Gentle flow’rs, lie ye there

And tell her from me⁠ ⁠…”

“Gentle flow’rs, lie ye there And tell her from me⁠ ⁠…”

The viscount put his head under his hands and wept. The count, behind him, viciously gnawed his mustache, shrugged his shoulders and frowned. For him, usually so cold and correct, to betray his inner feelings like that, by outward signs, the count must be very angry. He was. He had seen his brother return from a rapid and mysterious journey in an alarming state of health. The explanation that followed was unsatisfactory and the count asked Christine Daaé for an appointment. She had the audacity to reply that she could not see either him or his brother.⁠ ⁠…