She wrote on, filling two, three, four sheets. Suddenly, she raised her head and hid the sheets in her bodice.⁠ ⁠… She seemed to be listening.⁠ ⁠… Raoul also listened.⁠ ⁠… Whence came that strange sound, that distant rhythm?⁠ ⁠… A faint singing seemed to issue from the walls⁠ ⁠… yes, it was as though the walls themselves were singing!⁠ ⁠… The song became plainer⁠ ⁠… the words were now distinguishable⁠ ⁠… he heard a voice, a very beautiful, very soft, very captivating voice⁠ ⁠… but, for all its softness, it remained a male voice.⁠ ⁠… The voice came nearer and nearer⁠ ⁠… it came through the wall⁠ ⁠… it approached⁠ ⁠… and now the voice was in the room , in front of Christine. Christine rose and addressed the voice, as though speaking to someone:

“Here I am, Erik,” she said. “I am ready. But you are late.”

Raoul, peeping from behind the curtain, could not believe his eyes, which showed him nothing. Christine’s face lit up. A smile of happiness appeared upon her bloodless lips, a smile like that of sick people when they receive the first hope of recovery.