Parisians who are at this moment applauding a poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer’s … you shall make them a present of their lives. … For, with your own fair hands, you shall turn the scorpion. … And merrily, merrily, we will be married!”
A pause; and then:
“If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper … and the grasshopper, I tell you, hops jolly high !”
The terrible silence began anew. The Vicomte de Chagny, realizing that there was nothing left to do but pray, went down on his knees and prayed. As for me, my blood beat so fiercely that I had to take my heart in both hands, lest it should burst. At last, we heard Erik’s voice:
“The two minutes are past. … Goodbye, mademoiselle. … Hop, grasshopper! …”
“Erik,” cried Christine, “do you swear to me, monster, do you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn? …”
“Yes, to hop at our wedding.”
“Ah, you see! You said, to hop!”
“At our wedding, ingenuous child! … The scorpion opens the ball. … But that will do! … You won’t have the scorpion? Then I turn the grasshopper!”
“Erik!”
“Enough!”
I was crying out in concert with Christine. M. de Chagny was still on his knees, praying.