He told me that he had wound it up before dressing for the Opera. … We had not a match upon us. … And yet we must know. … M. de Chagny broke the glass of his watch and felt the two hands. … He questioned the hands of the watch with his fingertips, going by the position of the ring of the watch. … Judging by the space between the hands, he thought it might be just eleven o’clock!
But perhaps it was not the eleven o’clock of which we stood in dread. Perhaps we had still twelve hours before us!
Suddenly, I exclaimed: “Hush!”
I seemed to hear footsteps in the next room. Someone tapped against the wall. Christine Daaé’s voice said:
“Raoul! Raoul!”
We were now all talking at once, on either side of the wall. Christine sobbed; she was not sure that she would find M. de Chagny alive. The monster had been terrible, it seemed, had done nothing but rave, waiting for her to give him the “yes” which she refused. And yet she had promised him that “yes,” if he would take her to the torture-chamber. But he had obstinately declined, and had uttered hideous threats against all the members of the human race! At last, after hours and hours of that hell, he had that moment gone out, leaving her alone to reflect for the last time.
“Hours and hours? What is the time now? What is the time, Christine?”
“It is eleven o’clock! Eleven o’clock, all but five minutes!”
“But which eleven o’clock?”
“The eleven o’clock that is to decide life or death! … He told me so just before he went. … He is terrible. … He is quite mad: he tore off his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames! … He did nothing but laugh! …