part of the Opera, below the fifth cellar, where no one ever comes, and where no one ever hears you. Then I came back to Christine. She was waiting for me. …”
Erik here rose solemnly. Then he continued, but, as he spoke, he was overcome by all his former emotion and began to tremble like a leaf:
“Yes, she was waiting for me … waiting for me erect and alive, a real, living bride … as she hoped to be saved. … And, when I … came forward, more timid than … a little child, she did not run away … no, no … she stayed … she waited for me. … I even believe … daroga … that she put out her forehead … a little … oh, not much … just a little … like a living bride. … And … and … I … kissed her! … I! … I! … I! … And she did not die! … Oh, how good it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! … You can’t tell! … But I! I! … My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never … let me kiss her. … She used to run away … and throw me my mask! … Nor any other woman … ever, ever! … Ah, you can understand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And I fell at her feet, crying … and I kissed her feet … her little feet … crying. You’re crying, too, daroga … and she cried also … the angel cried! …”
Erik sobbed aloud and the Persian himself could not retain his tears in the presence of that masked man, who, with his shoulders shaking and his hands clutched at his chest, was moaning with pain and love by turns.
“Yes, daroga … I felt her tears flow on my forehead … on mine, mine! … They were soft … they were sweet! … They trickled under my mask … they mingled with my tears in my eyes … they flowed between my lips. … Listen, daroga, listen to what I did. … I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears … and she did not run away! … And she did not die! … She remained alive, weeping over me, with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer!”
And Erik fell into a chair, choking for breath: