"Let's go and see," he said, "she never sang like that before."
The count gave his brother a curious smiling glance and seemed quite
pleased. They were soon at the door leading from the house to the stage.
Numbers of subscribers were slowly making their way through.
Raoul tore his gloves without knowing what he was doing and Philippe
had much too kind a heart to laugh at him for his impatience.
But he now understood why Raoul was absent-minded when spoken to
and why he always tried to turn every conversation to the subject
of the Opera.
They reached the stage and pushed through the crowd of gentlemen,
scene-shifters, supers and chorus-girls, Raoul leading the way,
feeling that his heart no longer belonged to him, his face set
with passion, while Count Philippe followed him with difficulty
and continued to smile. At the back of the stage, Raoul had to stop
before the inrush of the little troop of ballet-girls who blocked
the passage which he was trying to enter. More than one chaffing
phrase darted from little made-up lips, to which he did not reply;
and at last he was able to pass, and dived into the semi-darkness
of a corridor ringing with the name of "Daae! Daae!" The count
was surprised to find that Raoul knew the way.
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