Of whom was Christine Daae the victim? This was the very reasonable
question which Raoul put to himself as he hurried off to Mamma Valerius.
He trembled as he rang at a little flat in the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires.
The door was opened by the maid whom he had seen coming out of Christine's
dressing-room one evening. He asked if he could speak to Mme. Valerius.
He was told that she was ill in bed and was not receiving visitors.
"Take in my card, please," he said.
The maid soon returned and showed him into a small and scantily
furnished drawing-room, in which portraits of Professor Valerius
and old Daae hung on opposite walls.
"Madame begs Monsieur le Vicomte to excuse her," said the servant.
"She can only see him in her bedroom, because she can no longer stand
on her poor legs."
Five minutes later, Raoul was ushered into an ill-lit room where he
at once recognized the good, kind face of Christine's benefactress
in the semi-darkness of an alcove. Mamma Valerius' hair was now
quite white, but her eyes had grown no older; never, on the contrary,
had their expression been so bright, so pure, so child-like.
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