In the center of the amphitheater a man stood up and remained standing,
facing the singer. It was Raoul.
"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed..."
And Christine, her arms outstretched, her throat filled with music,
the glory of her hair falling over her bare shoulders, uttered the
divine cry:
"My spirit longs with thee to rest!"
It was at that moment that the stage was suddenly plunged in darkness.
It happened so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to utter
a sound of stupefaction, for the gas at once lit up the stage again.
But Christine Daae was no longer there!
What had become of her? What was that miracle? All exchanged
glances without understanding, and the excitement at once reached
its height. Nor was the tension any less great on the stage itself.
Men rushed from the wings to the spot where Christine had been
singing that very instant. The performance was interrupted amid
the greatest disorder.
Where had Christine gone? What witchcraft had snatched her,
away before the eyes of thousands of enthusiastic onlookers and from
the arms of Carolus Fonta himself? It was as though the angels
had really carried her up "to rest.
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