"What became of her?"
"She's run away."
"With the Vicomte de Chagny, of course!"
"No, with the count!"
"Ah, here's Carlotta! Carlotta did the trick!"
"No, it was the ghost!" And a few laughed, especially as a
careful examination of the trap-doors and boards had put the idea
of an accident out of the question.
Amid this noisy throng, three men stood talking in a low voice
and with despairing gestures. They were Gabriel, the chorus-master;
Mercier, the acting-manager; and Remy, the secretary. They retired
to a corner of the lobby by which the stage communicates
with the wide passage leading to the foyer of the ballet.
Here they stood and argued behind some enormous "properties."
"I knocked at the door," said Remy. "They did not answer.
Perhaps they are not in the office. In any case, it's impossible
to find out, for they took the keys with them."
"They" were obviously the managers, who had given orders,
during the last entr'acte, that they were not to be disturbed
on any pretext whatever. They were not in to anybody.
"All the same," exclaimed Gabriel, "a singer isn't run away with,
from the middle of the stage, every day!"
"Did you shout that to them?" asked Mercier, impatiently.
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