...There, turn round...are you glad? You're free now.
...Oh, my poor Christine, look at your wrists: tell me, have I
hurt them?...That alone deserves death....Talking of death,
I MUST SING HIS REQUIEM!"
Hearing these terrible remarks, I received an awful presentiment
...I too had once rung at the monster's door...and,
without knowing it, must have set some warning current in motion.
And I remembered the two arms that had emerged from the inky waters.
...What poor wretch had strayed to that shore this time?
Who was `the other one,' the one whose requiem we now heard sung?
Erik sang like the god of thunder, sang a DIES IRAE that enveloped
us as in a storm. The elements seemed to rage around us.
Suddenly, the organ and the voice ceased so suddenly that M. de
Chagny sprang back, on the other side of the wall, with emotion.
And the voice, changed and transformed, distinctly grated
out these metallic syllables: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BAG?"
Chapter XXIII The Tortures Begin
THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED.
The voice repeated angrily: "What have you done with my bag?
So it was to take my bag that you asked me to release you!"
We heard hurried steps, Christine running back to the Louis-Philippe
room, as though to seek shelter on the other side of our wall.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333