Music forbids her to marry!"

"Oh, he forbids her ... without forbidding her. It's like this: he
tells her that, if she got married, she would never hear him again.
That's all! ... And that he would go away for ever! ... So, you
understand, she can't let the Angel of Music go. It's quite natural."

"Yes, yes," echoed Raoul submissively, "it's quite natural."

"Besides, I thought Christine had told you all that, when she met you
at Perros, where she went with her good genius."

"Oh, she went to Perros with her good genius, did she?"

"That is to say, he arranged to meet her down there, in Perros
churchyard, at Daae's grave. He promised to play her The Resurrection
of Lazarus on her father's violin!"

Raoul de Chagny rose and, with a very authoritative air, pronounced
these peremptory words:

"Madame, you will have the goodness to tell me where that genius lives."

The old lady did not seem surprised at this indiscreet command. She
raised her eyes and said:

"In Heaven!"

Such simplicity baffled him. He did not know what to say in the
presence of this candid and perfect faith in a genius who came down
nightly from Heaven to haunt the dressing-rooms at the Opera.

He now realized the possible state of mind of a girl brought up between
a superstitious fiddler and a visionary old lady and he shuddered when
he thought of the consequences of it all.

"Is Christine still a good girl?" he asked suddenly, in spite of
himself.

"I swear it, as I hope to be saved!" exclaimed the old woman, who, this
time, seemed to be incensed. "And, if you doubt it, sir, I don't know
what you are here for!"

Raoul tore at his gloves.

"How long has she known this 'genius?'"

"About three months ... Yes, it's quite three months since he began to
give her lessons."

The viscount threw up his arms with a gesture of despair.

"The genius gives her lessons! ... And where, pray?"

"Now that she has gone away with him, I can't say; but, up to a
fortnight ago, it was in Christine's dressing-room. It would be
impossible in this little flat. The whole house would hear them.
Whereas, at the Opera, at eight o'clock in the morning, there is no one
about, do you see!"

"Yes, I see! I see!" cried the viscount.

And he hurriedly took leave of Mme. Valerius, who asked herself if the
young nobleman was not a little off his head.

He walked home to his brother's house in a pitiful state. He could
have struck himself, banged hi