up the attempt. I was dragged toward the little
red light and then I saw that I was in the hands of a man wrapped in a
large cloak and wearing a mask that hid his whole face. I made one
last effort; my limbs stiffened, my mouth opened to scream, but a hand
closed it, a hand which I felt on my lips, on my skin ... a hand that
smelt of death. Then I fainted away.

"When I opened my eyes, we were still surrounded by darkness. A
lantern, standing on the ground, showed a bubbling well. The water
splashing from the well disappeared, almost at once, under the floor on
which I was lying, with my head on the knee of the man in the black
cloak and the black mask. He was bathing my temples and his hands
smelt of death. I tried to push them away and asked, 'Who are you?
Where is the voice?' His only answer was a sigh. Suddenly, a hot
breath passed over my face and I perceived a white shape, beside the
man's black shape, in the darkness. The black shape lifted me on to
the white shape, a glad neighing greeted my astounded ears and I
murmured, 'Cesar!' The animal quivered. Raoul, I was lying half back
on a saddle and I had recognized the white horse out of the PROFETA,
which I had so often fed with sugar and sweets. I remembered that, one
evening, there was a rumor in the theater that the horse had
disappeared and that it had been stolen by the Opera ghost. I believed
in the voice, but had never believed in the ghost. Now, however, I
began to wonder, with a shiver, whether I was the ghost's prisoner. I
called upon the voice to help me, for I should never have imagined that
the voice and the ghost were one. You have heard about the Opera
ghost, have you not, Raoul?"

"Yes, but tell me what happened when you were on the white horse of the
Profeta?"

"I made no movement and let myself go. The black shape held me up, and
I made no effort to escape. A curious feeling of peacefulness came
over me and I thought that I must be under the influence of some
cordial. I had the full command of my senses; and my eyes became used
to the darkness, which was lit, here and there, by fitful gleams. I
calculated that we were in a narrow circular gallery, probably running
all round the Opera, which is immense, underground. I had once been
down into those cellars, but had stopped at the third floor, though
there were two lower still, large enough to hold a town. But the
figures of which I caught sight had made me run away. There