for, after all, Erik might
be waiting for us behind the wall. We were to go by the Communists'
road and through the trap-door.

Seeing my pistols, the little viscount asked me if we were going to
fight a duel. I said:

"Yes; and what a duel!" But, of course, I had no time to explain
anything to him. The little viscount is a brave fellow, but he knew
hardly anything about his adversary; and it was so much the better. My
great fear was that he was already somewhere near us, preparing the
Punjab lasso. No one knows better than he how to throw the Punjab
lasso, for he is the king of stranglers even as he is the prince of
conjurors. When he had finished making the little sultana laugh, at
the time of the "rosy hours of Mazenderan," she herself used to ask him
to amuse her by giving her a thrill. It was then that he introduced
the sport of the Punjab lasso.

He had lived in India and acquired an incredible skill in the art of
strangulation. He would make them lock him into a courtyard to which
they brought a warrior--usually, a man condemned to death--armed with a
long pike and broadsword. Erik had only his lasso; and it was always
just when the warrior thought that he was going to fell Erik with a
tremendous blow that we heard the lasso whistle through the air. With
a turn of the wrist, Erik tightened the noose round his adversary's
neck and, in this fashion, dragged him before the little sultana and
her women, who sat looking from a window and applauding. The little
sultana herself learned to wield the Punjab lasso and killed several of
her women and even of the friends who visited her. But I prefer to
drop this terrible subject of the rosy hours of Mazenderan. I have
mentioned it only to explain why, on arriving with the Vicomte de
Chagny in the cellars of the Opera, I was bound to protect my companion
against the ever-threatening danger of death by strangling. My pistols
could serve no purpose, for Erik was not likely to show himself; but
Erik could always strangle us. I had no time to explain all this to
the viscount; besides, there was nothing to be gained by complicating
the position. I simply told M. de Chagny to keep his hand at the level
of his eyes, with the arm bent, as though waiting for the command to
fire. With his victim in this attitude, it is impossible even for the
most expert strangler to throw the lasso with advantage. It catches
you not only round the neck, but also round the arm o