ss, continued to reflect his agony. And the branch of the
tree on which he had put an end to his own sufferings was arranged in
such a way that, before dying, he had seen, for his last consolation, a
thousand men writhing in his company.

Yes, Joseph Buquet had undoubtedly been through all this! Were we to
die as he had done? I did not think so, for I knew that we had a few
hours before us and that I could employ them to better purpose than
Joseph Buquet was able to do. After all, I was thoroughly acquainted
with most of Erik's "tricks;" and now or never was the time to turn my
knowledge to account.

To begin with, I gave up every idea of returning to the passage that
had brought us to that accursed chamber. I did not trouble about the
possibility of working the inside stone that closed the passage; and
this for the simple reason that to do so was out of the question. We
had dropped from too great a height into the torture-chamber; there was
no furniture to help us reach that passage; not even the branch of the
iron tree, not even each other's shoulders were of any avail.

There was only one possible outlet, that opening into the
Louis-Philippe room in which Erik and Christine Daae were. But, though
this outlet looked like an ordinary door on Christine's side, it was
absolutely invisible to us. We must therefore try to open it without
even knowing where it was.

When I was quite sure that there was no hope for us from Christine
Daae's side, when I had heard the monster dragging the poor girl from
the Louis-Philippe room LEST SHE SHOULD INTERFERE WITH OUR TORTURES, I
resolved to set to work without delay.

But I had first to calm M. de Chagny, who was already walking about
like a madman, uttering incoherent cries. The snatches of conversation
which he had caught between Christine and the monster had contributed
not a little to drive him beside himself: add to that the shock of the
magic forest and the scorching heat which was beginning to make the
prespiration{sic} stream down his temples and you will have no
difficulty in understanding his state of mind. He shouted Christine's
name, brandished his pistol, knocked his forehead against the glass in
his endeavors to run down the glades of the illusive forest. In short,
the torture was beginning to work its spell upon a brain unprepared for
it.

I did my best to induce the poor viscount to listen to reason. I made
him touch the mirrors and the iron tree a