"Gentle flow’rs in the dew,
Be message from me…"
As she sang these first two lines, with her bunch of roses and lilacs in her hand, Christine, raising her head, saw the Vicomte de Chagny in his box; and, from that moment, her voice seemed less sure, less crystal–clear than usual. Something seemed to deaden and dull her singing…
"What a queer girl she is!" said one of Carlotta’s friends in the stalls, almost aloud. "The other day she was divine; and to–night she’s simply bleating. She has no experience, no training."
"Gentle flow’rs, lie ye there
And tell her from me…"
The viscount put his head under his hands and wept. The count, behind him, viciously gnawed his mustache, shrugged his shoulders and frowned. For him, usually so cold and correct, to betray his inner feelings like that, by outward signs, the count must be very angry. He was. He had seen his brother return from a rapid and mysterious journey in an alarming state of health. The explanation that followed was unsatisfactory and the count asked Christine Daae for an appointment. She had the audacity to reply that she could not see either him or his brother…
"Would she but deign to hear me
And with one smile to cheer me…"
"The little baggage!" growled the count.
And he wondered what she wanted. What she was hoping for… She was a virtuous girl, she was said to have no friend, no protector of any sort … That angel from the North must be very artful!
Raoul, behind the curtain of his hands that veiled his boyish tears, thought only of the letter which he received on his return to Paris, where Christine, fleeing from Perros like a thief in the night, had arrived before him:
MY DEAR LITTLE PLAYFELLOW:
You must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me again. If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me who will never forget you, my dear Raoul. My life depends upon it. Your life depends upon it. YOUR LITTLE CHRISTINE.
Thunders of applause. Carlotta made her entrance.
"I wish I could but know who was he
That addressed me,
If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is…"
When Margarita had finished singing the ballad of the KING OF THULE, she was loudly cheered and again when she came to the end of the jewel song:
"Ah, the joy of past compare
These jewels bright to wear!…"
Thenceforth, certain of herself, certain of her friends in the house, certain of her voice and her success, fearing nothing, Carlotta flung herself into her part without restraint of modesty… She was no longer Margarita, she was Carmen. She was applauded all the more; and her debut with Faust seemed about to bring her a new success, when suddenly… a terrible thing happened.
Faust had knelt on one knee:
"Let me gaze on the form below me,
While from yonder ether blue
Look how the star of eve, bright and tender, lingers o’er me,
To love thy beauty too!"
And Margarita replied:
"Oh, how strange!
Like a spell does the evening bind me!
And a deep languid charm
I feel without alarm
With its melody enwind me
And all my heart subdue."
At that moment, at that identical moment, the terrible thing happened… Carlotta croaked like a toad:
"Co–ack!"
There was consternation on Carlotta’s face and consternation on the faces of all the audience. The two managers in their box could not suppress an exclamation of horror. Every one felt that the thing was not natural, that there was witchcraft behind it. That toad smelt of brimstone. Poor, wretched, despairing, crushed Carlotta!
