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"
I
beg
your
pardon
,
madame
,
could
you
tell
me
where
to
find
a
gate
or
door
,
made
of
bars
,
iron
bars
,
opening
into
the
Rue
Scribe
.
.
.
and
leading
to
the
lake
?
.
.
.
You
know
the
lake
I
mean
?
.
.
.
Yes
,
the
underground
lake
.
.
.
under
the
Opera
.
"
"
Yes
,
sir
,
I
know
there
is
a
lake
under
the
Opera
,
but
I
don
’
t
know
which
door
leads
to
it
.
I
have
never
been
there
!
"
"
And
the
Rue
Scribe
,
madame
,
the
Rue
Scribe
?
Have
you
never
been
to
the
Rue
Scribe
?
"
The
woman
laughed
,
screamed
with
laughter
!
Raoul
darted
away
,
roaring
with
anger
,
ran
up
-
stairs
,
four
stairs
at
a
time
,
down
-
stairs
,
rushed
through
the
whole
of
the
business
side
of
the
opera
-
house
,
found
himself
once
more
in
the
light
of
the
stage
.
He
stopped
,
with
his
heart
thumping
in
his
chest
:
suppose
Christine
Daae
had
been
found
?
He
saw
a
group
of
men
and
asked
:
"
I
beg
your
pardon
,
gentlemen
.
Could
you
tell
me
where
Christine
Daae
is
?
"
And
somebody
laughed
.
At
the
same
moment
the
stage
buzzed
with
a
new
sound
and
,
amid
a
crowd
of
men
in
evening
-
dress
,
all
talking
and
gesticulating
together
,
appeared
a
man
who
seemed
very
calm
and
displayed
a
pleasant
face
,
all
pink
and
chubby
-
cheeked
,
crowned
with
curly
hair
and
lit
up
by
a
pair
of
wonderfully
serene
blue
eyes
.
Mercier
,
the
acting
-
manager
,
called
the
Vicomte
de
Chagny
’
s
attention
to
him
and
said
:
"
This
is
the
gentleman
to
whom
you
should
put
your
question
,
monsieur
.
Let
me
introduce
Mifroid
,
the
commissary
of
police
.
"
