The Phantom of the Opera. Gaston Leroux

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are keeping up the joke,” said M. Richard, “but I don’t call it funny.”

      “What does it all mean?” asked M. Moncharmin. “Do they imagine that, because they have been managers of the Opera, we are going to let them have a box for an indefinite period?”

      “I am not in the mood to let myself be laughed at long,” said Firmin Richard.

      “It’s harmless enough,” observed Armand Moncharmin. “What is it they really want? A box for to-night?”

      M. Firmin Richard told his secretary to send Box Five on the grand tier to MM. Debienne and Poligny, if it was not sold. It was not. It was sent off to them. Debienne lived at the corner of the Rue Scribe and the Boulevard des Capucines; Poligny, in the Rue Auber. O. Ghost’s two letters had been posted at the Boulevard des Capucines post-office, as Moncharmin remarked after examining the envelopes.

      “You see!” said Richard.

      They shrugged their shoulders and regretted that two men of that age should amuse themselves with such childish tricks.

      “They might have been civil, for all that!” said Moncharmin. “Did you notice how they treat us with regard to Carlotta, Sorelli and little Jammes?”

      “Why, my dear fellow, these two are mad with jealousy! To think that they went to the expense of an advertisement in the Revue Théâtrale! Have they nothing better to do?”

      “By the way,” said Moncharmin, “they seem to be greatly interested in that little Christine Daaé!”

      “You know as well as I do that she has the reputation of being quite good,” said Richard.

      “Reputations are easily obtained,” replied Moncharmin. “Haven’t I a reputation for knowing all about music? And I don’t know one key from another.”

      “Don’t be afraid: you never had that reputation,” Richard declared.

      Thereupon he ordered the artists to be shown in, who, for the last two hours, had been walking up and down outside the door behind which fame and fortune—or dismissal—awaited them.

      The whole day was spent in discussing, negotiating, signing or cancelling contracts; and the two overworked managers went to bed early, without so much as casting a glance at Box Five to see whether M. Debienne and M. Poligny were enjoying the performance.

      Next morning, the managers received a card of thanks from the ghost:

      Dear Mr. Manager:

      Thanks. Charming evening. Daaé exquisite. Choruses want waking up. Carlotta a splendid commonplace instrument. Will write you soon for the 240,000 francs, or 233,424 fr. 70 c., to be correct. MM. Debienne and Poligny have sent me the 6,575 fr. 30 c. representing the first ten days of my allowance for the current year; their privileges finished on the evening of the tenth inst.

      Kind regards.

      O. G.

      On the other hand, there was a letter from MM. Debienne and Poligny:

      Gentlemen:

      We are much obliged for your kind thought of us, but you will easily understand that the prospect of again hearing Faust, pleasant though it is to ex-managers of the Opera, can not make us forget that we have no right to occupy Box Five on the grand tier, which is the exclusive property of him of whom we spoke to you when we went through the memorandum-book with you for the last time. See Clause 98, final paragraph.

      Accept, gentlemen, etc.

      “Oh, those fellows are beginning to annoy me!” shouted Firmin Richard, snatching up the letter.

      And that evening Box Five was sold.

      The next morning, MM. Richard and Moncharmin, on reaching their office, found an inspector’s report relating to an incident that had happened, the night before, in Box Five. I give the essential part of the report:

      I was obliged to call in a municipal guard twice, this evening, to clear Box Five on the grand tier, once at the beginning and once in the middle of the second act. The occupants, who arrived as the curtain rose on the second act, created a regular scandal by their laughter and their ridiculous observations. There were cries of “Hush!” all around them and the whole house was beginning to protest, when the box-keeper came to fetch me. I entered the box and said what I thought necessary. The people did not seem to me to be in their right mind; and they made stupid remarks. I said that, if the noise was repeated, I should be compelled to clear the box. The moment I left, I heard the laughing again, with fresh protests from the house. I returned with a municipal guard, who turned them out. They protested, still laughing, saying they would not go unless they had their money back. At last, they became quiet and I allowed them to enter the box again. The laughter at once recommenced; and, this time, I had them turned out definitely.

      “Send for the inspector,” said Richard to his secretary, who had already read the report and marked it with blue pencil.

      M. Rémy, the secretary, had foreseen the order and called the inspector at once.

      “Tell us what happened,” said Richard bluntly.

      The inspector began to splutter and referred to the report.

      “Well, but what were those people laughing at?” asked Moncharmin.

      “They must have been dining, sir, and seemed more inclined to lark about than to listen to good music. The moment they entered the box, they came out again and called the box-keeper, who asked them what they wanted. They said, ‘Look in the box: there’s no one there, is there?’ ‘No,’ said the woman. ‘Well,’ said they, ‘when we went in, we heard a voice saying that the box was taken!’”

      M. Moncharmin could not help smiling as he looked at M. Richard; but M. Richard did not smile. He himself had done too much in that way in his time not to recognize, in the inspector’s story, all the marks of one of those practical jokes which begin by amusing and end by enraging the victims. The inspector, to curry favour with M. Moncharmin, who was smiling, thought it best to give a smile too. A most unfortunate smile! M. Richard glared at his subordinate, who thenceforth made it his business to display a face of utter consternation.

      “However, when the people arrived,” roared Richard, “there was no one in the box, was there?”

      “Not a soul, sir, not a soul! Nor in the box on the right, nor in the box on the left: not a soul, sir, I swear! The box-keeper told it me often enough, which proves that it was all a joke.”

      “Oh, you agree, do you?” said Richard. “You agree! It’s a joke! And you think it funny, no doubt?”

      “I think it in very bad taste, sir.”

      “And what did the box-keeper say?”

      “Oh, she just said that it was the Opera ghost. That’s all she said!”

      And the inspector grinned. But he soon found that he had made a mistake in grinning, for the words had no sooner left his mouth than M. Richard, from gloomy, became furious.

      “Send for the box-keeper!” he shouted. “Send for her! This minute! This minute!

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