The first time that Raoul saw Christine at the Opera, he was charmed by the girl's beauty and by the sweet images of the past which it evoked, but was rather surprised at the negative side of her art. He returned to listen to her. He followed her in the wings. He waited for her behind a Jacob's ladder. He tried to attract her attention. More than once, he walked after her to the door of her box, but she did not see him. She seemed, for that matter, to see nobody. She was all indifference. Raoul suffered, for she was very beautiful and he was shy and dared not confess his love, even to himself. And then came the lightning-flash of the gala performance: the heavens torn asunder and an angel's voice heard upon earth for the delight of mankind and the utter capture of his heart.

And then...and then there was that man's voice behind the door - `You must love me!' - and no one in the room....

Why did she laugh when he reminded her of the incident of the scarf? Why did she not recognize him? And why had she written to him?...

Perros was reached at last. Raoul walked into the smoky sitting-room of the Setting Sun and at once saw Christine standing before him, smiling and showing no astonishment.

`So you have come,' she said. `I felt that I should find you here, when I came back from mass. Some one told me so, at the church.'

`Who?' asked Raoul, taking her little hand in his.

`Why, my poor father, who is dead.'

There was a silence; and then Raoul asked:

`Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I can not live without you?'

Christine blushed to the eyes and turned away her head. In a trembling voice, she said:

`Me? You are dreaming, my friend!'

And she burst out laughing, to put herself in countenance.

`Don't laugh, Christine; I am quite serious,' Raoul answered.

And she replied gravely: `I did not make you come to tell me such things as that.'

`You `made me come,' Christine; you knew that your letter would not leave me indignant and that I should hasten to Perros. How can you have thought that, if you did not think I loved you?'

`I thought you would remember our games here, as children, in which my father so often joined. I really don't know what I thought.... Perhaps I was wrong to write to you....This anniversary and your sudden appearance in my room at the Opera, the other evening, reminded me of the time long past and made me write to you as the little girl that I then was....'

There was something in Christine's attitude that seemed to Raoul not natural. He did not feel any hostility in her; far from it: the distressed affection shining in her eyes told him that. But why was this affection distressed? That was what he wished to know and what was irritating him.

`When you saw me in your dressing-room, was that the first time you noticed me, Christine?'

She was incapable of lying.

`No,' she said, `I had seen you several times in your brother's box. And also on the stage.'