Raoul de Chagny rose and, with a very authoritative air, pronounced these peremptory words:
"Madame, you will have the goodness to tell me where that genius lives."
The old lady did not seem surprised at this indiscreet command. She raised her eyes and said:
"In Heaven!"
Such simplicity baffled him. He did not know what to say in the presence of this candid and perfect faith in a genius who came down nightly from Heaven to haunt the dressing-rooms at the Opera.
He now realized the possible state of mind of a girl brought up between a superstitious fiddler and a visionary old lady and he shuddered when he thought of the consequences of it all.
"Is Christine still a good girl?" he asked suddenly, in spite of himself.
"I swear it, as I hope to be saved!" exclaimed the old woman, who, this time, seemed to be incensed. "And, if you doubt it, sir, I don't know what you are here for!"
Raoul tore at his gloves.
"How long has she known this 'genius?'"