...and, when he found that the key was no longer in the box, he nevertheless ran to the rue scribe.outside, in the street, he passed his trembling hands over the huge stones, felt for outlets...met with iron bars...were those they?...or these?...
or could it be that air-hole?...he plunged his useless eyes through the bars....how dark it was in there!...he listened....
all was silence!...he went round the building...and came to bigger bars, immense gates!...it was the entrance to the cour de i'administration.
raoul rushed into the doorkeeper's lodge.
"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: