she knew unsuspected corners that were secretly occupied by little old couples.she knocked at their door and introduced raoul to them as a prince charming who had asked for her hand; and the two of them, sitting on some worm-eaten "property," would listen to the legends of the opera, even as, in their childhood, they had listened to the old breton tales.those old people remembered nothing outside the opera.
they had lived there for years without number.past managements had forgotten them; palace revolutions had taken no notice of them;the history of france had run its course unknown to them; and nobody recollected their existence.
the precious days sped in this way; and raoul and christine, by affecting excessive interest in outside matters, strove awkwardly to hide from each other the one thought of their hearts.one fact was certain, that christine, who until then had n herself the stronger of the two, became suddenly inexpressibly nervous.
when on their expeditions, she would start running without reason or else suddenly stop; and her hand, turning ice-cold in a moment, would hold the young man back.sometimes her eyes seemed to pursue imaginary shadows.she cried, "this way," and "this way,"and "this way," laughing a breathless laugh that often ended in tears.then raoul tried to speak, to question her, in spite of his promises.but, even before he had worded his question, she answered feverishly:
"nothing...i swear it is nothing."
once, when they were passing before an open trapdoor on the stage, raoul stopped over the dark cavity.