Призрак оперы / The Phantom of the Opera

And the dancer slammed the door again, with a deep sigh.

“No,” she said, “there is no one there.”

“Still, we saw him!” Jammes [16 - Jammes – Жамм]declared. “He must be somewhere prowling about. I shan’t go back. We had better all go down to the foyer together, at once, and we will come up again together.”

“Come, children! I dare say no one has ever seen the ghost.”

“Yes, yes, we saw him—we saw him just now!” cried the girls. “He had his death’s head and his dress-coat[17 - dress-coat – фрак], just as when he appeared to Joseph Buquet!”

“And Gabriel saw him too!” said Jammes.

“Only yesterday! Yesterday afternoon!”

“Gabriel, the chorus-master?”

“Why, yes, didn’t you know?”

“And he was wearing his dress-clothes, in broad daylight[18 - in broad daylight – средь бела дня]?”

“Who? Gabriel?”

“Why, no, the ghost!”

“Certainly! Gabriel told me so himself. That’s what he knew him by. Gabriel was in the stage-manager’s office.

Suddenly the door opened and the Persian entered. You know the Persian has the evil eye.”

“Oh, yes!” answered the little ballet-girls in chorus.

“And you know how superstitious Gabriel is,” continued Jammes. “However, he is always polite. When he meets the Persian, he just puts his hand in his pocket and touches his keys. Well, the moment the Persian appeared in the doorway, Gabriel gave one jump from his chair to the lock of the cupboard.

He rushed out of the office like a madman, slipped on the staircase and came down on his back. I was just passing with mother. We picked him up. He was covered with bruises and his face was all over blood. And he began to thank Providence that he had got off so cheaply. Then he told us what had frightened him. He had seen the ghost behind the Persian, the ghost with the death’s head just like Joseph Buquet’s description!”

A silence followed, while Sorelli polished her nails in great excitement.

It was broken by Meg, who said:

“Joseph Buquet would do better to hold his tongue.”

“Why should he hold his tongue?” asked somebody.

“That’s mother’s opinion,” replied Meg, lowering her voice.

“And why is it your mother’s opinion?”

“Hush! Mother says the ghost doesn’t like being talked about.”

“And why does your mother say so?”

“Because—because—nothing.”

The young ladies crowded round little Meg.