I was wondering what the reason could be, when I myself raised my head and everything within me seemed drawn toward the invisible, WHICH WAS PLAYING THE MOST PERFECT MUSIC! Christine and I knew that music; we had heard it as children.

But it had never been executed with such divine art, even by M.Daae.

I remembered all that Christine had told me of the Angel of Music.

The air was The Resurrection of Lazarus, which old M.Daae used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of faith.

If Christine's Angel had existed, he could not have played better, that night, on the late musician's violin.