"An accident?… Killed himself?" Monsieur Firmin said. "Which story do you want, my friend? Or do you want the story of the ghost?"

Monsieur Firmin looked at a letter on the table next to him. "And what are we going to do about this letter, Armand?"

"It was an accident," Monsieur Armand said angrily. "Or Buquet killed himself."

The Opera House was famous, and the directors of the Opera House were very important men. It was the first week of work for the two new directors, Monsieur Armand Moncharmin and Monsieur Firmin Richard. In the directors' office the next day, the two men talked about Joseph Buquet.

"Don't talk to me about ghosts!" Monsieur Armand said. "We have 1,500 people working for us in this Opera House, and everybody is talking about the ghost. They're all mad! I don't want to hear about the ghost, OK?"

The two men read the letter again. It wasn't very long.

"Do?" cried Monsieur Armand. "Why, do nothing, of course! What can we do?"

Because you are new in the Opera House, I am writing to tell you some important things. Never sell tickets for Box 5; that is my box for every opera night. Madame Giry, the doorkeeper, knows all about it. Also, I need money for my work in the Opera House. I am not expensive, and I am happy to take only 20,000 francs a month. That is all. But please remember, I can be a good friend, but a bad enemy.

To the new directors

"Don't get angry again, Armand," Monsieur Firmin said quickly. "We have Christine Daaé, that young singer from Norway. She can sing Margarita tonight. She has a good voice."

"Don't sell tickets for Box 5! 20,000 francs a month!" Monsieur Armand was very angry again. "That's the best box in the Opera House, and we need the money, Firmin! And who is this O. G., eh? Tell me that!"

O. G.

"But she's so young, and nobody knows her! Nobody wants to listen to a new singer."

"Opera Ghost, of course," Monsieur Firmin said. "But you're right, Armand. We can do nothing about this letter. It's a joke, a bad joke. Somebody thinks we are fools, because we are new here. There are no ghosts in the Opera House!"

The two men then talked about the opera for that night. It was Faust, and usually La Carlotta sang Margarita. La Carlotta was Spanish, and the best singer in Paris. But today, La Carlotta was ill.

"Everybody in Paris is going to be at the opera tonight," said Monsieur Armand, "and our best singer is ill. Suddenly! She writes a letter to us just this morning -- she is ill, she cannot sing tonight!"

"Wait and see. Perhaps Daaé can sing better than La Carlotta. Who knows?"