Behind the curtain, there was an indescribable crowd.

Artists, scene-shifters, dancers, supers, choristers, subscribers were all asking questions, shouting and hustling one another.
"What became of her ?" "She's run away." "With the Vicomte de Chagny, of course!" "No, with the count!" "Ah, here's Carlotta! Carlotta did the trick!" "No, it was the ghost!" And a few laughed, especially as a careful examination of the trap-doors and boards had put the idea of an accident out of the question.
Amid this noisy throng, three men stood talking in a low voice and with despairing gestures.

They were Gabriel, the chorus-master; Mercier, the acting-manager; and Remy, the secretary.

They retired to a corner of the lobby by which the stage communicates with the wide passage leading to the foyer of the ballet.

Here they stood and argued behind some enormous "properties." "I knocked at the door," said Remy.