“It is not true.  It was not me.  I do not know the man.  He cannot know me, since I do not know him.  I have my part to play this evening.  What do you want of me?  I demand my liberty.  Nor is that all.  Why have I been brought into this dungeon?  Are there laws no longer?  You may as well say at once that there are no laws.  My Lord Judge, I repeat that it is not I. I am innocent of all that can be said.  I know I am.  I wish to go away.  This is not justice.  There is nothing between this man and me.  You can find out.  My life is not hidden up.  They came and took me away like a thief.  Why did they come like that?  How could I know the man?  I am a travelling mountebank, who plays farces at fairs and markets.  I am the Laughing Man.  Plenty of people have been to see me.  We are staying in Tarrinzeau Field.  I have been earning an honest livelihood these fifteen years.  I am five-and-twenty.  I lodge at the Tadcaster Inn.  I am called Gwynplaine.  My lord, let me out.  You should not take advantage of the low estate of the unfortunate.  Have compassion on a man who has done no harm, who is without protection and without defence.  You have before you a poor mountebank.”

“I have before me,” said the sheriff, “Lord Fermain Clancharlie, Baron Clancharlie and Hunkerville, Marquis of Corleone in Sicily, and a peer of England.”

Rising, and offering his chair to Gwynplaine, the sheriff added,—­

“My lord, will your lordship deign to seat yourself?”

BOOK THE FIFTH.

THE SEA AND FATE ARE MOVED BY THE SAME BREATH.

CHAPTER I.

THE DURABILITY OF FRAGILE THINGS.

Destiny sometimes proffers us a glass of madness to drink.  A hand is thrust out of the mist, and suddenly hands us the mysterious cup in which is contained the latent intoxication.

Gwynplaine did not understand.

He looked behind him to see who it was who had been addressed.

A sound may be too sharp to be perceptible to the ear; an emotion too acute conveys no meaning to the mind.  There is a limit to comprehension as well as to hearing.

The wapentake and the justice of the quorum approached Gwynplaine and took him by the arms.  He felt himself placed in the chair which the sheriff had just vacated.  He let it be done, without seeking an explanation.

When Gwynplaine was seated, the justice of the quorum and the wapentake retired a few steps, and stood upright and motionless, behind the seat.

Then the sheriff placed his bunch of roses on the stone table, put on spectacles which the secretary gave him, drew from the bundles of papers which covered the table a sheet of parchment, yellow, green, torn, and jagged in places, which seemed to have been folded in very small folds, and of which one side was covered with writing; standing under the light of the lamp, he held the sheet close to his eyes, and in his most solemn tone read as follows:—­