The justice of the quorum interrupted his speech to salute Barkilphedro, who returned the bow.

“The honourable gentleman who deigns to be present has just arrived from Windsor.  He brings orders.  Her Majesty has said, ’It must be swept away.’”

Ursus, during his long meditation all night, had not failed to put himself some questions.  After all, he had only seen a bier.  Could he be sure that it contained Gwynplaine?  Other people might have died besides Gwynplaine.  A coffin does not announce the name of the corpse, as it passes by.  A funeral had followed the arrest of Gwynplaine.  That proved nothing. Post hoc, non propter hoc, etc.  Ursus had begun to doubt.

Hope burns and glimmers over misery like naphtha over water.  Its hovering flame ever floats over human sorrow.  Ursus had come to this conclusion, “It is probable that it was Gwynplaine whom they buried, but it is not certain.  Who knows?  Perhaps Gwynplaine is still alive.”

Ursus bowed to the justice.

“Honourable judge, I will go away, we will go away, all will go away, by the Vograat of Rotterdam, to-day.  I will sell the Green Box, the horses, the trumpets, the gipsies.  But I have a comrade, whom I cannot leave behind—­Gwynplaine.”

“Gwynplaine is dead,” said a voice.

Ursus felt a cold sensation, such as is produced by a reptile crawling over the skin.  It was Barkilphedro who had just spoken.

The last gleam was extinguished.  No more doubt now.  Gwynplaine was dead.  A person in authority must know.  This one looked ill-favoured enough to do so.

Ursus bowed to him.

Master Nicless was a good-hearted man enough, but a dreadful coward.  Once terrified, he became a brute.  The greatest cruelty is that inspired by fear.

He growled out,—­

“This simplifies matters.”

And he indulged, standing behind Ursus, in rubbing his hands, a peculiarity of the selfish, signifying, “I am well out of it,” and suggestive of Pontius Pilate washing his hands.

Ursus, overwhelmed, bent down his head.

The sentence on Gwynplaine had been executed—­death.  His sentence was pronounced—­exile.  Nothing remained but to obey.  He felt as in a dream.

Some one touched his arm.  It was the other person, who was with the justice of the quorum.  Ursus shuddered.

The voice which had said, “Gwynplaine is dead,” whispered in his ear,—­

“Here are ten guineas, sent you by one who wishes you well.”

And Barkilphedro placed a little purse on a table before Ursus.  We must not forget the casket that Barkilphedro had taken with him.

Ten guineas out of two thousand!  It was all that Barkilphedro could make up his mind to part with.  In all conscience it was enough.  If he had given more, he would have lost.  He had taken the trouble of finding out a lord; and having sunk the shaft, it was but fair that the first proceeds of the mine should belong to him.  Those who see meanness in the act are right, but they would be wrong to feel astonished.  Barkilphedro loved money, especially money which was stolen.  An envious man is an avaricious one.  Barkilphedro was not without his faults.  The commission of crimes does not preclude the possession of vices.  Tigers have their lice.