seat of the carriage, a black portfolio stamped with the royal crown.  At Brentford, the last relay before London, the carriages and escort halted.  A four-horse carriage of tortoise-shell, with two postilions, a coachman in a wig, and four footmen, was in waiting.  The wheels, steps, springs, pole, and all the fittings of this carriage were gilt.  The horses’ harness was of silver.  This state coach was of an ancient and extraordinary shape, and would have been distinguished by its grandeur among the fifty-one celebrated carriages of which Roubo has left us drawings.

The Usher of the Black Rod and his officer alighted.  The latter, having lifted the cushion, on which rested the royal portfolio, from the seat in the postchaise, carried it on outstretched hands, and stood behind the Usher.  He first opened the door of the empty carriage, then the door of that occupied by Gwynplaine, and, with downcast eyes, respectfully invited him to descend.  Gwynplaine left the chaise, and took his seat in the carriage.  The Usher carrying the rod, and the officer supporting the cushion, followed, and took their places on the low front seat provided for pages in old state coaches.  The inside of the carriage was lined with white satin trimmed with Binche silk, with tufts and tassels of silver.  The roof was painted with armorial bearings.  The postilions of the chaises they were leaving were dressed in the royal livery.  The attendants of the carriage they now entered wore a different but very magnificent livery.

Gwynplaine, in spite of his bewildered state, in which he felt quite overcome, remarked the gorgeously-attired footmen, and asked the Usher of the Black Rod,—­

“Whose livery is that?”

He answered,—­

“Yours, my lord.”

The House of Lords was to sit that evening. Curia erat serena, run the old records.  In England parliamentary work is by preference undertaken at night.  It once happened that Sheridan began a speech at midnight and finished it at sunrise.

The two postchaises returned to Windsor.  Gwynplaine’s carriage set out for London.  This ornamented four-horse carriage proceeded at a walk from Brentford to London, as befitted the dignity of the coachman.  Gwynplaine’s servitude to ceremony was beginning in the shape of his solemn-looking coachman.  The delay was, moreover, apparently prearranged; and we shall see presently its probable motive.

Night was falling, though it was not quite dark, when the carriage stopped at the King’s Gate, a large sunken door between two turrets connecting Whitehall with Westminster.  The escort of gentlemen pensioners formed a circle around the carriage.  A footman jumped down from behind it and opened the door.  The Usher of the Black Rod, followed by the officer carrying the cushion, got out of the carriage, and addressed Gwynplaine.

“My lord, be pleased to alight.  I beg your lordship to keep your hat on.”