The peers flowed in.  The series of great names marched past with scant ceremonial, the public not being present.  Leicester entered, and shook Lichfield’s hand; then came Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough and Monmouth, the friend of Locke, under whose advice he had proposed the recoinage of money; then Charles Campbell, Earl of Loudoun, listening to Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke; then Dorme, Earl of Carnarvon; then Robert Sutton, Baron Lexington, son of that Lexington who recommended Charles II. to banish Gregorio Leti, the historiographer, who was so ill-advised as to try to become a historian; then Thomas Bellasys, Viscount Falconberg, a handsome old man; and the three cousins, Howard, Earl of Bindon, Bowes Howard, Earl of Berkshire, and Stafford Howard, Earl of Stafford—­all together; then John Lovelace, Baron Lovelace, which peerage became extinct in 1736, so that Richardson was enabled to introduce Lovelace in his book, and to create a type under the name.  All these personages—­celebrated each in his own way, either in politics or in war, and of whom many were an honour to England—­were laughing and talking.

It was history, as it were, seen in undress.

In less than half an hour the House was nearly full.  This was to be expected, as the sitting was a royal one.  What was more unusual was the eagerness of the conversations.  The House, so sleepy not long before, now hummed like a hive of bees.

The arrival of the peers who had come in late had wakened them up.  These lords had brought news.  It was strange that the peers who had been there at the opening of the sitting knew nothing of what had occurred, while those who had not been there knew all about it.  Several lords had come from Windsor.

For some hours past the adventures of Gwynplaine had been the subject of conversation.  A secret is a net; let one mesh drop, and the whole goes to pieces.  In the morning, in consequence of the incidents related above, the whole story of a peer found on the stage, and of a mountebank become a lord, had burst forth at Windsor in Royal places.  The princes had talked about it, and then the lackeys.  From the Court the news soon reached the town.  Events have a weight, and the mathematical rule of velocity, increasing in proportion to the squares of the distance, applies to them.  They fall upon the public, and work themselves through it with the most astounding rapidity.  At seven o’clock no one in London had caught wind of the story; by eight Gwynplaine was the talk of the town.  Only the lords who had been so punctual that they were present before the assembling of the House were ignorant of the circumstances, not having been in the town when the matter was talked of by every one, and having been in the House, where nothing had been perceived.  Seated quietly on their benches, they were addressed by the eager newcomers.

“Well!” said Francis Brown, Viscount Montacute, to the Marquis of Dorchester.