“What?”

“Is it possible?”

“What?”

“The Laughing Man!”

“Who is the Laughing Man?”

“Don’t you know the Laughing Man?”

“No.”

“He is a clown, a fellow performing at fairs.  He has an extraordinary face, which people gave a penny to look at.  A mountebank.”

“Well, what then?”

“You have just installed him as a peer of England.”

“You are the laughing man, my Lord Montacute!”

“I am not laughing, my Lord Dorchester.”

Lord Montacute made a sign to the Clerk of the Parliament, who rose from his woolsack, and confirmed to their lordships the fact of the admission of the new peer.  Besides, he detailed the circumstances.

“How wonderful!” said Lord Dorchester.  “I was talking to the Bishop of Ely all the while.”

The young Earl of Annesley addressed old Lord Eure, who had but two years more to live, as he died in 1707.

“My Lord Eure.”

“My Lord Annesley.”

“Did you know Lord Linnaeus Clancharlie?”

“A man of bygone days.  Yes I did.”

“He died in Switzerland?”

“Yes; we were relations.”

“He was a republican under Cromwell, and remained a republican under Charles II.?”

“A republican?  Not at all!  He was sulking.  He had a personal quarrel with the king.  I know from good authority that Lord Clancharlie would have returned to his allegiance, if they had given him the office of Chancellor, which Lord Hyde held.”

“You astonish me, Lord Eure.  I had heard that Lord Clancharlie was an honest politician.”

“An honest politician! does such a thing exist?  Young man, there is no such thing.”

“And Cato?”

“Oh, you believe in Cato, do you?”

“And Aristides?”

“They did well to exile him.”

“And Thomas More?”

“They did well to cut off his head.”

“And in your opinion Lord Clancharlie was a man as you describe.  As for a man remaining in exile, why, it is simply ridiculous.”

“He died there.”

“An ambitious man disappointed?”

“You ask if I knew him?  I should think so indeed.  I was his dearest friend.”

“Do you know, Lord Eure, that he married when in Switzerland?”

“I am pretty sure of it.”

“And that he had a lawful heir by that marriage?”

“Yes; who is dead.”

“Who is living.”

“Living?”

“Living.”

“Impossible!”

“It is a fact—­proved, authenticated, confirmed, registered.”

“Then that son will inherit the Clancharlie peerage?”

“He is not going to inherit it.”

“Why?”

“Because he has inherited it.  It is done.”

“Done?”

“Turn your head, Lord Eure; he is sitting behind you, on the barons’ benches.”

Lord Eure turned, but Gwynplaine’s face was concealed under his forest of hair.