“So,” said the old man, who could see nothing but his hair, “he has already adopted the new fashion.  He does not wear a wig.”

Grantham accosted Colepepper.

“Some one is finely sold.”

“Who is that?”

“David Dirry-Moir.”

“How is that?”

“He is no longer a peer.”

“How can that be?”

And Henry Auverquerque, Earl of Grantham, told John Baron Colepepper the whole anecdote—­how the waif-flask had been carried to the Admiralty, about the parchment of the Comprachicos, the jussu regis, countersigned Jeffreys, and the confrontation in the torture-cell at Southwark, the proof of all the facts acknowledged by the Lord Chancellor and by the Queen; the taking the test under the nave, and finally the admission of Lord Fermain Clancharlie at the commencement of the sitting.  Both the lords endeavoured to distinguish his face as he sat between Lord Fitzwalter and Lord Arundel, but with no better success than Lord Eure and Lord Annesley.

Gwynplaine, either by chance or by the arrangement of his sponsors, forewarned by the Lord Chancellor, was so placed in shadow as to escape their curiosity.

“Who is it?  Where is he?”

Such was the exclamation of all the new-comers, but no one succeeded in making him out distinctly.  Some, who had seen Gwynplaine in the Green Box, were exceedingly curious, but lost their labour:  as it sometimes happens that a young lady is entrenched within a troop of dowagers, Gwynplaine was, as it were, enveloped in several layers of lords, old, infirm, and indifferent.  Good livers, with the gout, are marvellously indifferent to stories about their neighbours.

There passed from hand to hand copies of a letter three lines in length, written, it was said, by the Duchess Josiana to the queen, her sister, in answer to the injunction made by her Majesty, that she should espouse the new peer, the lawful heir of the Clancharlies, Lord Fermain.  This letter was couched in the following terms:—­

“MADAM,—­The arrangement will suit me just as well.  I can have Lord David for my lover.—­(Signed) JOSIANA.”

This note, whether a true copy or a forgery, was received by all with the greatest enthusiasm.  A young lord, Charles Okehampton, Baron Mohun, who belonged to the wigless faction, read and re-read it with delight.  Lewis de Duras, Earl of Faversham, an Englishman with a Frenchman’s wit, looked at Mohun and smiled.

“That is a woman I should like to marry!” exclaimed Lord Mohun.

The lords around them overheard the following dialogue between Duras and Mohun:—­

“Marry the Duchess Josiana, Lord Mohun!”

“Why not?”

“Plague take it.”

“She would make one very happy.”

“She would make many very happy.”

“But is it not always a question of many?”

“Lord Mohun, you are right.  With regard to women, we have always the leavings of others.  Has any one ever had a beginning?”