e corner. On this mattress some one was probably lying,
for he could see a shadow move.

Some one was speaking. Concealed by the van, Gwynplaine listened. It was
Ursus's voice. That voice, so harsh in its upper, so tender in its
lower, pitch; that voice, which had so often upbraided Gwynplaine, and
which had taught him so well, had lost the life and clearness of its
tone. It was vague and low, and melted into a sigh at the end of every
sentence. It bore but a confused resemblance to his natural and firm
voice of old. It was the voice of one in whom happiness is dead. A voice
may become a ghost.

He seemed to be engaged in monologue rather than in conversation. We are
already aware, however, that soliloquy was a habit with him. It was for
that reason that he passed for a madman.

Gwynplaine held his breath, so as not to lose a word of what Ursus
said, and this was what he heard.

"This is a very dangerous kind of craft, because there are no bulwarks
to it. If we were to slip, there is nothing to prevent our going
overboard. If we have bad weather, we shall have to take her below, and
that will be dreadful. An awkward step, a fright, and we shall have a
rupture of the aneurism. I have seen instances of it. O my God! what is
to become of us? Is she asleep? Yes. She is asleep. Is she in a swoon?
No. Her pulse is pretty strong. She is only asleep. Sleep is a reprieve.
It is the happy blindness. What can I do to prevent people walking about
here? Gentlemen, if there be anybody on deck, I beg of you to make no
noise. Do not come near us, if you do not mind. You know a person in
delicate health requires a little attention. She is feverish, you see.
She is very young. 'Tis a little creature who is rather feverish. I put
this mattress down here so that she may have a little air. I explain all
this so that you should be careful. She fell down exhausted on the
mattress as if she had fainted. But she is asleep. I do hope that no one
will awake her. I address myself to the ladies, if there are any
present. A young girl, it is pitiful! We are only poor mountebanks, but
I beg a little kindness, and if there is anything to pay for not making
a noise, I will pay it. I thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Is there any
one there? No? I don't think there is. My talk is mere loss of breath.
So much the better. Gentlemen, I thank you, if you are there; and I
thank you still more if you are not. Her forehead is all in
perspiration. Come, let u