or him.
This aided his repentance.

CHAPTER VIII.

NOT ONLY HAPPINESS, BUT PROSPERITY.

What true things are told in stories! The burnt scar of the invisible
fiend who has touched you is remorse for a wicked thought. In Gwynplaine
evil thoughts never ripened, and he had therefore no remorse. Sometimes
he felt regret.

Vague mists of conscience.

What was this?

Nothing.

Their happiness was complete--so complete that they were no longer even
poor.

From 1680 to 1704 a great change had taken place.

It happened sometimes, in the year 1704, that as night fell on some
little village on the coast, a great, heavy van, drawn by a pair of
stout horses, made its entry. It was like the shell of a vessel
reversed--the keel for a roof, the deck for a floor, placed on four
wheels. The wheels were all of the same size, and high as wagon wheels.
Wheels, pole, and van were all painted green, with a rhythmical
gradation of shades, which ranged from bottle green for the wheels to
apple green for the roofing. This green colour had succeeded in drawing
attention to the carriage, which was known in all the fair grounds as
The Green Box. The Green Box had but two windows, one at each extremity,
and at the back a door with steps to let down. On the roof, from a tube
painted green like the rest, smoke arose. This moving house was always
varnished and washed afresh. In front, on a ledge fastened to the van,
with the window for a door, behind the horses and by the side of an old
man who held the reins and directed the team, two gipsy women, dressed
as goddesses, sounded their trumpets. The astonishment with which the
villagers regarded this machine was overwhelming.

This was the old establishment of Ursus, its proportions augmented by
success, and improved from a wretched booth into a theatre. A kind of
animal, between dog and wolf, was chained under the van. This was Homo.
The old coachman who drove the horses was the philosopher himself.

Whence came this improvement from the miserable hut to the Olympic
caravan?

From this--Gwynplaine had become famous.

It was with a correct scent of what would succeed amongst men that Ursus
had said to Gwynplaine,--

"They made your fortune."

Ursus, it may be remembered, had made Gwynplaine his pupil. Unknown
people had worked upon his face; he, on the other hand, had worked on
his mind, and behind this well-executed mask he had placed all that he
could of thought. So soon a