s the growth of the child had rendered him
fitted for it, he had brought him out on the stage--that is, he had
produced him in front of the van.

The effect of his appearance had been surprising. The passers-by were
immediately struck with wonder. Never had anything been seen to be
compared to this extraordinary mimic of laughter. They were ignorant how
the miracle of infectious hilarity had been obtained. Some believed it
to be natural, others declared it to be artificial, and as conjecture
was added to reality, everywhere, at every cross-road on the journey, in
all the grounds of fairs and fetes, the crowd ran after Gwynplaine.
Thanks to this great attraction, there had come into the poor purse of
the wandering group, first a rain of farthings, then of heavy pennies,
and finally of shillings. The curiosity of one place exhausted, they
passed on to another. Rolling does not enrich a stone but it enriches a
caravan; and year by year, from city to city, with the increased growth
of Gwynplaine's person and of his ugliness, the fortune predicted by
Ursus had come.

"What a good turn they did you there, my boy!" said Ursus.

This "fortune" had allowed Ursus, who was the administrator of
Gwynplaine's success, to have the chariot of his dreams
constructed--that is to say, a caravan large enough to carry a theatre,
and to sow science and art in the highways. Moreover, Ursus had been
able to add to the group composed of himself, Homo, Gwynplaine, and Dea,
two horses and two women, who were the goddesses of the troupe, as we
have just said, and its servants. A mythological frontispiece was, in
those days, of service to a caravan of mountebanks.

"We are a wandering temple," said Ursus.

These two gipsies, picked up by the philosopher from amongst the
vagabondage of cities and suburbs, were ugly and young, and were called,
by order of Ursus, the one Phoebe, and the other Venus.

For these read Fibi and Vinos, that we may conform to English
pronunciation.

Phoebe cooked; Venus scrubbed the temple.

Moreover, on days of performance they dressed Dea.

Mountebanks have their public life as well as princes, and on these
occasions Dea was arrayed, like Fibi and Vinos, in a Florentine
petticoat of flowered stuff, and a woman's jacket without sleeves,
leaving the arms bare. Ursus and Gwynplaine wore men's jackets, and,
like sailors on board a man-of-war, great loose trousers. Gwynplaine
had, besides, for his work and for his f