tavern-keeper, who was puzzled as well, questioned Ursus one day.

"Do you observe that Tom-Jim-Jack never comes here now!"

"Indeed!" said Ursus. "I have not remarked it."

Master Nicless made an observation in an undertone, no doubt touching
the intimacy between the ducal carriage and Tom-Jim-Jack--a remark
which, as it might have been irreverent and dangerous, Ursus took care
not to hear.

Still Ursus was too much of an artist not to regret Tom-Jim-Jack. He
felt some disappointment. He told his feeling to Homo, of whose
discretion alone he felt certain. He whispered into the ear of the wolf,
"Since Tom-Jim-Jack ceased to come, I feel a blank as a man, and a chill
as a poet." This pouring out of his heart to a friend relieved Ursus.

His lips were sealed before Gwynplaine, who, however, made no allusion
to Tom-Jim-Jack. The fact was that Tom-Jim-Jack's presence or absence
mattered not to Gwynplaine, absorbed as he was in Dea.

Forgetfulness fell more and more on Gwynplaine. As for Dea, she had not
even suspected the existence of a vague trouble. At the same time, no
more cabals or complaints against the Laughing Man were spoken of. Hate
seemed to have let go its hold. All was tranquil in and around the Green
Box. No more opposition from strollers, merry-andrews, nor priests; no
more grumbling outside. Their success was unclouded. Destiny allows of
such sudden serenity. The brilliant happiness of Gwynplaine and Dea was
for the present absolutely cloudless. Little by little it had risen to a
degree which admitted of no increase. There is one word which expresses
the situation--apogee. Happiness, like the sea, has its high tide. The
worst thing for the perfectly happy is that it recedes.

There are two ways of being inaccessible: being too high and being too
low. At least as much, perhaps, as the first is the second to be
desired. More surely than the eagle escapes the arrow, the animalcule
escapes being crushed. This security of insignificance, if it had ever
existed on earth, was enjoyed by Gwynplaine and Dea, and never before
had it been so complete. They lived on, daily more and more ecstatically
wrapt in each other. The heart saturates itself with love as with a
divine salt that preserves it, and from this arises the incorruptible
constancy of those who have loved each other from the dawn of their
lives, and the affection which keeps its freshness in old age. There is
such a thing as the embalmment of the hea