charlie; David Dirry-Moir was nobody. Peerage,
riches, power, rank--all these things left Lord David and entered
Gwynplaine. All the castles, parks, forests, town houses, palaces,
domains, Josiana included, belonged to Gwynplaine. And what a climax for
Josiana! What had she now before her? Illustrious and haughty, a player;
beautiful, a monster. Who could have hoped for this? The truth was that
the joy of Barkilphedro had become enthusiastic. The most hateful
combinations are surpassed by the infernal munificence of the
unforeseen. When reality likes, it works masterpieces. Barkilphedro
found that all his dreams had been nonsense; reality were better.

The change he was about to work would not have seemed less desirable had
it been detrimental to him. Insects exist which are so savagely
disinterested that they sting, knowing that to sting is to die.
Barkilphedro was like such vermin.

But this time he had not the merit of being disinterested. Lord David
Dirry-Moir owed him nothing, and Lord Fermain Clancharlie was about to
owe him everything. From being a _protege_ Barkilphedro was about to
become a protector. Protector of whom? Of a peer of England. He was
going to have a lord of his own, and a lord who would be his creature.
Barkilphedro counted on giving him his first impressions. His peer would
be the morganatic brother-in-law of the queen. His ugliness would please
the queen in the same proportion as it displeased Josiana. Advancing by
such favour, and assuming grave and modest airs, Barkilphedro might
become a somebody. He had always been destined for the church. He had a
vague longing to be a bishop.

Meanwhile he was happy.

Oh, what a great success! and what a deal of useful work had chance
accomplished for him! His vengeance--for he called it his vengeance--had
been softly brought to him by the waves. He had not lain in ambush in
vain.

He was the rock, Josiana was the waif. Josiana was about to be dashed
against Barkilphedro, to his intense villainous ecstasy.

He was clever in the art of suggestion, which consists in making in the
minds of others a little incision into which you put an idea of your
own. Holding himself aloof, and without appearing to mix himself up in
the matter, it was he who arranged that Josiana should go to the Green
Box and see Gwynplaine. It could do no harm. The appearance of the
mountebank, in his low estate, would be a good ingredient in the
combination; later on it would sea