ron chains, remained a whole day without consciousness when they
made him pope. Now the stride from a cardinal to a pope is less than
that from a mountebank to a peer of England.

No shock is so violent as a loss of equilibrium.

When Gwynplaine came to himself and opened his eyes it was night. He was
in an armchair, in the midst of a large chamber lined throughout with
purple velvet, over walls, ceiling, and floor. The carpet was velvet.
Standing near him, with uncovered head, was the fat man in the
travelling cloak, who had emerged from behind the pillar in the cell at
Southwark. Gwynplaine was alone in the chamber with him. From the chair,
by extending his arms, he could reach two tables, each bearing a branch
of six lighted wax candles. On one of these tables there were papers and
a casket, on the other refreshments; a cold fowl, wine, and brandy,
served on a silver-gilt salver.

Through the panes of a high window, reaching from the ceiling to the
floor, a semicircle of pillars was to be seen, in the clear April night,
encircling a courtyard with three gates, one very wide, and the other
two low. The carriage gate, of great size, was in the middle; on the
right, that for equestrians, smaller; on the left, that for foot
passengers, still less. These gates were formed of iron railings, with
glittering points. A tall piece of sculpture surmounted the central one.
The columns were probably in white marble, as well as the pavement of
the court, thus producing an effect like snow; and framed in its sheet
of flat flags was a mosaic, the pattern of which was vaguely marked in
the shadow. This mosaic, when seen by daylight, would no doubt have
disclosed to the sight, with much emblazonry and many colours, a
gigantic coat-of-arms, in the Florentine fashion. Zigzags of balustrades
rose and fell, indicating stairs of terraces. Over the court frowned an
immense pile of architecture, now shadowy and vague in the starlight.
Intervals of sky, full of stars, marked out clearly the outline of the
palace. An enormous roof could be seen, with the gable ends vaulted;
garret windows, roofed over like visors; chimneys like towers; and
entablatures covered with motionless gods and goddesses.

Beyond the colonnade there played in the shadow one of those fairy
fountains in which, as the water falls from basin to basin, it combines
the beauty of rain with that of the cascade, and as if scattering the
contents of a jewel box, flings to the