new facts and ideas. What could he
not tell them? What subjects he had accumulated! What an advantage to be
in the midst of them, a man who had seen, touched, undergone, and
suffered; who could cry aloud to them, "I have been near to everything,
from which you are so far removed." He would hurl reality in the face of
those patricians, crammed with illusions. They should tremble, for it
would be the truth. They would applaud, for it would be grand. He would
arise amongst those powerful men, more powerful than they. "I shall
appear as a torch-bearer, to show them truth; and as a sword-bearer, to
show them justice!" What a triumph!

And, building up these fantasies in his mind, clear and confused at the
same time, he had attacks of delirium,--sinking on the first seat he
came to; sometimes drowsy, sometimes starting up. He came and went,
looked at the ceiling, examined the coronets, studied vaguely the
hieroglyphics of the emblazonment, felt the velvet of the walls, moved
the chairs, turned over the parchments, read the names, spelt out the
titles, Buxton, Homble, Grundraith, Hunkerville, Clancharlie; compared
the wax, the impression, felt the twist of silk appended to the royal
privy seal, approached the window, listened to the splash of the
fountain, contemplated the statues, counted, with the patience of a
somnambulist, the columns of marble, and said,--

"It is real."

Then he touched his satin clothes, and asked himself,--

"Is it I? Yes."

He was torn by an inward tempest.

In this whirlwind, did he feel faintness and fatigue? Did he drink, eat,
sleep? If he did so, he was unconscious of the fact. In certain violent
situations instinct satisfies itself, according to its requirements,
unconsciously. Besides, his thoughts were less thoughts than mists. At
the moment that the black flame of an irruption disgorges itself from
depths full of boiling lava, has the crater any consciousness of the
flocks which crop the grass at the foot of the mountain?

The hours passed.

The dawn appeared and brought the day. A bright ray penetrated the
chamber, and at the same instant broke on the soul of Gwynplaine.

And Dea! said the light.

BOOK THE SIXTH.

_URSUS UNDER DIFFERENT ASPECTS._

CHAPTER I.

WHAT THE MISANTHROPE SAID.

After Ursus had seen Gwynplaine thrust within the gates of Southwark
Jail, he remained, haggard, in the corner from which he was watching.
For a long time his ears were haunted