Gwynplaine, who had never had a glimpse of penal severities, save in the

exaggerations of Ursus, felt as though seized by a sort of vague

gigantic hand. To be caught in the mysterious toils of the law is

frightful. He who is brave in all other dangers is disconcerted in the

presence of justice. Why? Is it that the justice of man works in

twilight, and the judge gropes his way? Gwynplaine remembered what Ursus

had told him of the necessity for silence. He wished to see Dea again;

he felt some discretionary instinct, which urged him not to irritate.

Sometimes to wish to be enlightened is to make matters worse; on the

other hand, however, the weight of the adventure was so overwhelming

that he gave way at length, and could not restrain a question.

Gentlemen," said he, "whither are you taking me?"

They made no answer.

It was the law of silent capture, and the Norman text is formal: A

silentiariis ostio, præpositis introducti sunt.

This silence froze Gwynplaine. Up to that moment he had believed himself

to be firm: he was self-sufficing. To be self-sufficing is to be

powerful. He had lived isolated from the world, and imagined that being

alone he was unassailable; and now all at once he felt himself under the

pressure of a hideous collective force. How was he to combat that

horrible anonyma, the law? He felt faint under the perplexity; a fear of

an unknown character had found a fissure in his armour; besides, he had

not slept, he had not eaten, he had scarcely moistened his lips with a

598

The Man Who Laughs