Gwynplaine, though terrified, had, up to that moment, preserved a calm

exterior. The cry of the prisoner, "'Tis he!" overwhelmed him

completely. The words, "Registrar, take that down!" froze him. It seemed

to him that a scoundrel had dragged him to his fate without his being

able to guess why, and that the man's unintelligible confession was

closing round him like the clasp of an iron collar. He fancied himself

side by side with him in the posts of the same pillory. Gwynplaine lost

his footing in his terror, and protested. He began to stammer incoherent

words in the deep distress of an innocent man, and quivering, terrified,

lost, uttered the first random outcries that rose to his mind, and words

of agony like aimless projectiles.

"It is not true. It was not me. I do not know the man. He cannot know

me, since I do not know him. I have my part to play this evening. What

do you want of me? I demand my liberty. Nor is that all. Why have I been

brought into this dungeon? Are there laws no longer? You may as well say

at once that there are no laws. My Lord Judge, I repeat that it is not

I. I am innocent of all that can be said. I know I am. I wish to go

away. This is not justice. There is nothing between this man and me. You

can find out. My life is not hidden up. They came and took me away like

a thief. Why did they come like that? How could I know the man? I am a

travelling mountebank, who plays farces at fairs and markets. I am the

Laughing Man. Plenty of people have been to see me. We are staying in

Tarrinzeau Field. I have been earning an honest livelihood these fifteen

years. I am five-and-twenty. I lodge at the Tadcaster Inn. I am called

Gwynplaine. My lord, let me out. You should not take advantage of the

621

The Man Who Laughs