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A man came out from behind the pillars. As no one had entered the cell
since the sheet of iron had given passage to the cortège of police, it
was clear that this man had been there in the shadow before Gwynplaine
had entered, that he had a regular right of attendance, and had been
present by appointment and mission. The man was fat and pursy, and wore
a court wig and a travelling cloak.
He was rather old than young, and very precise.
He saluted Gwynplaine with ease and respect--with the ease of a
gentleman-in-waiting, and without the awkwardness of a judge.
"Yes," he said; "I have come to awaken you. For twenty-five years you
have slept. You have been dreaming. It is time to awake. You believe
yourself to be Gwynplaine; you are Clancharlie. You believe yourself to
be one of the people; you belong to the peerage. You believe yourself to
be of the lowest rank; you are of the highest. You believe yourself a
player; you are a senator. You believe yourself poor; you are wealthy.
You believe yourself to be of no account; you are important. Awake, my
lord!"
Gwynplaine, in a low voice, in which a tremor of fear was to be
distinguished, murmured,--
"What does it all mean?"
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