slow steps. The day was declining, for his guard had been long. From

time to time he turned his head and looked at the fearful wicket through

which Gwynplaine had disappeared. His eyes were glassy and dull. He

reached the end of the alley, entered another, then another, retracing

almost unconsciously the road which he had taken some hours before. At

intervals he turned, as if he could still see the door of the prison,

though he was no longer in the street in which the jail was situated.

Step by step he was approaching Tarrinzeau Field. The lanes in the

neighbourhood of the fair-ground were deserted pathways between enclosed

gardens. He walked along, his head bent down, by the hedges and ditches.

All at once he halted, and drawing himself up, exclaimed, "So much the

better!"

At the same time he struck his fist twice on his head and twice on his

thigh, thus proving himself to be a sensible fellow, who saw things in

their right light; and then he began to growl inwardly, yet now and then

raising his voice.

"It is all right! Oh, the scoundrel! the thief! the vagabond! the

worthless fellow! the seditious scamp! It is his speeches about the

government that have sent him there. He is a rebel. I was harbouring a

rebel. I am free of him, and lucky for me; he was compromising us.

Thrust into prison! Oh, so much the better! What excellent laws!

Ungrateful boy! I who brought him up! To give oneself so much trouble

for this! Why should he want to speak and to reason? He mixed himself up

in politics. The ass! As he handled pennies he babbled about the taxes,

about the poor, about the people, about what was no business of his. He

680

The Man Who Laughs