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The laughter of kings is like the laughter of the gods. There is always
a cruel point in it. The lords set to play. Sneers gave sting to their
laughter. They clapped their hands around the speaker, and insulted him.
A volley of merry exclamations assailed him like bright but wounding
hailstones.
"Bravo, Gwynplaine!"--"Bravo, Laughing Man!"--"Bravo, Snout of the Green
Box!"--"Mask of Tarrinzeau Field!"--"You are going to give us a
performance."--"That's right; talk away!"--"There's a funny
fellow!"--"How the beast does laugh, to be sure!"--"Good-day,
pantaloon!"--"How d'ye do, my lord clown!"--"Go on with your
speech!"--"That fellow a peer of England?"--"Go on!"--"No, no!"--"Yes,
yes!"
The Lord Chancellor was much disturbed.
A deaf peer, James Butler, Duke of Ormond, placing his hand to his ear
like an ear trumpet, asked Charles Beauclerk, Duke of St. Albans,--
"
"
"
How has he voted?"
Non-content."
By heavens!" said Ormond, "I can understand it, with such a face as
his."
Do you think that you can ever recapture a crowd once it has escaped
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