Ursus had kept
the two children with him; the blind girl he called Dea. The boy said he
had always been called Gwynplaine. Of course the two were in love.

Gwynplaine adored Dea, and Dea idolised Gwynplaine.

"You are beautiful," she would say to him. The crowd only saw his face;
for Dea, Gwynplaine was the person who had saved her from the tomb, and
who was always kind and good-tempered. "The blind see the invisible,"
said Ursus.

The old caravan had given way to a great van--called the Green
Box--drawn by a pair of stout horses. Gwynplaine had become famous. In
every fair-ground the crowd ran after him.

In 1705 the Green Box arrived in London and was established at
Southwark, in the yard of the Tadcaster Inn. A placard was hung up with
the following inscription, composed by Ursus:

"Here can be seen Gwynplaine, deserted, when he was ten years old, on
January 29, 1690, on the coast of Portland, by the rascally
Comprachicos. The boy now grown up is known as 'The Man who Laughs.'"

All Southwark came to see Gwynplaine, and soon people heard of him on
the other side of London Bridge, and crowds came from the City to the
Tadcaster Inn. It was not long before the fashionable world itself was
drawn to the Laughing Man.

One morning a constable and an officer of the High Court summoned
Gwynplaine to Southwark Gaol. Ursus watched him disappear behind the
heavy door with a heavy heart.

Gwynplaine was taken down flights of stairs and dark passages till he
reached the torture-chamber. A man's body lay on the ground on its back.
Its four limbs, drawn to four columns by chains, were in the position of
a St. Andrew's Cross. A plate of iron, with five or six large stones,
was placed on the victim's chest. On a seat close by sat an old man--the
sheriff of the county of Surrey.

"Come closer," said the sheriff to Gwynplaine. Then he addressed the
wretched man on the floor, who for four days, in spite of torture, had
kept silence.

"Speak, unhappy man. Have pity on yourself. Do what is required of you.
Open your eyes, and see if you know this man."

The prisoner saw Gwynplaine. Raising his head he looked at him, and then
cried out, "That's him! Yes--that's him!"

"Registrar, take down that statement," said the sheriff.

The cry of the prisoner overwhelmed Gwynplaine. He was terrified by a
confession that was unintelligible to him, and began in his distress to
stammer and protest his innocence. "Have pity on me, my lor