this frightful man, and as for David Dirry-Moir he could be made an
admiral. Anne consulted the Lord Chancellor privately, and he strongly
advised, without blaming James II., that Gwynplaine must be restored to
the peerage.

Gwynplaine, without having time to return to the Green Box, was carried
off by Barkilphedro to one of his country houses, near Windsor, and
bidden the next day take his seat in the House of Lords. He had entered
the terrible prison in Southwark expecting the iron collar of a felon,
and he had placed on his head the coronet of a peer. Barkilphedro had
told him that a man could not be made a peer without his own consent;
that Gwynplaine, the mountebank, must make room for Lord Clancharlie, if
the peerage was accepted; and he had made his decision.

On awakening the next morning he thought of Dea. Then came a royal
summons to appear in the House of Lords, and Gwynplaine returned to
London in a carriage provided by the queen. The secret of his face was
still unknown when he entered the House of Lords, for the Lord
Chancellor had not been informed of the nature of the deformation. The
investiture took place on the threshold of the House, then very ill-lit,
and two very old and half-blind noblemen acted as sponsors at the Lord
Chancellor's request. The whole ceremony was enacted in a sort of
twilight, for the Lord Chancellor was anxious to avoid any sensation.

In less than half an hour the sitting was full. Gossip was already at
work about the new Lord Clancharlie. Several peers had seen the Laughing
Man, and they now heard that he was already in the Upper House; but no
one noticed him until he rose to speak.

His face was terrible, and the whole House looked with horror upon him.

"What does all this mean?" cried the Earl of Wharton, an old and much
respected peer. "Who has brought this man into the House? Who are you?
Where do you come from?"

Gwynplaine answered, "I come from the depths. I am misery. My lords, I
have a message for you."

The House shuddered, but listened, and Gwynplaine continued.

"My lords, among you I am called Lord Fermain Clancharlie, but my real
name is one of poverty--Gwynplaine. I have grown up in poverty; frozen
by winter, and made wretched by hunger. Yesterday I was in the rags of a
clown. Can you realise what misery means? Before it is too late try and
understand that our system of society is a false one."

But the House rocked with uncontrollable laughter at the f