those stones; alone in this cell, deserted, forgotten, annihilated; left as food for the rats and weasels, gnawed by creatures of darkness while the world outside comes and goes, buys and sells, and while carriages roll along in the streets above your head,—unless you would continue to draw painful breath without remission in the depths of despair, grinding your teeth, weeping, blaspheming, without a doctor to appease the anguish of your wounds, without a priest to offer a divine draught of water to your soul. Oh, if only that you may not feel the frightful froth of the sepulchre ooze slowly from your lips, I adjure and conjure you to hear me! Have compassion on yourself; do what is asked of you. Submit to the demands of justice. Open your eyes, and see if you recognize this man."
The prisoner neither turned his head nor lifted his eyelids. The sheriff cast a glance first at the justice of the quorum and then at the wapentake. The justice of the quorum, removing Gwynplaine's hat and mantle, put his hands on his shoulders and placed him in the light beside the chained man. The face of Gwynplaine stood out in bold relief from the surrounding shadow. At the same time the wapentake bent down, took the man's temples between his hands, turned the inert head towards Gwynplaine, and with his thumbs and his first fingers lifted the closed eyelids.
The prisoner saw Gwynplaine. Then, raising his head voluntarily, and opening his eyes wide, he looked at him. He quivered as much as a man can quiver with a mountain on his breast, and then cried out,—
"'Tis he! Yes, 'tis he!" and he burst into a horrible laugh. "'T is he!" he repeated. Then his head fell back on the ground, and he closed his eyes again.
"Registrar, take that down," said the justice.
Gwynplaine, though terrified, had up to that moment
