At length Dea re-entered the women’s apartment with Fibi and Vinos.  Ursus chained up Homo under the Green Box; Gwynplaine looked after the horses, the lover becoming a groom, like a hero of Homer’s or a paladin of Charlemagne’s.  At midnight, all were asleep, except the wolf, who, alive to his responsibility, now and then opened an eye.  The next morning they met again.  They breakfasted together, generally on ham and tea.  Tea was introduced into England in 1678.  Then Dea, after the Spanish fashion, took a siesta, acting on the advice of Ursus, who considered her delicate, and slept some hours, while Gwynplaine and Ursus did all the little jobs of work, without and within, which their wandering life made necessary.  Gwynplaine rarely wandered away from the Green Box, except on unfrequented roads and in solitary places.  In cities he went out only at night, disguised in a large, slouched hat, so as not to exhibit his face in the street.

His face was to be seen uncovered only on the stage.

The Green Box had frequented cities but little.  Gwynplaine at twenty-four had never seen towns larger than the Cinque Ports.  His renown, however, was increasing.  It began to rise above the populace, and to percolate through higher ground.  Amongst those who were fond of, and ran after, strange foreign curiosities and prodigies, it was known that there was somewhere in existence, leading a wandering life, now here, now there, an extraordinary monster.  They talked about him, they sought him, they asked where he was.  The laughing man was becoming decidedly famous.  A certain lustre was reflected on “Chaos Vanquished.”

So much so, that, one day, Ursus, being ambitious, said,—­

“We must go to London.”

BOOK THE THIRD.

THE BEGINNING OF THE FISSURE.

CHAPTER I.

THE TADCASTER INN.

At that period London had but one bridge—­London Bridge, with houses built upon it.  This bridge united London to Southwark, a suburb which was paved with flint pebbles taken from the Thames, divided into small streets and alleys, like the City, with a great number of buildings, houses, dwellings, and wooden huts jammed together, a pell-mell mixture of combustible matter, amidst which fire might take its pleasure, as 1666 had proved.  Southwark was then pronounced Soudric, it is now pronounced Sousouorc, or near it; indeed, an excellent way of pronouncing English names is not to pronounce them.  Thus, for Southampton, say Stpntn.

It was the time when “Chatham” was pronounced je t’aime.

The Southwark of those days resembles the Southwark of to-day about as much as Vaugirard resembles Marseilles.  It was a village—­it is a city.  Nevertheless, a considerable trade was carried on there.  The long old Cyclopean wall by the Thames was studded with rings, to which were anchored the river barges.