felons, ruffians, and blackguards,—these last soldiers condemned for some breach of discipline to wear their red coats, which were lined with black, inside out, hence the name of blackguard, which the French turn into blagueurs. All these flowed from the street into the theatre, and poured back from the theatre into the tap-room. The emptying of tankards did not decrease the company's success.
Amid what it is customary to call the scum, there was one taller than the rest, bigger, stronger, less poverty-stricken, broader in the shoulders; dressed like the common people, but not ragged; admiring and applauding everything to the skies, clearing his way with his fists, wearing a disordered periwig, swearing, shouting, joking, never dirty, and, if need be, ready to blacken an eye or pay for a bottle. This frequenter was the passer-by whose enthusiastic remark has already been recorded.
This connoisseur seemed to have taken an immense fancy to the Laughing Man. He did not attend every performance, but when he came he led the public; applause grew into acclamation; success soared not to the roof, for there was none, but to the clouds, for there were plenty of them,—which clouds (seeing that there was no roof) sometimes wept over the masterpiece of Ursus. His enthusiasm caused Ursus to notice this man, and Gwynplaine too observed him. They had a great friend in this unknown visitor. Ursus and Gwynplaine wanted to know him,—or at least to know who he was.
One evening Ursus, being in the side scene, which was the kitchen-door of the Green Box, and seeing Master Nicless standing by him, pointed this man out to the tavern-keeper and asked,—
"Do you know that man?"
