BOOK IV.
THE CELL OF TORTURE.
CHAPTER I.
THE TEMPTATION OF SAINT GWYNPLAINE.
ONE jet of flame is scarcely visible in the darkness; another sets fire to a volcano. Some sparks are gigantic.
Gwynplaine read the letter, then he read it over again. Yes, the words were there, "I love you." Grim terrors chased each other through his mind. The first was, that he believed himself to be mad. He was mad; that was certain. He had just seen what had no existence. The twilight spectres were making game of him, poor wretch! The youth in scarlet was a will-o'-the-wisp. Sometimes at night, nothings condensed into flame come and laugh at us. Having had his laugh out, the visionary being had disappeared, and left Gwynplaine behind him, mad. Such are the freaks of darkness.
The second terror was, to find out that he was really in his right senses. A vision? Certainly not. How could that be? Had he not a letter in his hand? Did he not see an envelope, a seal, paper, and writing? Did he not know from whom it came? It was all plain enough. Some one took a pen and ink, and wrote. Some one lighted a taper, and sealed it with wax. Was
