In all these things Madame Melmotte put herself into Fisker's hands with the most absolute confidence,--and, indeed, with a confidence that was justified by its results. It was not by robbing an old woman that Fisker intended to make himself great. To Madame Melmotte's thinking, Fisker was the finest gentleman she had ever met,--so infinitely pleasanter in his manner than Lord Alfred even when Lord Alfred had been most gracious, with so much more to say for himself than Miles Grendall, understanding her so much better than any man had ever done,--especially when he supplied her with those small warm beakers of sweet brandy-and-water. "I shall do whatever he tells me," she said to Marie. "I'm sure I've nothing to keep me here in this country."
"I'm willing to go," said Marie. "I don't want to stay in London."
"I suppose you'll take him if he asks you?"

In fact Madame Melmotte put herself into Fisker's hands with absolute confidence; and her confidence was justified. It was not by robbing an old woman that Fisker intended to make himself great. Madame Melmotte thought he was the finest gentleman she had ever met.
"I shall do whatever he tells me," she said to Marie. "I'm sure I've nothing to keep me in this country."
"I'm willing to go," said Marie. "I don't want to stay in London."
"I suppose you'll marry him if he asks you?"
