You see a woman in a great party in a splendid saloon, surrounded by faithful admirers, distributing sparkling glances, dressed to perfection, curled, rouged, smiling and happy--Discovery walks respectfully up to her, in the shape of a huge powdered man with large calves and a tray of ices--with Calumny (which is as fatal as truth) behind him, in the shape of the hulking fellow carrying the wafer-biscuits. Madam, your secret will be talked over by those men at their club at the public-house to-night. Jeames will tell Chawles his notions about you over their pipes and pewter beer-pots. Some people ought to have mutes for servants in Vanity Fair--mutes who could not write. If you are guilty, tremble. That fellow behind your chair may be a Janissary with a bow-string in his plush breeches pocket. If you are not guilty, have a care of appearances, which are as ruinous as guilt.
"Was Rebecca guilty or not?" the Vehmgericht of the servants' hall had pronounced against her.

Some people ought to have mutes for servants in Vanity Fair. If you are guilty, tremble. If you are not guilty, beware of appearances, which are as ruinous as guilt.
Whether Rebecca was guilty or not, the tribunal of the servants' hall had pronounced against her. 