Mr. Alf was a clever man, ready at all points, with all his powers immediately at command, and, no doubt, he did make a good speech.


But in this speech, in which we may presume that it would be his intention to convince the electors that they ought to return him to Parliament, because, of the two candidates, he was the fittest to represent their views, he did not say a word as to his own political ideas, not, indeed, a word that could be accepted as manifesting his own fitness for the place which it was his ambition to fill.

But in this speech he did not say a word about his own political ideas, nor even about his own fitness to be a Member of Parliament.


He contented himself with endeavouring to show that the other man was not fit;--and that he and his friends, though solicitous of proving to the electors that Mr. Melmotte was about the most unfit man in the world, had been guilty of nothing shabby in their manner of doing so.

Instead, he tried to show that the other man was not fit; and that he and his friends, in wishing to prove Mr. Melmotte's unfitness, had been guilty of nothing shabby.


"Mr. Melmotte," he said, "comes before you as a Conservative, and has told us, by the mouths of his friends,--for he has not favoured us with many words of his own,--that he is supported by the whole Conservative party.

"Mr. Melmotte," he said, "comes before you as a Conservative, and has told us that he is supported by the whole Conservative party.


That party is not my party, but I respect it.


Where, however, are these Conservative supporters?


We have heard, till we are sick of it, of the banquet which Mr. Melmotte gave yesterday.


I am told that very few of those whom he calls his Conservative friends could be induced to attend that banquet.

I am told that very few of his Conservative friends could be induced to attend that banquet.


It is equally notorious that the leading merchants of the City refused to grace the table of this great commercial prince.

The leading merchants of the City refused to grace his table.


I say that the leaders of the Conservative party have at last found their candidate out, have repudiated him;--and are seeking now to free themselves from the individual shame of having supported the candidature of such a man by remaining in their own houses instead of clustering round the polling booths.

I say that the leaders of the Conservative party are ashamed of this candidate.


Go to Mr. Melmotte's committee-room and inquire if those leading Conservatives be there.


Look about, and see whether they are walking with him in the streets, or standing with him in public places, or taking the air with him in the parks.

Look about, and see whether they are walking with him in the streets, or standing with him in public places.


I respect the leaders of the Conservative party; but they have made a mistake in this matter, and they know it."

They have made a mistake, and they know it."


Then he ended by alluding to the rumours of yesterday.

He ended by alluding to the rumours of yesterday.


"I scorn," said he, "to say anything against the personal character of a political opponent, which I am not in a position to prove.


I make no allusion, and have made no allusion, to reports which were circulated yesterday about him, and which I believe were originated in the City.

"I make no allusion to reports which circulated yesterday, and which I believe originated in the City.


As I know nothing of the matter, I prefer to regard them as false, and I recommend you to do the same.


But I declared to you long before these reports were in men's mouths, that Mr. Melmotte was not entitled by his character to represent you in parliament, and I repeat that assertion.

But I declared to you long ago that Melmotte was not fit to represent you in parliament.


How long, do you think, should a man be known in this city before that title be accorded to him?


Who knew aught of this man two years since,--unless, indeed, it be some one who had burnt his wings in trafficking with him in some continental city?

Who knew anything of this man two years ago?


Ask the character of this great British merchant in Hamburg and Vienna; ask it in Paris;--ask those whose business here has connected them with the assurance companies of foreign countries, and you will be told whether this is a fit man to represent Westminster in the British parliament!"

Ask about him in Hamburg or Vienna or Paris; and you will be told whether this is a fit man to represent Westminster in the British parliament!"


There was much more yet; but such was the tone of the speech which Mr. Alf made with the object of inducing the electors to vote for himself.


At two or three o'clock in the day, nobody knew how the matter was going.

At two or three o'clock, nobody knew how the ballot was going.


It was supposed that the working-classes were in favour of Melmotte, partly from their love of a man who spends a great deal of money, partly from the belief that he was being ill-used,--partly, no doubt, from that occult sympathy which is felt for crime, when the crime committed is injurious to the upper classes.

It was supposed that the working-classes were in favour of Melmotte, partly from their love of a man who spends a great deal of money, partly from the belief that he was being ill-used by the upper classes.


Masses of men will almost feel that a certain amount of injustice ought to be inflicted on their betters, so as to make things even, and will persuade themselves that a criminal should be declared to be innocent, because the crime committed has had a tendency to oppress the rich and pull down the mighty from their seats.


Some few years since, the basest calumnies that were ever published in this country, uttered by one of the basest men that ever disgraced the country, levelled, for the most part, at men of whose characters and services the country was proud, were received with a certain amount of sympathy by men not themselves dishonest, because they who were thus slandered had received so many good things from Fortune, that a few evil things were thought to be due to them.


There had not as yet been time for the formation of such a feeling generally, in respect of Mr. Melmotte.


It had been asserted that Melmotte was a public robber.


There was not a man in London who caused the payment of a larger sum in weekly wages than Mr. Melmotte.


About three o'clock, the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table" called on Lady Carbury.

About three o'clock, the editor of the Morning Breakfast Table called on Lady Carbury.


she asked, as soon as her friend was seated.


There had been no time for him to explain anything at Madame Melmotte's reception, and Lady Carbury had as yet failed in learning any certain news of what was going on.


"I don't know what to make of it," said Mr. Broune.


"There is a story abroad that Mr. Melmotte has forged some document with reference to a purchase he made,--and hanging on to that story are other stories as to moneys that he has raised.

"There is a story abroad that Mr. Melmotte has forged some document - and there are other stories about money that he has raised.


I should say that it was simply an electioneering trick, and a very unfair trick, were it not that all his own side seem to believe it."

I should say that it was simply an unfair electioneering trick, were it not that all his own side seem to believe it."


"Ah,--I could answer almost any question sooner than that."


He has such large concerns in hand that he might be very much pressed for funds, and yet be possessed of immense wealth.


Everybody says that he pays all his bills."


I shall know more about it in an hour or two.


At present I should not like to have to publish an opinion; but were I forced to bet, I would bet against him.


There can be no doubt that his own party are ashamed of him."


As things used to be, this would have been fatal to him at the day of election; but now, with the ballot, it won't matter so much.


If I were a candidate, at present, I think I would go to bed on the last day, and beg all my committee to do the same as soon as they had put in their voting papers."


"I am glad Felix did not go to Liverpool," said Lady Carbury.


"It would not have made much difference.


She would have been brought back all the same.


They say Lord Nidderdale still means to marry her."


"There must be an immense amount of property somewhere.


No one doubts that he was rich when he came to England two years ago, and they say everything has prospered that he has put his hand to since. The Mexican Railway shares had fallen this morning, but they were at 15 premium yesterday morning.

No one doubts that he was rich when he came to England two years ago, and the Mexican Railway shares were at 15 premium yesterday morning, though they have fallen since.


He must have made an enormous deal out of that."

He must have made an enormous amount out of that."


But Mr. Broune's eloquence on this occasion was chiefly displayed in regard to the presumption of Mr. Alf.

But Mr. Broune was more scathing about Mr. Alf.


"I shouldn't think him such a fool if he had announced his resignation of the editorship when he came before the world as a candidate for parliament.


But a man must be mad who imagines that he can sit for Westminster and edit a London daily paper at the same time."

"A man must be mad who imagines that he can sit for Westminster and edit a London daily paper at the same time.


"Never, I think;--that is, by the editor of such a paper as the 'Pulpit.'


How is a man who sits in parliament himself ever to pretend to discuss the doings of parliament with impartiality?

A man who sits in parliament cannot pretend to discuss the doings of parliament with impartiality.


But Alf believes that he can do more than anybody else ever did, and he'll come to the ground.


"He lies in bed all day, and is out all night."


"But that wants money." She only shook her head. "You do not give him any?"


"I should simply take the key of the house from him,--or bolt the door if he will not give it up."

"I should simply take the key of the house from him, or bolt the door if he will not give it up."


"And be in bed, and listen while he knocks,--knowing that he must wander in the streets if I refuse to let him in?

"Knowing that he must wander in the streets if I refuse to let him in?


A child has such a hold upon his mother.


When her reason has bade her to condemn him, her heart will not let her carry out the sentence."


Mr. Broune never now thought of kissing Lady Carbury; but when she spoke thus, he got up and took her hand, and she, as she pressed his hand, had no fear that she would be kissed.

Mr. Broune never now thought of kissing Lady Carbury; but when she spoke thus, he got up and took her hand. She pressed it with no fear that she would be kissed.


Melmotte dined at home that evening with no company but that of his wife and daughter.

Melmotte dined at home that evening with only his wife and daughter.


Latterly one of the Grendalls had almost always joined their party when they did not dine out.


Indeed, it was an understood thing, that Miles Grendall should dine there always, unless he explained his absence by some engagement,--so that his presence there had come to be considered as a part of his duty.


Not unfrequently "Alfred" and Miles would both come, as Melmotte's dinners and wines were good, and occasionally the father would take the son's place,--but on this day they were both absent.


Madame Melmotte had not as yet said a word to any one indicating her own apprehension of any evil.

Madame Melmotte had not as yet said a word to anyone about her own fears.


But not a person had called to-day,--the day after the great party,--and even she, though she was naturally callous in such matters, had begun to think that she was deserted. She had, too, become so used to the presence of the Grendalls, that she now missed their company. She thought that on this day, of all days, when the world was balloting for her husband at Westminster, they would both have been with him to discuss the work of the day.

But not a single person had called today - the day after the great party; and she thought that the Grendalls would have been with her husband today of all days, during the ballot.


she asked, as she took her seat at the table.


Melmotte had returned home much comforted by the day's proceedings.


No one had dared to say a harsh word to his face.


After leaving the bank he had gone back to his office, and had written letters,--just as if nothing had happened; and, as far as he could judge, his clerks had plucked up courage.

After leaving the bank he had gone back to his office, and had written letters, just as if nothing had happened.


One of them, about five o'clock, came into him with news from the west, and with second editions of the evening papers. The clerk expressed his opinion that the election was going well.

A clerk brought him the evening papers, and expressed his opinion that the election was going well.


Mr. Melmotte, judging from the papers, one of which was supposed to be on his side and the other of course against him, thought that his affairs altogether were looking well.


The Westminster election had not the foremost place in his thoughts; but he took what was said on that subject as indicating the minds of men upon the other matter.


He read Alf's speech, and consoled himself with thinking that Mr. Alf had not dared to make new accusations against him.

Mr. Melmotte read Alf's speech, and consoled himself with thinking that Mr. Alf had not dared to make new accusations against him.


All that about Hamburgh and Vienna and Paris was as old as the hills, and availed nothing.

All that about Hamburg and Vienna and Paris was as old as the hills.


His whole candidature had been carried in the face of that.


"I think we shall do pretty well," he said to the clerk.


His very presence in Abchurch Lane of course gave confidence.

His very presence in Abchurch Lane gave confidence.


And thus, when he came home, something of the old arrogance had come back upon him, and he could swagger at any rate before his wife and servants.

And thus when he came home, something of the old arrogance had returned, and he could swagger before his wife and servants.


"The father and son are two d---- curs."

"The Grendall's are two d___ curs," he said.


This of course frightened Madame Melmotte, and she joined this desertion of the Grendalls to her own solitude all the day.


"Is there anything wrong, Melmotte?" she said afterwards, creeping up to him in the back parlour, and speaking in French.

His wife afterwards crept up to him in the back parlour. "Is there anything wrong, Melmotte?"


"I don't know;--but I seem to be afraid of something."

"I don't know; but I seem to be afraid of something."


"I should have thought you were used to that kind of feeling by this time."

"I should have thought you were used to that by this time."


You don't suppose that this kind of thing can be carried on as smoothly as the life of an old maid with 400 a year paid quarterly in advance."


You haven't much to do when we move, and may get plenty to eat and drink wherever you go.


Does that girl mean to marry Lord Nidderdale?"


"What a poor creature you must be when you can't talk her out of a fancy for such a reprobate as young Carbury.


If she throws me over, I'll throw her over.


"I'll flog her within an inch of her life if she disobeys me.


"Then he may flog me," said Marie, when so much of the conversation was repeated to her that evening.


"Papa does not know me if he thinks that I'm to be made to marry a man by flogging."


No such attempt was at any rate made that night, for the father and husband did not again see his wife or daughter.

No such attempt was at any rate made that night.


Early the next day a report was current that Mr. Alf had been returned. The numbers had not as yet been counted, or the books made up;--but that was the opinion expressed. All the morning newspapers, including the "Breakfast Table," repeated this report,--but each gave it as the general opinion on the matter. The truth would not be known till seven or eight o'clock in the evening.

Early the next day a report was current that Mr. Alf had been elected, although the numbers had not yet been counted, and the truth would not be known till seven or eight o'clock in the evening.


The Conservative papers did not scruple to say that the presumed election of Mr. Alf was owing to a sudden declension in the confidence originally felt in Mr. Melmotte.


The "Breakfast Table," which had supported Mr. Melmotte's candidature, gave no reason, and expressed more doubt on the result than the other papers.


"We know not how such an opinion forms itself," the writer said;--"but it seems to have been formed.


As nothing as yet is really known, or can be known, we express no opinion of our own upon the matter."


Mr. Melmotte again went into the City, and found that things seemed to have returned very much into their usual grooves.


The Mexican Railway shares were low, and Mr. Cohenlupe was depressed in spirits and unhappy;--but nothing dreadful had occurred or seemed to be threatened.

The Mexican Railway shares were low, and Mr. Cohenlupe was unhappy; but nothing dreadful had occurred.


If nothing dreadful did occur, the railway shares would probably recover, or nearly recover, their position.

If nothing dreadful did occur, the railway shares would probably recover.


In the course of the day, Melmotte received a letter from Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, which, of itself, certainly contained no comfort;--but there was comfort to be drawn even from that letter, by reason of what it did not contain.

In the course of the day, Melmotte received a letter from Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, which, of itself, contained no comfort - yet there was comfort to be drawn from it, because of what it did not contain.


The letter was unfriendly in its tone and peremptory. It had come evidently from a hostile party. It had none of the feeling which had hitherto prevailed in the intercourse between these two well-known Conservative gentlemen, Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe and Mr. Augustus Melmotte. But there was no allusion in it to forgery; no question of criminal proceedings; no hint at aught beyond the not unnatural desire of Mr. Longestaffe and Mr. Longestaffe's son to be paid for the property at Pickering which Mr. Melmotte had purchased.

The letter was unfriendly in its tone, but there was no allusion in it to forgery or criminal proceedings; no hint at anything beyond the not unnatural desire of Mr. Longestaffe and his son to be paid for the property at Pickering.


"We have to remind you," said the letter, in continuation of paragraphs which had contained simply demands for the money, "that the title-deeds were delivered to you on receipt by us of authority to that effect from the Messrs. Longestaffe, father and son, on the understanding that the purchase-money was to be at once paid to us by you.

"We have to remind you," said the letter, after demands for the money, "that the title-deeds were delivered to you on our receipt of authority from the Messrs. Longestaffe, on the understanding that the purchase-money was to be at once paid by you.


We are informed that the property has been since mortgaged by you.

We are informed that the property has since been mortgaged by you.


But the information, whether true or untrue, forces upon us the necessity of demanding that you should at once pay to us the purchase-money,--80,000,--or else return to us the title-deeds of the estate."

This information forces upon us the necessity of demanding that you should at once pay to us the purchase-money, 80,000; or else return to us the title-deeds of the estate."


This letter, which was signed Slow and Bideawhile, declared positively that the title-deeds had been given up on authority received by them from both the Longestaffes,--father and son.

This letter declared positively that the title-deeds had been given up on authority received by the lawyers from both the Longestaffes - father and son.


Now the accusation brought against Melmotte, as far as he could as yet understand it, was that he had forged the signature to the young Mr. Longestaffe's letter.

Now the accusation brought against Melmotte was that he had forged the signature to the young Mr. Longestaffe's letter.


Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile were therefore on his side.


As to the simple debt, he cared little comparatively about that.

As to the simple debt, he cared little about that.


Many fine men were walking about London who owed large sums of money which they could not pay.


As he was sitting at his solitary dinner this evening,--for both his wife and daughter had declined to join him, saying that they had dined early,--news was brought to him that he had been elected for Westminster.

As Melmotte was sitting at his solitary dinner this evening - for both his wife and daughter had dined early - news was brought to him that he had been elected for Westminster.


He had beaten Mr. Alf by something not much less than a thousand votes.

He had beaten Mr. Alf by almost a thousand votes.


It was very much to be member for Westminster.


So much had at any rate been achieved by him who had begun the world without a shilling and without a friend,--almost without education!

This was a great achievement for someone who had begun the world without a shilling and without a friend - almost without education!


Much as he loved money, and much as he loved the spending of money, and much as he had made and much as he had spent, no triumph of his life had been so great to him as this.

Much as he loved money, no triumph of his life had been so great to him as this.


Brought into the world in a gutter, without father or mother, with no good thing ever done for him, he was now a member of the British Parliament, and member for one of the first cities in the empire.

Brought into the world in a gutter, without parents, with no good thing ever done for him, he was now a member of the British Parliament for Westminster.


Ignorant as he was he understood the magnitude of the achievement, and dismayed as he was as to his present position, still at this moment he enjoyed keenly a certain amount of elation.

At this moment he enjoyed keenly a certain amount of elation.


Of course he had committed forgery;--of course he had committed robbery.

Of course he had committed forgery; of course he had committed robbery.


That, indeed, was nothing, for he had been cheating and forging and stealing all his life.

That was nothing, for he had been cheating and forging and stealing all his life.


Of course he was in danger of almost immediate detection and punishment. He hardly hoped that the evil day would be very much longer protracted, and yet he enjoyed his triumph.

Of course he was in danger of almost immediate detection and punishment - yet he enjoyed his triumph.


Whatever they might do, quick as they might be, they could hardly prevent his taking his seat in the House of Commons.

They could hardly prevent his taking his seat in the House of Commons.


Then if they sent him to penal servitude for life, they would have to say that they had so treated the member for Westminster!


He drank a bottle of claret, and then got some brandy-and-water.

He drank a bottle of claret, and then had some brandy-and-water.


In such troubles as were coming upon him now, he would hardly get sufficient support from wine.


He knew that he had better not drink;--that is, he had better not drink, supposing the world to be free to him for his own work and his own enjoyment. But if the world were no longer free to him, if he were really coming to penal servitude and annihilation,--then why should he not drink while the time lasted?

He knew that he had better not drink; but why should he not drink while the time lasted?


An hour of triumphant joy might be an eternity to a man, if the man's imagination were strong enough to make him so regard his hour.


He therefore took his brandy-and-water freely, and as he took it he was able to throw his fears behind him, and to assure himself that, after all, he might even yet escape from his bondages.

He therefore took his brandy-and-water freely, until he was able to throw his fears behind him, and to assure himself that, after all, he might yet escape.


No;--he would drink no more. This he said to himself as he filled another beaker.

He would drink no more, he said to himself as he filled another beaker.


He would put his shoulder to the wheel, and would yet conquer his enemies.

He would put his shoulder to the wheel, and conquer his enemies.


It would not be so easy to convict a member for Westminster,--especially if money were spent freely.

It would not be easy to convict a member for Westminster.


Was he not the man who, at his own cost, had entertained the Emperor of China?

Was he not the man who had entertained the Emperor of China?


Would not that be remembered in his favour?


Would not men be unwilling to punish the man who had received at his own table all the Princes of the land, and the Prime Minister, and all the Ministers?

Had he not received at his own table all the Princes of the land, and the Prime Minister?


To convict him would be a national disgrace.


He fully realised all this as he lifted the glass to his mouth, and puffed out the smoke in large volumes through his lips.


Though he squeezed it out of the coward's veins he would have it.


There was a fight to be fought yet, and he would fight it to the end.


Then he took a deep drink, and slowly, with careful and almost solemn steps, he made his way up to his bed.

He drank deeply, and then with careful and almost solemn steps, he made his way to bed.


Hetta Carbury, out of the fulness of her heart, having made up her mind that she had been unjust to her lover, wrote to him a letter full of penitence, full of love, telling him at great length all the details of her meeting with Mrs. Hurtle, and bidding him come back to her, and bring the brooch with him.

Hetta Carbury, having made up her mind that she had been unjust to her lover, wrote to him a letter full of penitence and love, bidding him come back to her.


But this letter she had unfortunately addressed to the Beargarden, as he had written to her from that club; and partly through his own fault, and partly through the demoralisation of that once perfect establishment, the letter never reached his hands.

But unfortunately she addressed it to the Beargarden, as he had written to her from that club; and the letter never reached him.


When, therefore, he returned to London he was justified in supposing that she had refused even to notice his appeal.

When he returned to London he supposed that she had refused even to notice his appeal.


He was, however, determined that he would still make further struggles. He had, he felt, to contend with many difficulties. Mrs. Hurtle, Roger Carbury, and Hetta's mother were, he thought, all inimical to him.

He was, however, determined that he would still make further struggles, even though Mrs. Hurtle, Roger Carbury, and Hetta's mother were, he thought, all hostile to him.


Mrs. Hurtle, though she had declared that she would not rage as a lioness, could hardly be his friend in the matter.


Roger had repeatedly declared his determination to regard him as a traitor.


And Lady Carbury, as he well knew, had always been and always would be opposed to the match.


But Hetta had owned that she loved him, had submitted to his caresses, and had been proud of his admiration. And Paul, though he did not probably analyze very carefully the character of his beloved, still felt instinctively that, having so far prevailed with such a girl, his prospects could not be altogether hopeless.

But Hetta had owned that she loved him, and Paul still felt instinctively that his prospects could not be altogether hopeless.


And yet how should he continue the struggle? With what weapons should he carry on the fight?


The writing of letters is but a one-sided, troublesome proceeding, when the person to whom they are written will not answer them; and the calling at a door at which the servant has been instructed to refuse a visitor admission, becomes, disagreeable,--if not degrading,--after a time.

The writing of letters is a one-sided, troublesome proceeding, when the person to whom they are written will not answer.


But Hetta had written a second epistle,--not to her lover, but to one who received his letters with more regularity.

But Hetta had written a second letter, not to her lover.


When she rashly and with precipitate wrath quarrelled with Paul Montague, she at once communicated the fact to her mother, and through her mother to her cousin Roger.


Though she would not recognise Roger as a lover, she did acknowledge him to be the head of her family, and her own special friend, and entitled in some special way to know all that she herself did, and all that was done in regard to her. She therefore wrote to her cousin, telling him that she had made a mistake about Paul, that she was convinced that Paul had always behaved to her with absolute sincerity, and, in short, that Paul was the best, and dearest, and most ill-used of human beings.

As Roger was the head of her family, and her friend, and entitled in some special way to know all that she did, she wrote to him. She told him that she had made a mistake about Paul, that she was convinced that Paul had always behaved to her with absolute sincerity, and, in short, that Paul was the dearest and most ill-used of human beings.


In her enthusiasm she went on to declare that there could be no other chance of happiness for her in this world than that of becoming Paul's wife, and to beseech her dearest friend and cousin Roger not to turn against her, but to lend her an aiding hand.

In her enthusiasm she declared that there could be no other chance of happiness for her than that of becoming Paul's wife, and beseeched her dearest friend Roger not to turn against her, but to lend her aid.


There are those whom strong words in letters never affect at all,--who, perhaps, hardly read them, and take what they do read as meaning no more than half what is said.


But Roger Carbury was certainly not one of these. As he sat on the garden wall at Carbury, with his cousin's letter in his hand, her words had their full weight with him.

As Roger sat on the garden wall at Carbury, with his cousin's letter in his hand, her words affected him heavily.


He did not try to convince himself that all this was the verbiage of an enthusiastic girl, who might soon be turned and trained to another mode of thinking by fitting admonitions.


To him now, as he read and re-read Hetta's letter sitting on the wall, there was not at any rate further hope for himself.


Though he was altogether unchanged himself, though he was altogether incapable of change,--though he could not rally himself sufficiently to look forward to even a passive enjoyment of life without the girl whom he had loved,--yet he told himself what he believed to be the truth. At last he owned directly and plainly that, whether happy or unhappy, he must do without her.

Though he was incapable of change - though he could not look forward to even a passive enjoyment of life without the girl whom he loved - yet he told himself directly and plainly that he must do without her.


He had let time slip by with him too fast and too far before he had ventured to love. He must now stomach his disappointment, and make the best he could of such a broken, ill-conditioned life as was left to him.

He had let time slip by too fast and too far before he had ventured to love, and must now make the best he could of such a broken life as was left to him.


But, if he acknowledged this,--and he did acknowledge it,--in what fashion should he in future treat the man and woman who had reduced him so low?

But how should he treat the man and woman who had reduced him so low?


At this moment his mind was tuned to high thoughts.


If it were possible he would be unselfish.


He could not, indeed, bring himself to think with kindness of Paul Montague. He could not say to himself that the man had not been treacherous to him, nor could he forgive the man's supposed treason.

He could not, indeed, think kindly of Paul Montague; he could not forgive the man's supposed treason.


But he did tell himself very plainly that in comparison with Hetta the man was nothing to him.

But he did tell himself that in comparison with Hetta the man was nothing to him.


It could hardly be worth his while to maintain a quarrel with the man if he were once able to assure Hetta that she, as the wife of another man, should still be dear to him as a friend might be dear.

He wanted to be able to assure Hetta that she should still be dear to him as a friend.


He was well aware that such assurance, such forgiveness, must contain very much.


If it were to be so, Hetta's child must take the name of Carbury, and must be to him as his heir,--as near as possible his own child. In her favour he must throw aside that law of primogeniture which to him was so sacred that he had been hitherto minded to make Sir Felix his heir in spite of the absolute unfitness of the wretched young man.

Hetta's child must take the name of Carbury, and must be his heir - as near as possible his own child, in place of the wretched Felix,


All this must be changed, should he be able to persuade himself to give his consent to the marriage.


In such case Carbury must be the home of the married couple, as far as he could induce them to make it so.

In such a case Carbury must be the home of the married couple, if he could induce them to make it so.


There must be born the future infant to whose existence he was already looking forward with some idea that in his old age he might there find comfort.


In such case, though he should never again be able to love Paul Montague in his heart of hearts, he must live with him for her sake on affectionate terms.

Though he should never again be able to love Paul Montague, he must live with him for her sake on affectionate terms.


He must forgive Hetta altogether,--as though there had been no fault; and he must strive to forgive the man's fault as best he might.

He must forgive Hetta altogether, as though there had been no fault; and strive to forgive the man's fault as best he might.


Struggling as he was to be generous, passionately fond as he was of justice, yet he did not know how to be just himself.

Passionately fond as he was of justice, yet he did not know how to be just himself.


He could not see that he in truth had been to no extent ill-used.

He could not see that in truth he had not been betrayed.


And ever and again, as he thought of the great prayer as to the forgiveness of trespasses, he could not refrain from asking himself whether it could really be intended that he should forgive such trespass as that committed against him by Paul Montague!


Nevertheless, when he rose from the wall he had resolved that Hetta should be pardoned entirely, and that Paul Montague should be treated as though he were pardoned.

Nevertheless, when he rose from the wall he had resolved that Paul Montague should be treated as though he were pardoned.


As for himself,--the chances of the world had been unkind to him, and he would submit to them!


Nevertheless he wrote no answer to Hetta's letter. Perhaps he felt, with some undefined but still existing hope, that the writing of such a letter would deprive him of his last chance.

However, he wrote no answer to Hetta's letter - perhaps feeling that it would deprive him of his last chance.


Hetta's letter to himself hardly required an immediate answer,--did not, indeed, demand any answer. She had simply told him that, whereas she had for certain reasons quarrelled with the man she had loved, she had now come to the conclusion that she would quarrel with him no longer.

Her letter did not require an immediate answer; she had simply told him how things now stood.


She had asked for her cousin's assent to her own views, but that, as Roger felt, was to be given rather by the discontinuance of opposition than by any positive action.


Roger's influence with her mother was the assistance which Hetta really wanted from him, and that influence could hardly be given by the writing of any letter.

Roger's influence with her mother was the assistance which Hetta really wanted, and that could hardly be done by writing.


Thinking of all this, Roger determined that he would again go up to London.


He would have the vacant hours of the journey in which to think of it all again, and tell himself whether it was possible for him to bring his heart to agree to the marriage;--and then he would see the people, and perhaps learn something further from their manner and their words, before he finally committed himself to the abandonment of his own hopes and the completion of theirs.

He would think it all over on the journey, and then see the people themselves, before he finally committed himself to the abandonment of his own hopes.


He went up to town, and I do not know that those vacant hours served him much.

He went up to town, and I do not know that hours of thinking helped him much.


To a man not accustomed to thinking there is nothing in the world so difficult as to think.


After some loose fashion we turn over things in our mind and ultimately reach some decision, guided probably by our feelings at the last moment rather than by any process of ratiocination;--and then we think that we have thought.


But to follow out one argument to an end, and then to found on the base so reached the commencement of another, is not common to us. Such a process was hardly within the compass of Roger's mind,--who when he was made wretched by the dust, and by a female who had a basket of objectionable provisions opposite to him, almost forswore his charitable resolutions of the day before; but who again, as he walked lonely at night round the square which was near to his hotel, looking up at the bright moon with a full appreciation of the beauty of the heavens, asked himself what was he that he should wish to interfere with the happiness of two human beings much younger than himself, and much fitter to enjoy the world.

To follow an argument to an end is not easy or common, and it was hardly within Roger's capabilities. As he walked that night round the square near his hotel, looking up at the bright moon, he asked himself why he should wish to interfere with the happiness of two much younger human beings.


But he had had a bath, and had got rid of the dust, and had eaten his dinner.

But he had had a bath by then, and had eaten his dinner.


The next morning he was in Welbeck Street at an early hour.

The next morning he was in Welbeck Street early.


When he knocked he had not made up his mind whether he would ask for Lady Carbury or her daughter, and did at last inquire whether "the ladies" were at home.


The ladies were reported as being at home, and he was at once shown into the drawing-room, where Hetta was sitting.

He was at once shown into the drawing-room, where Hetta was sitting.


She hurried up to him, and he at once took her in his arms and kissed her.

She hurried up to him, and he took her in his arms and kissed her.


Though they were cousins and dear friends, he had never treated her after that fashion.


Her instinct told her immediately that such a greeting from him was a sign of affectionate compliance with her wishes.

Her instinct told her immediately that such a greeting was a sign of affectionate compliance with her wishes.


That this man should kiss her as her best and dearest relation, as her most trusted friend, as almost her brother, was certainly to her no offence.


She could cling to him in fondest love,--if he would only consent not to be her lover.


"Oh, Roger, I am so glad to see you," she said, escaping gently from his arms.


"I could not write an answer, and so I came."

"I could not write an answer, so I came."


"You always do the kindest thing that can be done."


I don't know that I can do anything now,--kind or unkind.

"I don't know that I can do anything now.


Hetta, you have been all the world to me."


I should not have come had I intended to reproach any one."

I should not have come had I intended to reproach anyone."


I have made up my mind to bear it, and there shall be an end of it."


As he said this he took her by the hand, and she put her head upon his shoulder and began to weep.

As he said this he took her hand, and she put her head upon his shoulder and began to weep.


"And still you will be all the world to me," he continued, with his arm round her waist.


"As you will not be my wife, you shall be my daughter."


You shall be all that I have in the world.


I will hurry to grow old that I may feel for you as the old feel for the young.

I will hurry to grow old so that I may feel for you as the old feel for the young.


And if you have a child, Hetta, he must be my child."

And if you have a child, Hetta, he must be as my child.


As he thus spoke her tears were renewed.


"I have planned it all out in my mind, dear.


If there be anything that I can do to add to your happiness, I will do it.

If there is anything that I can do to add to your happiness, I will do it.


You must believe this of me,--that to make you happy shall be the only enjoyment of my life."

You must believe that to make you happy shall be the only enjoyment of my life."


It had been hardly possible for her to tell him as yet that the man to whom he was thus consenting to surrender her had not even condescended to answer the letter in which she had told him to come back to her.

It had been hardly possible for her to tell him that the man to whom he was surrendering her had not even condescended to answer her letter.


And now, sobbing as she was, overcome by the tenderness of her cousin's affection, anxious to express her intense gratitude, she did not know how first to mention the name of Paul Montague.

And now, overcome by the tenderness of her cousin's affection, she did not know how to mention Paul's name.


"No; it is not for his sake that I am here."


"Your husband shall certainly be my friend;--or, if not, the fault shall not be mine.

"Your husband shall certainly be my friend."


It shall all be forgotten, Hetta,--as nearly as such things may be forgotten.


But I had nothing to say to him till I had seen you."


At that moment the door was opened and Lady Carbury entered the room, and, after her greeting with her cousin, looked first at her daughter and then at Roger.

At that moment the door was opened. Lady Carbury entered and looked first at her daughter and then at Roger.


"I have come up," said he, "to signify my adhesion to this marriage."

"I have come," said he, "to signify my agreement to this marriage."


"I need not speak again of what were my own wishes.


I have learned at last that it could not have been so."


"Pray, pray, mamma--," Hetta began, but was unable to find words with which to go on with her prayer.


"I do not know that it need be so at all," continued Lady Carbury.


"I think it is very much in your own hands.


Of course it is not for me to press such an arrangement, if it be not in accord with your own wishes."


"I look upon her as engaged to marry Paul Montague," said Roger.


"I beg to let your cousin know that it is not so with my consent,--nor, as far as I can understand at present, with the consent of Mr. Montague himself."

"It is not so with my consent - nor, as far as I can understand at present, with the consent of Mr. Montague himself."


ejaculated Roger Carbury. "The consent of Paul Montague!

"The consent of Paul Montague!" exclaimed Roger.


I think I may take upon myself to say that there can be no doubt as to that."

"I think there can be no doubt as to that."


"There has been a quarrel," said Lady Carbury.


"Surely he has not quarrelled with you, Hetta?"


"I wrote to him,--and he has not answered me," said Hetta piteously.

"I wrote to him - and he has not answered me," said Hetta piteously.


Then Lady Carbury gave a full and somewhat coloured account of what had taken place, while Roger listened with admirable patience.


"The marriage is on every account objectionable," she said at last.


"His conduct with regard to that woman has been very bad.


He has been sadly mixed up with that wretched man who destroyed himself.

He has been sadly mixed up with that wretched man who killed himself.


And now, when Henrietta has written to him without my sanction,--in opposition to my express commands,--he takes no notice of her.

And now, when Henrietta has written to him in opposition to my express commands, he takes no notice of her."


She, very properly, sent him back a present that he made her, and no doubt he has resented her doing so.


I trust that his resentment may be continued."


Hetta was now seated on a sofa hiding her face and weeping.


Roger stood perfectly still, listening with respectful silence till Lady Carbury had spoken her last word.

Roger stood perfectly still, listening with respectful silence till Lady Carbury had finished.


And even then he was slow to answer, considering what he might best say.


"I think I had better see him," he replied.


"If, as I imagine, he has not received my cousin's letter, that matter will be set at rest.


We must not take advantage of such an accident as that.


As to his income,--that I think may be managed.

As to his income, that I think may be managed.


His connection with Mr. Melmotte was unfortunate, but was due to no fault of his."


At this moment he could not but remember Lady Carbury's great anxiety to be closely connected with Melmotte, but he was too generous to say a word on that head.

He was too generous to say a word about Felix and Marie Melmotte.


"I will see him, Lady Carbury, and then I will come to you again."


Lady Carbury did not dare to tell him that she did not wish him to see Paul Montague.


She knew that if he really threw himself into the scale against her, her opposition would weigh nothing.


He was too powerful in his honesty and greatness of character,--and had been too often admitted by herself to be the guardian angel of the family,--for her to stand against him.


But she still thought that had he persevered, Hetta would have become his wife.


It was late that evening before Roger found Paul Montague, who had only then returned from Liverpool with Fisker,--whose subsequent doings have been recorded somewhat out of their turn.

It was late that evening before Roger found Paul Montague, who had just returned from Liverpool.


"I don't know what letter you mean," said Paul.


My last letter was one which I think she ought to have answered.


She had accepted me, and had given me a right to tell my own story when she unfortunately heard from other sources the story of my journey to Lowestoft with Mrs. Hurtle."


Paul pleaded his own case with indignant heat, not understanding at first that Roger had come to him on a friendly mission.


"I have not had a line from her;--not a word!"

But I have not had a line from her - not a word!"


And I will tell you this also;--that she wrote to you as a girl writes to the lover whom she does wish to see."

But I can tell you this; that she wrote to you as a girl writes to the lover whom she wishes to see."


"I am here especially to tell you that it is true.


I should hardly come on such a mission if there were a doubt.


You may go to her, and need have nothing to fear,--unless, indeed, it be the opposition of her mother."

You may go to her, and need have nothing to fear.


"She is stronger than her mother," said Paul.


And now I wish you to hear what I have to say."


"Of course," said Paul, sitting down suddenly.


Up to this moment Roger Carbury, though he had certainly brought glad tidings, had not communicated them as a joyous, sympathetic messenger.

Up to this moment Roger had not appeared as a joyous, sympathetic messenger.


His face had been severe, and the tone of his voice almost harsh; and Paul, remembering well the words of the last letter which his old friend had written him, did not expect personal kindness.

His face had been severe, and the tone of his voice almost harsh.


Roger would probably say very disagreeable things to him, which he must bear with all the patience which he could summon to his assistance.

Paul thought he would probably say very disagreeable things to him, which he must bear as patiently as he could.


"You know what my feelings have been," Roger began, "and how deeply I have resented what I thought to be an interference with my affections.


But no quarrel between you and me, whatever the rights of it may be--"


"I have never quarrelled with you," Paul began.


"If you will listen to me for a moment it will be better.


No anger between you and me, let it arise as it might, should be allowed to interfere with the happiness of her whom I suppose we both love better than all the rest of the world put together."

No anger between us should be allowed to interfere with the happiness of her whom I suppose we both love better than all the rest of the world put together."


She shall have my property,--or her child shall be my heir.


My house shall be her house,--if you and she will consent to make it so.

My house shall be her house, if you and she agree.


You know me, I think, too well for that.


You may now count on any assistance you could have from me were I a father giving you a daughter in marriage.

You may now count on my assistance as if I were a father giving you a daughter in marriage.


I do this because I will make the happiness of her life the chief object of mine.


By-and-by we shall be able to talk about these things with more equable temper."


Having so spoken he hurried out of the room, leaving Paul Montague bewildered by the tidings which had been announced to him.

Having so spoken he hurried out of the room, leaving Paul Montague bewildered by the news.


Chapter 9: The Great Railway to Vera Cruz


Then, I guess, the thing's about as good as done."


These words were spoken with a fine, sharp, nasal twang by a brilliantly-dressed American gentleman in one of the smartest private rooms of the great railway hotel at Liverpool, and they were addressed to a young Englishman who was sitting opposite to him.

These words were spoken with a fine nasal twang by a brilliantly-dressed American gentleman in the great railway hotel at Liverpool. They were addressed to a young Englishman sitting opposite him.


Between them there was a table covered with maps, schedules, and printed programmes.

Between them there was a table covered with maps and printed sheets.


The American was smoking a very large cigar, which he kept constantly turning in his mouth, and half of which was inside his teeth.

The American was smoking a very large cigar, which he kept constantly turning in his mouth.


Mr. Hamilton K. Fisker, of the firm of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, was the American, and the Englishman was our friend Paul, the junior member of that firm.

He was Mr. Hamilton K. Fisker, of the firm of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, and the Englishman was Paul, the junior member of that firm.


"But I didn't even speak to him," said Paul.


"In commercial affairs that matters nothing.


It quite justifies you in introducing me.


We are not going to ask your friend to do us a favour.


"If he'll go in for the thing he'd be one of us, and there would be no borrowing then.

"If he'll go in for the thing he'd be one of us, and there would be no borrowing.


He'll join us if he's as clever as they say, because he'll see his way to making a couple of million of dollars out of it.

He'll join us if he's as clever as they say, because he'll see his way to making a couple of million dollars.


If he'd take the trouble to run over and show himself in San Francisco, he'd make double that.

If he'd take the trouble to go over to San Francisco, he'd make double that.


The moneyed men would go in with him at once, because they know that he understands the game and has got the pluck.

The moneyed men would go in with him at once, because they know that he understands the game.


A man who has done what he has by financing in Europe,--by George!


there's no limit to what he might do with us.


We're a bigger people than any of you and have more room. We go after bigger things, and don't stand shilly-shally on the brink as you do.

We're a bigger people than you; we go after bigger things, and don't shilly-shally on the brink as you do.


But Melmotte pretty nigh beats the best among us.


Anyway he should come and try his luck, and he couldn't have a bigger thing or a safer thing than this.

Anyway he couldn't have a bigger or a safer thing than this.


He'd see it immediately if I could talk to him for half an hour."


"Mr. Fisker," said Paul mysteriously, "as we are partners, I think I ought to let you know that many people speak very badly of Mr. Melmotte's honesty."


Mr. Fisker smiled gently, turned his cigar twice round in his mouth, and then closed one eye.

Mr. Fisker smiled gently, turned his cigar round in his mouth, and closed one eye.


"There is always a want of charity," he said, "when a man is successful."

"There is always a lack of charity," he said, "when a man is successful."


The scheme in question was the grand proposal for a South Central Pacific and Mexican railway, which was to run from the Salt Lake City, thus branching off from the San Francisco and Chicago line,--and pass down through the fertile lands of New Mexico and Arizona, into the territory of the Mexican Republic, run by the city of Mexico, and come out on the gulf at the port of Vera Cruz.

The scheme in question was the grand proposal for a South Central Pacific and Mexican railway, which was to run from Salt Lake City, branching off from the San Francisco and Chicago line, and pass down through New Mexico and Arizona, into the Mexican Republic, coming out on the gulf at the port of Vera Cruz.


Mr. Fisker admitted at once that it was a great undertaking, acknowledged that the distance might be perhaps something over 2,000 miles, acknowledged that no computation had or perhaps could be made as to the probable cost of the railway; but seemed to think that questions such as these were beside the mark and childish.

Mr. Fisker admitted that it was a great undertaking - something over 2,000 miles - and its probable cost could not be calculated; but he seemed to think that these questions were beside the point and childish.


Melmotte, if he would go into the matter at all, would ask no such questions.


Paul Montague had received a telegram from his partner, Hamilton K. Fisker, sent on shore at Queenstown from one of the New York liners, requesting him to meet Fisker at Liverpool immediately.

Paul Montague had received a telegram from Hamilton K. Fisker, sent from a New York liner, asking him to meet Fisker at Liverpool.


With this request he had felt himself bound to comply.


Personally he had disliked Fisker,--and perhaps not the less so because when in California he had never found himself able to resist the man's good humour, audacity, and cleverness combined.

Personally he disliked Fisker, although in California he had never been able to resist the man's good humour, audacity, and cleverness.


He had found himself talked into agreeing with any project which Mr. Fisker might have in hand.

He had found himself agreeing with any project which Mr. Fisker might have in hand.


It was altogether against the grain with him, and yet by his own consent, that the flour-mill had been opened at Fiskerville.

It was altogether against the grain with him, and yet with his consent, that the flour-mill had been opened at Fiskerville.


He trembled for his money and never wished to see Fisker again; but still, when Fisker came to England, he was proud to remember that Fisker was his partner, and he obeyed the order and went down to Liverpool.

He trembled for his money and never wished to see Fisker again; but still, when Fisker came to England, he obeyed the order and went to Liverpool.


If the flour-mill had frightened him, what must the present project have done!


Fisker explained that he had come with two objects,--first to ask the consent of the English partner to the proposed change in their business, and secondly to obtain the co-operation of English capitalists.

Fisker explained that he had come with two aims: firstly, to ask Paul's consent to the proposed change in their business, and secondly to obtain the co-operation of English capitalists.


The proposed change in the business meant simply the entire sale of the establishment at Fiskerville, and the absorption of the whole capital in the work of getting up the railway.

The proposed change in the business meant selling the property at Fiskerville.


"If you could realise all the money it wouldn't make a mile of the railway," said Paul.

"That wouldn't pay for a mile of the railway," said Paul.


The object of Fisker, Montague, and Montague was not to make a railway to Vera Cruz, but to float a company.

The object was not to make a railway to Vera Cruz, but to float a company.


Paul thought that Mr. Fisker seemed to be indifferent whether the railway should ever be constructed or not.

He seemed to be indifferent whether the railway should ever be constructed or not.


It was clearly his idea that fortunes were to be made out of the concern before a spadeful of earth had been moved.


If brilliantly printed programmes might avail anything, with gorgeous maps, and beautiful little pictures of trains running into tunnels beneath snowy mountains and coming out of them on the margin of sunlit lakes, Mr. Fisker had certainly done much.

If brilliantly printed programmes might avail anything, with gorgeous maps, and beautiful little pictures of trains running into tunnels beneath snowy mountains and coming out on the margin of sunlit lakes, Mr. Fisker had certainly done much.


But Paul, when he saw all these pretty things, could not keep his mind from thinking whence had come the money to pay for them.

But Paul, when he saw these pretty things, could not help thinking whence had come the money to pay for them.


Mr. Fisker had declared that he had come over to obtain his partner's consent, but it seemed to that partner that a great deal had been done without any consent.

It seemed that a great deal had been done without any consent.


And Paul's fears on this hand were not allayed by finding that on all these beautiful papers he himself was described as one of the agents and general managers of the company.

His fears were not allayed by finding that on all these beautiful papers he was described as one of the general managers of the company.


Each document was signed Fisker, Montague, and Montague. References on all matters were to be made to Fisker, Montague, and Montague,--and in one of the documents it was stated that a member of the firm had proceeded to London with the view of attending to British interests in the matter.

Each document was signed Fisker, Montague, and Montague; and in one it was stated that a member of the firm had gone to London to attend to British interests in the matter.


Fisker had seemed to think that his young partner would express unbounded satisfaction at the greatness which was thus falling upon him.


A certain feeling of importance, not altogether unpleasant, was produced, but at the same time there was another conviction forced upon Montague's mind, not altogether pleasant, that his money was being made to disappear without any consent given by him, and that it behoved him to be cautious lest such consent should be extracted from him unawares.

This gave Paul a certain feeling of importance, not altogether unpleasant; but he also had the less pleasant conviction that his money was being spent without his consent, and that he should be cautious lest such consent should be extracted from him unawares.


when there is such a thing as this on hand a trumpery mill like that is not worth speaking of."

when there is such a thing as this on hand, that trumpery mill is not worth speaking of."


You see you weren't there, and so the two resident partners acted for the firm.


But Mr. Montague, you'd better go with us.


When we've got a little ahead with this it won't matter, sir, whether you spend twenty thousand or forty thousand dollars a year.


We've got the concession from the United States Government through the territories, and we're in correspondence with the President of the Mexican Republic.

We've got the concession from the United States Government through the territories, and we're in correspondence with the President of Mexico."


I've no doubt we've an office open already in Mexico and another at Vera Cruz."


Where do you suppose the money comes from in all these undertakings?

"Where do you suppose the money comes from in these undertakings?


If we can float the shares, the money'll come in quick enough.


We hold three million dollars of the stock ourselves."


"We take them at par, of course,--and as we sell we shall pay for them.


But of course we shall only sell at a premium.


If we can run them up even to 110, there would be three hundred thousand dollars.


Look here--I'll write it, and you can sign it."


Whereupon Mr. Fisker did write the following letter:--

Whereupon Mr. Fisker wrote the following letter:


DEAR SIR,--I have the pleasure of informing you that my partner, Mr. Fisker,--of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, of San Francisco,--is now in London with the view of allowing British capitalists to assist in carrying out perhaps the greatest work of the age,--namely, the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, which is to give direct communication between San Francisco and the Gulf of Mexico.

Dear Sir,
I have the pleasure of informing you that my partner, Mr. Fisker, of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, of San Francisco, is now in London with the view of allowing British capitalists to assist in carrying out perhaps the greatest work of the age: namely, the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, which is to give direct communication between San Francisco and the Gulf of Mexico.


He is very anxious to see you upon his arrival, as he is aware that your co-operation would be desirable.


We feel assured that with your matured judgment in such matters you would see at once the magnificence of the enterprise.


If you will name a day and an hour, Mr. Fisker will call upon you.


I have to thank you and Madame Melmotte for a very pleasant evening spent at your house last week.


Mr. Fisker proposes returning to New York.


I shall remain here, superintending the British interests which may be involved.


I have the honour to be, Dear Sir, Most faithfully yours,

I have the honour to be, Dear Sir,
Most faithfully yours.


"But I have never said that I would superintend the interests," said Montague.


You regular John Bull Englishmen are so full of scruples that you lose as much of life as should serve to make an additional fortune."

You Englishmen are so full of scruples!"


After some further conversation Paul Montague recopied the letter and signed it. He did it with doubt,--almost with dismay.

Paul Montague copied the letter and signed it, with doubt - almost with dismay.


But he told himself that he could do no good by refusing.


If this wretched American, with his hat on one side and rings on his fingers, had so far got the upper hand of Paul's uncle as to have been allowed to do what he liked with the funds of the partnership, Paul could not stop it.

If this wretched American had got the upper hand of Paul's uncle so as to do what he liked with the funds of the partnership, Paul could not stop it.


On the following morning they went up to London together, and in the course of the afternoon Mr. Fisker presented himself in Abchurch Lane.

On the following morning they went up to London together, and Mr. Fisker presented himself in Abchurch Lane.


The letter written at Liverpool, but dated from the Langham Hotel, had been posted at the Euston Square Railway Station at the moment of Fisker's arrival.


Fisker sent in his card, and was asked to wait. In the course of twenty minutes he was ushered into the great man's presence by no less a person than Miles Grendall.
It has been already said that Mr. Melmotte was a big man with large whiskers, rough hair, and with an expression of mental power on a harsh vulgar face. He was certainly a man to repel you by his presence unless attracted to him by some internal consideration. He was magnificent in his expenditure, powerful in his doings, successful in his business, and the world around him therefore was not repelled. Fisker, on the other hand, was a shining little man,--perhaps about forty years of age, with a well-twisted moustache, greasy brown hair, which was becoming bald at the top, good-looking if his features were analysed, but insignificant in appearance. He was gorgeously dressed, with a silk waistcoat and chains, and he carried a little stick. One would at first be inclined to say that Fisker was not much of a man; but after a little conversation most men would own that there was something in Fisker. He was troubled by no shyness, by no scruples, and by no fears. His mind was not capacious, but such as it was it was his own, and he knew how to use it.
Abchurch Lane is not a grand site for the offices of a merchant prince. Here, at a small corner house, there was a small brass plate on a swing door, bearing the words "Melmotte & Co." Of whom the Co. was composed no one knew. In one sense Mr. Melmotte might be said to be in company with all the commercial world, for there was no business to which he would refuse his co-operation on certain terms. But he had never burthened himself with a partner in the usual sense of the term. Here Fisker found three or four clerks seated at desks, and was desired to walk up-stairs. The steps were narrow and crooked, and the rooms were small and irregular. Here he stayed for a while in a small dark apartment in which "The Daily Telegraph" was left for the amusement of its occupant till Miles Grendall announced to him that Mr. Melmotte would see him.

This was not a grand site for the offices of a merchant prince. A small corner house had a brass plate on a door, bearing the words "Melmotte & Co." Who the Co. was, no one knew. Mr. Melmotte had never burdened himself with a business partner. Here Fisker found three or four clerks seated at desks, and was asked to walk up narrow, crooked stairs. He waited in a small dark apartment till Miles Grendall announced that Mr. Melmotte would see him.
It has been already said that Mr. Melmotte was a big man with an expression of mental power on a harsh, vulgar face. He was certainly a man to repel you by his presence; yet he was magnificent in his expenditure, powerful in his doings, successful in his business, and the world around him therefore was not repelled.
Fisker, on the other hand, was a shining little man - perhaps forty years of age, with a well-twisted moustache and greasy brown hair. He was insignificant in appearance, but gorgeously dressed, with a silk waistcoat. One would at first say that Fisker was not much of a man; but after a little conversation one would own that there was something in him. He had no shyness, no scruples, and no fears. His mind was not capacious, but he knew how to use it.


The millionaire looked at him for a moment or two, just condescending to touch with his fingers the hand which Fisker had projected.

The millionaire looked at him for a moment or two, just condescending to touch with his fingers the hand which Fisker offered.


"I don't seem to remember," he said, "the gentleman who has done me the honour of writing to me about you."


When I'm at home in San Francisco, I make acquaintance with a great many gents whom I don't remember afterwards.

When I'm at home in San Francisco, I meet a great many gents whom I don't remember afterwards.


My partner I think told me that he went to your house with his friend, Sir Felix Carbury."

My partner told me that he went to your house with his friend, Sir Felix Carbury."


"I know a young man called Sir Felix Carbury."


I could have got any amount of introductions to you if I had thought this would not have sufficed."


"Our account here in London is kept with the City and West End Joint Stock.


But I have only just arrived, and as my chief object in coming to London is to see you, and as I met my partner, Mr. Montague, in Liverpool, I took a note from him and came on straight."

I have only just arrived, and as my chief object in coming to London is to see you, I met my partner, Mr. Montague, in Liverpool, took a note from him and came on straight."


"And what can I do for you, Mr. Fisker?"


Then Mr. Fisker began his account of the Great South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, and exhibited considerable skill by telling it all in comparatively few words.


In two minutes he had displayed his programme, his maps, and his pictures before Mr. Melmotte's eyes, taking care that Mr. Melmotte should see how often the names of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, reappeared upon them.

In two minutes he had displayed his programme, his maps, and his pictures.


As Mr. Melmotte read the documents, Fisker from time to time put in a word. But the words had no reference at all to the future profits of the railway, or to the benefit which such means of communication would confer upon the world at large; but applied solely to the appetite for such stock as theirs, which might certainly be produced in the speculating world by a proper manipulation of the affairs.

As Mr. Melmotte read the documents, Fisker from time to time put in a word - not about the benefits of the railway, but solely about the appetite for such stock as theirs, which might certainly be produced in the speculating world by a proper manipulation of the affairs.


[Illustration: Then Mr. Fisker began his account.]


"You seem to think you couldn't get it taken up in your own country," said Melmotte.


"There's not a doubt about getting it all taken up there.

"There's not a doubt about getting it taken up there.


Our folk, sir, are quick enough at the game; but you don't want me to teach you, Mr. Melmotte, that nothing encourages this kind of thing like competition.


When they hear at St. Louis and Chicago that the thing is alive in London, they'll be alive there.


When they know that the stock is running like wildfire in America, they'll make it run here too."

And when they know that the stock is running like wildfire in America, they'll make it run here too."


"What we've gone to work upon is a concession for making the line from the United States Congress.

"We've got a concession for making the line from the United States Congress.


We're to have the land for nothing, of course, and a grant of one thousand acres round every station, the stations to be twenty-five miles apart."


"And the land is to be made over to you,--when?"

"And the land is to be made over to you - when?"


"When we have made the line up to the station."


Fisker understood perfectly that Mr. Melmotte did not ask the question in reference to any value that he might attach to the possession of such lands, but to the attractiveness of such a prospectus in the eyes of the outside world of speculators.

Fisker understood perfectly that Mr. Melmotte did not ask the question in reference to any value such land might have, but to the attractiveness of such a prospectus to speculators.


"And what do you want me to do, Mr. Fisker?"


"I want to have your name there," he said.


And he placed his finger down on a spot on which it was indicated that there was, or was to be, a chairman of an English Board of Directors, but with a space for the name, hitherto blank.

And he placed his finger on a spot where it was indicated that there was to be a chairman of an English Board of Directors, but with a blank space for the name.


"Who are to be your directors here, Mr. Fisker?"


Mr. Paul Montague should be one, and perhaps his friend Sir Felix Carbury might be another.


We could get probably one of the Directors of the City and West End.


But we would leave it all to you,--as also the amount of stock you would like to take yourself.

But we would leave it all to you - as also the amount of stock you would like to take yourself.


If you gave yourself to it, heart and soul, Mr. Melmotte, it would be the finest thing that there has been out for a long time.

If you gave yourself to it, heart and soul, Mr. Melmotte, it would be the finest thing that there has been for a long time.


"You have to back that with a certain amount of paid-up capital?"


"We take care, sir, in the West not to cripple commerce too closely by old-fashioned bandages.


Look at what we've done already, sir, by having our limbs pretty free.


Look at our line, sir, right across the continent, from San Francisco to New York.


People wanted to go from New York to San Francisco, and I don't know that they do want to go to Vera Cruz.

People wanted to go from New York to San Francisco, and I don't know that they want to go to Vera Cruz.


But I will look at it, and you shall hear from me."


The interview was over, and Mr. Fisker was contented with it.

The interview was over, and Mr. Fisker was contented.


Had Mr. Melmotte not intended at least to think of it he would not have given ten minutes to the subject.

If Mr. Melmotte did not intend at least to think of it he would not have given ten minutes to the subject.


After all, what was wanted from Mr. Melmotte was little more than his name, for the use of which Mr. Fisker proposed that he should receive from the speculative public two or three hundred thousand pounds.

After all, what was wanted from Mr. Melmotte was his name, for the use of which Mr. Fisker proposed that he should receive from the speculative public two or three hundred thousand pounds.


At the end of a fortnight from the date of Mr. Fisker's arrival in London, the company was fully launched in England, with a body of London directors, of whom Mr. Melmotte was the chairman.

A fortnight later, the company was fully launched in England, with a body of London directors, of whom Mr. Melmotte was the chairman.


Among the directors were Lord Alfred Grendall, Sir Felix Carbury, Samuel Cohenlupe, Esq., Member of Parliament for Staines, a gentleman of the Jewish persuasion, Lord Nidderdale, who was also in Parliament, and Mr. Paul Montague.

Among the directors were Lord Alfred Grendall, Sir Felix Carbury, Samuel Cohenlupe, Esq., Member of Parliament for Staines, Lord Nidderdale, who was also in Parliament, and Mr. Paul Montague.


It may be thought that the directory was not strong, and that but little help could be given to any commercial enterprise by the assistance of Lord Alfred or Sir Felix;--but it was felt that Mr. Melmotte was himself so great a tower of strength that the fortune of the company,--as a company,--was made.

It may be thought that the board of directors was not strong, and that little help could be given to any commercial enterprise by Lord Alfred or Sir Felix; but it was felt that Mr. Melmotte was himself so great a tower of strength that the company's fortune was made.


On that Thursday afternoon it was known everywhere that there was to be a general ruin of all the Melmotte affairs.

On that Thursday afternoon it was known everywhere that Melmotte was ruined.


As soon as Cohenlupe had gone, no man doubted.

As soon as Cohenlupe had gone, no man doubted it.


The City men who had not gone to the dinner prided themselves on their foresight, as did also the politicians who had declined to meet the Emperor of China at the table of the suspected Financier.


They who had got up the dinner and had been instrumental in taking the Emperor to the house in Grosvenor Square, and they also who had brought him forward at Westminster and had fought his battle for him, were aware that they would have to defend themselves against heavy attacks.


No one now had a word to say in his favour, or a doubt as to his guilt.

No one now had a word to say in his favour.


The Grendalls had retired altogether out of town, and were no longer even heard of. Lord Alfred had not been seen since the day of the dinner.

The Grendalls had disappeared; Lord Alfred had not been seen since the day of the dinner.


The Duchess of Albury, too, went into the country some weeks earlier than usual, quelled, as the world said, by the general Melmotte failure.


But this departure had not as yet taken place at the time at which we have now arrived.


When the Speaker took his seat in the House, soon after four o'clock, there were a great many members present, and a general feeling prevailed that the world was more than ordinarily alive because of Melmotte and his failures.

When the Speaker took his seat in the House, soon after four o'clock, there were many members present, and a general feeling that the world was more than ordinarily alive because of Melmotte and his failures.


It had been confidently asserted throughout the morning that he would be put upon his trial for forgery in reference to the purchase of the Pickering property from Mr. Longestaffe, and it was known that he had not as yet shown himself anywhere on this day.

It had been confidently asserted throughout the morning that he would be put upon trial for forgery, and it was known that he had not yet shown himself anywhere that day.


People had gone to look at the house in Grosvenor Square,--not knowing that he was still living in Mr. Longestaffe's house in Bruton Street, and had come away with the impression that the desolation of ruin and crime was already plainly to be seen upon it.


"I wonder where he is," said Mr. Lupton to Mr. Beauchamp Beauclerk in one of the lobbies of the House.


"They say he hasn't been in the City all day.


That poor fellow has got it heavy all round.


The man has got his place in the country and his house in town.


"It might have been worse, I should say, as far as you are concerned," replied Mr. Lupton.


Our lawyer said three days ago that the money was certainly there."


"And Cohenlupe was certainly here three days ago," said Lupton;--"but he isn't here now.

"And Cohenlupe was certainly here three days ago," said Lupton; "but he isn't here now."


It seems to me that it has just happened in time for you."


Lord Nidderdale shook his head and tried to look very grave.


"There's Brown," said Sir Orlando Drought, hurrying up to the commercial gentleman whose mistakes about finance Mr. Melmotte on a previous occasion had been anxious to correct.


It was rumoured, you know, an hour ago, that he was off to the continent after Cohenlupe."


But Mr. Brown was very strongly of opinion that the police would know all that there was to be known about Mr. Melmotte before this time on the following day.


Mr. Brown had been very bitter against Melmotte since that memorable attack made upon him in the House.


Even ministers as they sat to be badgered by the ordinary question-mongers of the day were more intent upon Melmotte than upon their own defence.

Even ministers were more intent upon Melmotte than upon their own business.


asked the Chancellor of the Exchequer of the Secretary of State for the Home Department.

asked the Chancellor of the Exchequer of the Home Secretary.


"I understand that no order has been given for his arrest.


There is a general opinion that he has committed forgery; but I doubt whether they've got their evidence together."


"He's a ruined man, I suppose," said the Chancellor.


"I doubt whether he ever was a rich man.


But I'll tell you what;--he has been about the grandest rogue we've seen yet.

"He has been about the grandest rogue we've seen yet.


He must have spent over a hundred thousand pounds during the last twelve months on his personal expenses."


I wonder how the Emperor will like it when he learns the truth."


Another minister sitting close to the Secretary of State was of opinion that the Emperor of China would not care half so much about it as our own First Lord of the Treasury.


At this moment there came a silence over the House which was almost audible.


They who know the sensation which arises from the continued hum of many suppressed voices will know also how plain to the ear is the feeling caused by the discontinuance of the sound.


Everybody looked up, but everybody looked up in perfect silence.


An Under-Secretary of State had just got upon his legs to answer a most indignant question as to an alteration of the colour of the facings of a certain regiment, his prepared answer to which, however, was so happy as to allow him to anticipate quite a little triumph. It is not often that such a Godsend comes in the way of an under-secretary; and he was intent upon his performance. But even he was startled into momentary oblivion of his well-arranged point.

An Under-Secretary of State who had just stood up to speak was startled into momentary forgetfulness of his point.


Augustus Melmotte, the member for Westminster, was walking up the centre of the House.


He had succeeded by this time in learning so much of the forms of the House as to know what to do with his hat,--when to wear it, and when to take it off,--and how to sit down.

He had learnt by this time what to do with his hat in the House.


As he entered by the door facing the Speaker, he wore his hat on one side of his head, as was his custom.

As he entered he wore it on one side of his head, as was his custom.


Much of the arrogance of his appearance had come from this habit, which had been adopted probably from a conviction that it added something to his powers of self-assertion.

Much of the arrogance of his appearance had come from this habit.


At this moment he was more determined than ever that no one should trace in his outer gait or in any feature of his face any sign of that ruin which, as he well knew, all men were anticipating.

He was more determined than ever that no one should see in his face or manner any sign of that ruin which, as he well knew, all men were anticipating.


Therefore, perhaps, his hat was a little more cocked than usual, and the lapels of his coat were thrown back a little wider, displaying the large jewelled studs which he wore in his shirt; and the arrogance conveyed by his mouth and chin was specially conspicuous.

Therefore, perhaps, his hat was a little more cocked than usual, and the lapels of his coat were thrown back a little wider, displaying the large jewelled studs in his shirt.


He had come down in his brougham, and as he had walked up Westminster Hall and entered the House by the private door of the members, and then made his way in across the great lobby and between the doorkeepers,--no one had spoken a word to him.

When he had come through the hall, no one had spoken a word to him.


He had of course seen many whom he had known.


He had indeed known nearly all whom he had seen;--but he had been aware, from the beginning of this enterprise of the day, that men would shun him, and that he must bear their cold looks and colder silence without seeming to notice them. He had schooled himself to the task, and he was now performing it. It was not only that he would have to move among men without being noticed, but that he must endure to pass the whole evening in the same plight. But he was resolved, and he was now doing it.

He had known that men would shun him; but he was resolved to endure it.


He bowed to the Speaker with more than usual courtesy, raising his hat with more than usual care, and seated himself, as usual, on the third opposition-bench, but with more than his usual fling.

He bowed to the Speaker with more than usual courtesy, raising his hat with care, and seated himself on the third opposition-bench, with more than his usual fling.


He was a big man, who always endeavoured to make an effect by deportment, and was therefore customarily conspicuous in his movements. He was desirous now of being as he was always, neither more nor less demonstrative;--but, as a matter of course, he exceeded; and it seemed to those who looked at him that there was a special impudence in the manner in which he walked up the House and took his seat.

He was a big man, and always conspicuous in his movements; but there seemed to be a special impudence in the manner in which he took his seat.


The Under-Secretary of State, who was on his legs, was struck almost dumb, and his morsel of wit about the facings was lost to Parliament for ever.

The Under-Secretary of State who was on his legs was struck almost dumb.


That unfortunate young man, Lord Nidderdale, occupied the seat next to that on which Melmotte had placed himself.

Lord Nidderdale occupied the seat next to Melmotte's.


It had so happened three or four times since Melmotte had been in the House, as the young lord, fully intending to marry the Financier's daughter, had resolved that he would not be ashamed of his father-in-law. He had understood that countenance of the sort which he as a young aristocrat could give to the man of millions who had risen no one knew whence, was part of the bargain in reference to the marriage, and he was gifted with a mingled honesty and courage which together made him willing and able to carry out his idea. He had given Melmotte little lessons as to ordinary forms of the House, and had done what in him lay to earn the money which was to be forthcoming.

Previously the young lord, fully intending to marry the Financier's daughter, had resolved that he would not be ashamed of his father-in-law, and with honesty and courage he had given Melmotte little lessons as to customs of the House.


But it had become manifest both to him and to his father during the last two days,--very painfully manifest to his father,--that the thing must be abandoned.

But it had become obvious during the last two days that the marriage must be abandoned.


And if so,--then why should he be any longer gracious to Melmotte?

Why should he any longer be gracious to Melmotte?


And, moreover, though he had been ready to be courteous to a very vulgar and a very disagreeable man, he was not anxious to extend his civilities to one who, as he was now assured, had been certainly guilty of forgery.


But to get up at once and leave his seat because Melmotte had placed himself by his side, did not suit the turn of his mind.

But he found it hard to get up at once and leave his seat because Melmotte had placed himself by his side.


He looked round to his neighbour on the right, with a half-comic look of misery, and then prepared himself to bear his punishment, whatever it might be.


I hope we shall be in our own house again next week, and then we shall be able to make you comfortable."


Could it be possible that the man did not know that all the world was united in accusing him of forgery?


"I'll tell you what it is," said Nidderdale.


"I think you had better see my governor again, Mr. Melmotte."


I only just came down to enter an appearance."

I only came down to make an appearance."


He had to cross Melmotte on his way out, and as he did so Melmotte grasped him by the hand.


"Good night, my boy," said Melmotte quite aloud,--in a voice much louder than that which members generally allow themselves for conversation.

"Good night, my boy," said Melmotte, quite loudly.


Nidderdale was confused and unhappy; but there was probably not a man in the House who did not understand the whole thing. He rushed down through the gangway and out through the doors with a hurried step, and as he escaped into the lobby he met Lionel Lupton, who, since his little conversation with Mr. Beauclerk, had heard further news.

Nidderdale was confused and unhappy; and rushed down through the gangway and out through the doors with a hurried step. As he escaped into the lobby he met Lionel Lupton.


"You know what has happened, Nidderdale?"


"Yes, about Melmotte," continued Lupton.


"He has been arrested in his own house within the last half-hour on a charge of forgery."

"Yes - he has been arrested in his own house within the last half-hour."


"I wish he had," said Nidderdale, "with all my heart.


"If you go in you'll find him sitting there as large as life.


He has been talking to me as though everything were all right."


"Compton was here not a moment ago, and said that he had been taken under a warrant from the Lord Mayor."


"The Lord Mayor is a member and had better come and fetch his prisoner himself.


I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't on his legs before long."


Melmotte kept his seat steadily till seven, at which hour the House adjourned till nine.

Melmotte kept his seat steadily till seven, when the House adjourned till nine.


He was one of the last to leave, and then with a slow step,--with almost majestic steps,--he descended to the dining-room and ordered his dinner.

He was one of the last to leave, and then, almost majestically, he descended to the dining-room and ordered his dinner.


There were many men there, and some little difficulty about a seat. No one was very willing to make room for him.

There were many men there, and no one was very willing to make room for him.


But at last he secured a place, almost jostling some unfortunate who was there before him.


It was impossible to expel him,--almost as impossible to sit next him.


Even the waiters were unwilling to serve him;--but with patience and endurance he did at last get his dinner.

Even the waiters were unwilling to serve him; but with patience and endurance he did eventually get his dinner.


He was there in his right, as a member of the House of Commons, and there was no ground on which such service as he required could be refused to him.

He was there in his right, as a member of the House of Commons, and such service could not be refused to him.


It was not long before he had the table all to himself.

It was not long before he had the table to himself.


He spoke loudly to the waiters and drank his bottle of champagne with much apparent enjoyment.

He spoke loudly to the waiters and drank his bottle of champagne with evident enjoyment.


Since his friendly intercourse with Nidderdale no one had spoken to him, nor had he spoken to any man.


They who watched him declared among themselves that he was happy in his own audacity;--but in truth he was probably at that moment the most utterly wretched man in London.

He looked happy enough; but in truth he was probably the most utterly wretched man in London.


He would have better studied his personal comfort had he gone to his bed, and spent his evening in groans and wailings.


But even he, with all the world now gone from him, with nothing before him but the extremest misery which the indignation of offended laws could inflict, was able to spend the last moments of his freedom in making a reputation at any rate for audacity.

Yet, with all the world now gone from him, with nothing before him but extreme misery, he was able to spend the last moments of his freedom in making a reputation for audacity.


It was thus that Augustus Melmotte wrapped his toga around him before his death!


He went from the dining-room to the smoking-room, and there, taking from his pocket a huge case which he always carried, proceeded to light a cigar about eight inches long.

He went from the dining-room to the smoking-room, and lit a long cigar.


Mr. Brown, from the City, was in the room, and Melmotte, with a smile and a bow, offered Mr. Brown one of the same.

Mr. Brown, who had been corrected by Melmotte in his first speech, was in the room, and Melmotte, with a smile and a bow, offered a cigar to him.


Mr. Brown was a short, fat, round little man, over sixty, who was always endeavouring to give to a somewhat commonplace set of features an air of importance by the contraction of his lips and the knitting of his brows.


It was as good as a play to see Mr. Brown jumping back from any contact with the wicked one, and putting on a double frown as he looked at the impudent sinner.

It was as good as a play to see Mr. Brown jumping back from any contact with the wicked one, and frowning at his impudence.


"You needn't think so much, you know, of what I said the other night.


So spoke Melmotte, and then laughed with a loud, hoarse laugh, looking round upon the assembled crowd as though he were enjoying his triumph.

So spoke Melmotte, and then laughed with a loud, hoarse laugh.


He sat after that and smoked in silence.


Once again he burst out into a laugh, as though peculiarly amused with his own thoughts;--as though he were declaring to himself with much inward humour that all these men around him were fools for believing the stories which they had heard; but he made no further attempt to speak to any one.

Once again he burst out into a laugh, as though peculiarly amused with his own thoughts.


Soon after nine he went back again into the House, and again took his old place.

Soon after nine he went back again into the House, and took his old place.


At this time he had swallowed three glasses of brandy and water, as well as the champagne, and was brave enough almost for anything.


There was some debate going on in reference to the game laws,--a subject on which Melmotte was as ignorant as one of his own housemaids,--but, as some speaker sat down, he jumped up to his legs.

There was some debate going on about the game laws - a subject on which Melmotte was as ignorant as one of his own housemaids - but he jumped on to his feet.


Another gentleman had also risen, and when the House called to that other gentleman Melmotte gave way.


The other gentleman had not much to say, and in a few minutes Melmotte was again on his legs.


Who shall dare to describe the thoughts which would cross the august mind of a Speaker of the House of Commons at such a moment?

What thoughts must have crossed the mind of the Speaker of the House of Commons?


Of Melmotte's villainy he had no official knowledge.

He had no official knowledge of Melmotte's villainy.


And even could he have had such knowledge it was not for him to act upon it.


The man was a member of the House, and as much entitled to speak as another.


But it seemed on that occasion that the Speaker was anxious to save the House from disgrace;--for twice and thrice he refused to have his "eye caught" by the member for Westminster.

But it seemed that the Speaker was anxious to save the House from disgrace; for he refused to have his "eye caught" by the member for Westminster.


As long as any other member would rise he would not have his eye caught.


But Melmotte was persistent, and determined not to be put down.

However, Melmotte was persistent, and determined not to be put down.


At last no one else would speak, and the House was about to negative the motion without a division,--when Melmotte was again on his legs, still persisting.

At last no one else would speak, and Melmotte was again on his legs.


The Speaker scowled at him and leaned back in his chair.


Melmotte standing erect, turning his head round from one side of the House to another, as though determined that all should see his audacity, propping himself with his knees against the seat before him, remained for half a minute perfectly silent.

Melmotte, standing erect, turning his head round from one side of the House to another, remained for half a minute perfectly silent.


He was drunk,--but better able than most drunken men to steady himself, and showing in his face none of those outward signs of intoxication by which drunkenness is generally made apparent.

He was drunk, but better able than most drunken men to steady himself, and showing in his face no outward signs of intoxication.


But he had forgotten in his audacity that words are needed for the making of a speech, and now he had not a word at his command.

But he had forgotten that words are needed for the making of a speech, and now he had not a word at his command.


He stumbled forward, recovered himself, then looked once more round the House with a glance of anger, and after that toppled headlong forward over the shoulders of Mr. Beauchamp Beauclerk, who was now sitting in front of him.

He stumbled forward, recovered himself, glanced round the House with anger, and then toppled headlong over the shoulders of Mr. Beauchamp Beauclerk, who was sitting in front of him.


He might have wrapped his toga around him better perhaps had he remained at home, but if to have himself talked about was his only object, he could hardly have taken a surer course.


The scene, as it occurred, was one very likely to be remembered when the performer should have been carried away into enforced obscurity.


Mr. Beauclerk, a man of natural good nature, though at the moment put to considerable personal inconvenience, hastened, when he recovered his own equilibrium, to assist the drunken man.

Mr. Beauclerk hastened, when he regained his own balance, to assist the drunken man.


But Melmotte had by no means lost the power of helping himself. He quickly recovered his legs, and then reseating himself, put his hat on, and endeavoured to look as though nothing special had occurred.

But Melmotte quickly recovered his legs, and reseating himself, put his hat on, and tried to look as though nothing special had occurred.


The House resumed its business, taking no further notice of Melmotte, and having no special rule of its own as to the treatment to be adopted with drunken members.


But the member for Westminster caused no further inconvenience.


He remained in his seat for perhaps ten minutes, and then, not with a very steady step, but still with capacity sufficient for his own guidance, he made his way down to the doors.

He remained in his seat for perhaps ten minutes, and then, somewhat unsteadily, he made his way down to the doors.


His exit was watched in silence, and the moment was an anxious one for the Speaker, the clerks, and all who were near him.

His exit was watched in anxious silence.


Had he fallen some one,--or rather some two or three,--must have picked him up and carried him out.

Had he fallen, some one - or rather some two or three - must have picked him up and carried him out.


But he did not fall either there or in the lobbies, or on his way down to Palace Yard. Many were looking at him, but none touched him.

But he did not fall, and no one touched him.


When he had got through the gates, leaning against the wall he hallooed for his brougham, and the servant who was waiting for him soon took him home to Bruton Street.

When he had got out through the gates, leaning against the wall he hallooed for his carriage, and was taken home to Bruton Street.


That was the last which the British Parliament saw of its new member for Westminster.