ments,--and to live before the eyes of men as though he feared
nothing.

He dined at home alone, in the study, and after dinner carefully went
through various bundles of papers, preparing them for the eyes of
those ministers of the law who would probably before long have the
privilege of searching them. At dinner, and while he was thus
employed, he drank a bottle of champagne,--feeling himself greatly
comforted by the process. If he could only hold up his head and look
men in the face, he thought that he might still live through it all.
How much had he done by his own unassisted powers! He had once been
imprisoned for fraud at Hamburg, and had come out of gaol a pauper;
friendless, with all his wretched antecedents against him. Now he was
a member of the British House of Parliament, the undoubted owner of
perhaps the most gorgeously furnished house in London, a man with an
established character for high finance,--a commercial giant whose name
was a familiar word on all the exchanges of the two hemispheres. Even
though he should be condemned to penal servitude for life, he would
not all die. He rang the bell and desired that Madame Melmotte might
be sent to him, and bade the servant bring him brandy.

In ten minutes his poor wife came crawling into the room. Every one
connected with Melmotte regarded the man with a certain amount of
awe,--every one except Marie, to whom alone he had at times been
himself almost gentle. The servants all feared him, and his wife obeyed
him implicitly when she could not keep away from him. She came in now
and stood opposite him, while he spoke to her. She never sat in his
presence in that room. He asked her where she and Marie kept their
jewelry;--for during the last twelve months rich trinkets had been
supplied to both of them. Of course she answered by another question.
'Is anything going to happen, Melmotte?'

'A good deal is going to happen. Are they here in this house, or in
Grosvenor Square?'

'They are here.'

'Then have them all packed up,--as small as you can; never mind about
wool and cases and all that. Have them close to your hand so that if
you have to move you can take them with you. Do you understand?'

'Yes; I understand.'

'Why don't you speak, then?'

'What is going to happen, Melmotte?'

'How can I tell? You ought to know by this time that when a man's work
is such as mine, things will happen. You'll be safe enough. Nothing
can hurt you.'

'Can they hurt you