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.

'You know what has happened, Nidderdale?'

'About Melmotte, you mean?'

'Yes, about Melmotte,' continued Lupton. 'He has been arrested in his
own house within the last half-hour on a charge of forgery.'

'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. At any rate he's there. 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. 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. There were many men there, and some little
difficulty about a seat. 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. 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. It was not long before he had the table all to himself. But of
this he took no apparent notice. He spoke loudly to the waiters and
drank his bottle of champagne with much apparent 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 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 l