year.'

Paul Montague told the great man that he would consider the whole
matter, and see him in Abchurch Lane before the next Board day. 'And
now, good-bye,' said Mr Melmotte, as he bade his young friend adieu in
a hurry. 'I'm afraid that I'm keeping Sir Gregory Gribe, the Bank
Director, waiting downstairs.'

CHAPTER XLI - ALL PREPARED

During all these days Miss Melmotte was by no means contented with her
lover's prowess, though she would not allow herself to doubt his
sincerity. She had not only assured him of her undying affection in
the presence of her father and mother, had not only offered to be
chopped in pieces on his behalf, but had also written to him, telling
how she had a large sum of her father's money within her power, and
how willing she was to make it her own, to throw over her father and
mother, and give herself and her fortune to her lover. She felt that
she had been very gracious to her lover, and that her lover was a
little slow in acknowledging the favours conferred upon him. But,
nevertheless, she was true to her lover, and believed that he was true
to her. Didon had been hitherto faithful. Marie had written various
letters to Sir Felix and had received two or three very short notes in
reply, containing hardly more than a word or two each. But now she was
told that a day was absolutely fixed for her marriage with Lord
Nidderdale, and that her things were to be got ready. She was to be
married in the middle of August, and here they were, approaching the
end of June. 'You may buy what you like, mamma,' she said; 'and if
papa agrees about Felix, why then I suppose they'll do. But they'll
never be of any use about Lord Nidderdale. If you were to sew me up in
the things by main force, I wouldn't have him.' Madame Melmotte
groaned, and scolded in English, French, and German, and wished that
she were dead; she told Marie that she was a pig, and ass, and a toad,
and a dog. And, ended, as she always did end, by swearing that
Melmotte must manage the matter himself. 'Nobody shall manage this
matter for me,' said Marie. 'I know what I'm about now, and I won't
marry anybody just because it will suit papa.' 'Que nous etions encore
a Frankfort, ou New-York,' said the elder lady, remembering the
humbler but less troubled times of her earlier life. Marie did not
care for Frankfort or New York; for Paris or for London;--but she did
care for Sir Felix Carbury.

While her father on Sunday morning was t