always endeavoured to
go as near the wind as he could, to avoid the heavy hand of the
criminal law of whatever country he inhabited. He had studied the
criminal laws, so that he might be sure in his reckonings; but he had
always felt that he might be carried by circumstances into deeper
waters than he intended to enter. As the soldier who leads a forlorn
hope, or as the diver who goes down for pearls, or as the searcher for
wealth on fever-breeding coasts, knows that as his gains may be great,
so are his perils, Melmotte had been aware that in his life, as it
opened itself out to him, he might come to terrible destruction. He
had not always thought, or even hoped, that he would be as he was now,
so exalted as to be allowed to entertain the very biggest ones of the
earth; but the greatness had grown upon him,--and so had the danger. He
could not now be as exact as he had been. He was prepared himself to
bear all mere ignominy with a tranquil mind,--to disregard any shouts
of reprobation which might be uttered, and to console himself when the
bad quarter of an hour should come with the remembrance that he had
garnered up a store sufficient for future wants and placed it beyond
the reach of his enemies. But as his intellect opened up to him new
schemes, and as his ambition got the better of his prudence, he
gradually fell from the security which he had preconceived, and became
aware that he might have to bear worse than ignominy.

Perhaps never in his life had he studied his own character and his own
conduct more accurately, or made sterner resolves, than he did as he
stood there smiling, bowing, and acting without impropriety the part
of host to an Emperor. No;--he could not run away. He soon made himself
sure of that. He had risen too high to be a successful fugitive, even
should he succeed in getting off before hands were laid upon him. He
must bide his ground, if only that he might not at once confess his
own guilt by flight; and he would do so with courage. Looking back at
the hour or two that had just passed he was aware that he had allowed
himself not only to be frightened in the dinner-room,--but also to
seem to be frightened. The thing had come upon him unawares and he had
been untrue to himself. He acknowledged that. He should not have asked
those questions of Mr Todd and Mr Beauclerk, and should have been more
good-humoured than usual with Lord Alfred in discussing those empty
seats. But for spilt milk there is