lled 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. 'Is not Mr Grendall coming?' she asked,
as she took her seat at the table.

'No, he is not,' said Melmotte.

'Nor Lord Alfred?'

'Nor Lord Alfred.' Melmotte had returned home much comforted by the
day's proceedings. No one had dared to say a harsh word to his face.
Nothing further had reached his ears. 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. 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. 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. All that about Hamburg and
Vienna and Paris was as old as the hills, and availed nothing. 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. 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. 'Nor Lord Alfred,'
he said with scorn. Then he added more. 'The father and son are two
d---- curs.' 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.

'What do you call wrong?'

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

'I should have thought you were used to that kind of feeling