ast moments of his freedom in making a reputation at any
rate for audacity. It was thus that Augustus Melmotte wrapped his toga
around him before his death!

He went from the dining-room to the smoking-room, and there, taking
from his pocket a huge case which he always carried, proceeded to
light a cigar about eight inches long. Mr Brown, from the City, was in
the room, and Melmotte, with a smile and a bow, offered Mr Brown one
of the same. Mr Brown was a short, fat, round little man, over sixty,
who was always endeavouring to give to a somewhat commonplace set of
features an air of importance by the contraction of his lips and the
knitting of his brows. It was as good as a play to see Mr Brown
jumping back from any contact with the wicked one, and putting on a
double frown as he looked at the impudent sinner. 'You needn't think
so much, you know, of what I said the other night. I didn't mean any
offence.' So spoke Melmotte, and then laughed with a loud, hoarse
laugh, looking round upon the assembled crowd as though he were
enjoying his triumph.

He sat after that and smoked in silence. Once again he burst out into
a laugh, as though peculiarly amused with his own thoughts;--as though
he were declaring to himself with much inward humour that all these
men around him were fools for believing the stories which they had
heard; but he made no further attempt to speak to any one. Soon after
nine he went back again into the House, and again took his old place.
At this time he had swallowed three glasses of brandy and water, as
well as the champagne, and was brave enough almost for anything. There
was some debate going on in reference to the game laws,--a subject on
which Melmotte was as ignorant as one of his housemaids,--but, as some
speaker sat down, he jumped up to his legs. Another gentleman had also
risen, and when the House called to that other gentleman Melmotte gave
way. The other gentleman had not much to say, and in a few minutes
Melmotte was again on his legs. Who shall dare to describe the
thoughts which would cross the august mind of a Speaker of the House
of Commons at such a moment? Of Melmotte's villainy he had no official
knowledge. And even could he have had such knowledge it was not for
him to act upon it. The man was a member of the House, and as much
entitled to speak as another. But it seemed on that occasion that the
Speaker was anxious to save the House from disgrace;--for twice and
thrice he refused