marshalled it for the present moment. He himself probably knew
nothing about the lady's diamonds which had been rescued, or the
considerable subscription to St. George's Hospital which had been
extracted from Mr Melmotte as a make-weight. Poor Marie felt as though
the burden of the hour would be greater than she could bear, and
looked as though she would have fled had flight been possible. But the
trouble passed quickly, and was not really severe. The Prince said a
word or two between each figure, and did not seem to expect a reply.
He made a few words go a long way, and was well trained in the work of
easing the burden of his own greatness for those who were for the
moment inflicted with it. When the dance was over he was allowed to
escape after the ceremony of a single glass of champagne drunk in the
presence of the hostess. Considerable skill was shown in keeping the
presence of his royal guest a secret from the host himself till the
Prince was gone. Melmotte would have desired to pour out that glass of
wine with his own hands, to solace his tongue by Royal Highnesses, and
would probably have been troublesome and disagreeable. Miles Grendall
had understood all this and had managed the affair very well. 'Bless
my soul;--his Royal Highness come and gone!' exclaimed Melmotte. 'You
and my father were so fast at your whist that it was impossible to get
you away,' said Miles. Melmotte was not a fool, and understood it all;
--understood not only that it had been thought better that he should not
speak to the Prince, but also that it might be better that it should
be so. He could not have everything at once. Miles Grendall was very
useful to him, and he would not quarrel with Miles, at any rate as
yet.

'Have another rubber, Alfred?' he said to Miles's father as the
carriages were taking away the guests.

Lord Alfred had taken sundry glasses of champagne, and for a moment
forgot the bills in the safe, and the good things which his boys were
receiving. 'Damn that kind of nonsense,' he said. 'Call people by
their proper names.' Then he left the house without a further word to
the master of it. That night before they went to sleep Melmotte
required from his weary wife an account of the ball, and especially of
Marie's conduct. 'Marie,' Madame Melmotte said, 'had behaved well, but
had certainly preferred "Sir Carbury" to any other of the young men.'
Hitherto Mr Melmotte had heard very little of Sir Carbury, except that
he was a