The Way We Live Now Anthony Trollope (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) 📖

and was therefore customarily conspicuous in his movements. He was desirous now of being as he was always, neither more nor less demonstrative;⁠—but, as a matter of course, he exceeded; and it seemed to those who looked at him that there was a special impudence in the manner in which he walked up the House and took his seat. The Undersecretary of State, who was on his legs, was struck almost dumb, and his morsel of wit about the facings was lost to Parliament forever.

That unfortunate young man, Lord Nidderdale, occupied the seat next to that on which Melmotte had placed himself. It had so happened three or four times since Melmotte had been in the House, as the young lord, fully intending to marry the Financier’s daughter, had resolved that he would not be ashamed of his father-in-law. He had understood that countenance of the sort which he as a young aristocrat could give to the man of millions who had risen no one knew whence, was part of the bargain in reference to the marriage, and he was gifted with a mingled honesty and courage which together made him willing and able to carry out his idea. He had given Melmotte little lessons as to ordinary forms of the House, and had done what in him lay to earn the money which was to be forthcoming. But it had become manifest both to him and to his father during the last two days⁠—very painfully manifest to his father⁠—that the thing must be abandoned. And if so⁠—then why should he be any longer gracious to Melmotte? And, moreover, though he had been ready to be courteous to a very vulgar and a very disagreeable man, he was not anxious to extend his civilities to one who, as he was now assured, had been certainly guilty of forgery. But to get up at once and leave his seat because Melmotte had placed himself by his side, did not suit the turn of his mind. He looked round to his neighbour on the right, with a half-comic look of misery, and then prepared himself to bear his punishment, whatever it might be.

“Have you been up with Marie today?” said Melmotte.

“No;⁠—I’ve not,” replied the lord.

“Why don’t you go? She’s always asking about you now. I hope we shall be in our own house again next week, and then we shall be able to make you comfortable.”

Could it be possible that the man did not know that all the world was united in accusing him of forgery? “I’ll tell you what it is,” said Nidderdale. “I think you had better see my governor again, Mr. Melmotte.”

“There’s nothing wrong, I hope.”

“Well;⁠—I don’t know. You’d better see him. I’m going now. I only just came down to enter an appearance.” He had to cross Melmotte on his way out, and as he did so Melmotte grasped him by the hand. “Good night, my boy,” said Melmotte quite aloud⁠—in a voice much louder than that which members generally allow themselves for conversation. Nidderdale was confused and unhappy; but there was probably not a man in the House who did not understand the whole thing. He rushed down through the gangway and out through the doors with a hurried step, and as he escaped into the lobby he met Lionel Lupton, who, since his little conversation with Mr. Beauclerk, had heard further news.

“You know what has happened, Nidderdale?”

“About Melmotte, you mean?”

“Yes, about Melmotte,” continued Lupton. “He has been arrested in his own house within the last half-hour on a charge of forgery.”

“I wish he had,” said Nidderdale, “with all my heart. If you go in you’ll find him sitting there as large as life. He has been talking to me as though everything were all right.”

“Compton was here not a moment ago, and said that he had been taken under a warrant from the Lord Mayor.”

“The Lord Mayor is a member and had better come and fetch his prisoner himself. At any rate he’s there. I shouldn’t wonder if he wasn’t on his legs before long.”

Melmotte kept his seat steadily till seven, at which hour the House adjourned till nine. He was one of the last to leave, and then with a slow step⁠—with almost majestic steps⁠—he descended to the dining-room and ordered his dinner. There were many men there, and some little difficulty about a seat. No one was very willing to make room for him. But at last he secured a place, almost jostling some unfortunate who was there before him. It was impossible to expel him⁠—almost as impossible to sit next him. Even the waiters were unwilling to serve him;⁠—but with patience and endurance he did at last get his dinner. He was there in his right, as a member of the House of Commons, and there was no ground on which such service as he required could be refused to him. It was not long before he had the table all to himself. But of this he took no apparent notice. He spoke loudly to the waiters and drank his bottle of champagne with much apparent enjoyment. Since his friendly intercourse with Nidderdale no one had spoken to him, nor had he spoken to any man. They who watched him declared among themselves that he was happy in his own audacity;⁠—but in truth he was probably at that moment the most utterly wretched man in London. He would have better studied his personal comfort had he gone to his bed, and spent his evening in groans and wailings. But even he, with all the world now gone from him, with nothing before him but the extremest misery which the indignation of offended laws could inflict, was able to spend the last 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