’Yes, my lord,—­yes.  Oh, dear,—­oh, dear!  I think you’ll be sorry to hear it.  There was none who came there he seemed to take to so much as your lordship.’

‘They’ve taken him to prison!’ exclaimed Nidderdale.  But the man shook his head.  ‘What is it then?  He can’t be dead.’  Then the man nodded his head, and, putting his hand up to his face, burst into tears.  ’Mr Melmotte dead!  He was in the House of Commons last night.  I saw him myself.  How did he die?’ But the fat, ponderous man was so affected by the tragedy he had witnessed, that he could not as yet give any account of the scene of his master...