"It is not conscience," thought Topsparkle savagely. "The man cares no more for that false feeble creature who lies in St. Anne's churchyard than he cares for St. Anne herself. It is brandy and not conscience that moves him. He has destroyed his nerves by intemperance, and must needs call up the dead to torment himself and endanger me. A madhouse--yes, that is the safest abode for a gentleman in this disposition. I have only to find out a safe asylum, and then, presto, my friend Fétis shall be bestowed where a strait waistcoat will tame his antics, and the free use of the gag will put a stop to his invocations of the dead. A mad-doctor and a private madhouse--that is what I have to find without loss of time." Then, after walking a little further, cudgelling his brain in the effort to remember all he had ever heard about the incarceration of madmen in England, he reverted to a question which was more perplexing to him than the ravings of Fétis. "Lavendale, _que diable allait il faire dans cette galère_? what the deuce can impel Lavendale to patronise my valet? and why should his lordship's society revive old associations with Venice, and reduce the man from semi-lunacy to dumb melancholic madness, as I doubt his state must be to-day, if his wife speaks truth? There is mystery and mischief here, and I cannot too soon protect myself from the chances of awkward revelations. There must be some private way of dealing with madmen, without shutting them up in that great hospital by London Wall, where all the world may see them at a penny a head, easier and cheaper than the lions in the Tower. I remember how Lavendale and his friend were struck by that marvellous likeness between Miss Bosworth and Margharita; yet what should come of that, an accidental resemblance, curious, but of no significance? I almost hated that girl for the shock her face gave me every time we met. It was a constant oppression to my spirits to have her in my house. And now they say Durnford has run away with her, and married her at Keith's Chapel, and that her father has thrown her off in consequence, so that my gentleman has but a penniless beauty for his partner in life, and no doubt will soon repent his bargain. Why should Lavendale invite my valet? O, a whim, no doubt, a trick, a practical joke, such as Wharton and his Schemers used to hatch t'other day--some conspiracy against a woman's peace or reputation. Something modish, witty, and iniquitous, no doubt. Why should I fancy there is mischief to me amidst such random follies? But the fact remains that Fétis has taken to blabbing, and must be gagged. Yes, my poor, good, faithful, self-serving servant, you were a very convenient and useful person so long as you knew how to hold your tongue, but now you have turned babbler you must be provided for accordingly. The wife can be easily dealt with. She is vain, silly, and selfish, and can be bought cheap."