From Newsgroup: alt.food.fast-food

<https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/ia-supreme-court/1360099.html>

Kent Wills appeals his conviction for second-degree burglary contending
that an attached garage is a separate occupied structure from that of the living quarters of the residence.

...

Around 1 a.m., an Ankeny resident called the local police to report that
a car alarm sounded in the resident's neighborhood. rCe The city dispatched
a police officer to the location. rCe Observing nothing unusual, the
officer left the area, only to be stopped a couple of blocks later by a
person who informed the officer he had witnessed someone running from the
area of the car alarm. rCe As the officer started driving back to the area
of the car alarm, he noticed a person walking on the sidewalk. rCe The
officer asked the person, a minor, if he had noticed anybody running from
the area. rCe The minor answered that he had not. rCe While the officer and another officer were speaking to the minor, another resident of the neighborhood arrived in her car and informed the officers that she had observed two people, one of whom was heavy set with a blinking light on
his back pocket, walking in the area of her neighbor's residence. rCe She observed the heavier-set individual, later identified as Wills, enter her neighbor's attached garage through an unlocked service door. rCe She
further observed a smaller individual standing by a van parked in the neighbor's driveway.

The officers eventually let the minor leave even though they found a
large amount of coins, a flashlight, and an electronic pocket organizer
in his pockets. rCe After releasing the minor, the police officers drove to the residence where the neighbor observed the two suspicious people and
woke the owner. rCe The owner, his wife, and two daughters were in the residence sleeping at the time. rCe After a search of his vehicles, the
owner discovered change and an electronic pocket organizer were missing
from the vehicles. rCe The owner's daughter reported a diamond ring and
some change were missing from her vehicle. rCe The officers then contacted
the minor's parents, who informed the officers the minor was with Wills.
rCe After the officers questioned the minor again, he admitted his
involvement in the theft and implicated Wills in the burglary. rCe Although Wills denied involvement in the burglary, the officers arrested him.

The State filed a trial information charging Wills with second-degree burglary. rCe The State later amended the information to include two additional charges of burglary in the third degree and using a juvenile
to commit an indictable offense.

The jury returned a verdict finding Wills guilty of the crimes of
burglary in the second degree, burglary in the third degree, and using a juvenile to commit an indictable offense. rCe Wills appeals his conviction
for second-degree burglary claiming ineffective assistance of counsel.

--

<https://groups.google.com/g/airnews.dupes/c/-toK23mkxU8/m/_LkkoaG1fQIJ>
News Administration for Airnews!
Jun 15, 2000, 3:00:00rC>AM
to
This is an index of all posts rejected for being a duplicate on the
date noted below. Only posts originating from Internet America are
screened. These are sorted by identical content, not by posting time.
The line post.post.llllll can be used to locate the first 30 lines of
the actual article posted in a second article in this group. These can
be quite large, so check the Subject: line for the size before
downloading.
Period Ending: jun-15 ~00:00 Central Time
Amount: 775 duplicates containing 223294 K of data not added to USENET

----Index of rejected posts:

[...]

post.post.aaxmpa --------------
From: themo...@nospam.bigfoot.com (Molecule)
Newsgroups: alt.binaries.multimedia.erotica.repost
Subject: (TomMix) Little White Chicks/Big Black Monster Dicks
3m/1f/bj/fk/2fac -
Message-ID: <01B72C412904FFAA.F68BC7F3...@lp.airnews.net>
NNTP-Posting-Time: Wed Jun 14 06:00:24 2000
NNTP-Posting-Host: !Z!O:1k-W&]"](<FV%r*Et`,6 (Encoded at Airnews!)

post.post.aaEzta --------------
From: themo...@nospam.bigfoot.com (Molecule)
Newsgroups: alt.binaries.multimedia.erotica.repost
Subject: (TomMix) Little White Chicks/Big Black Monster Dicks
3m/1f/bj/fk/2fac -
Message-ID: <09D6876B59771A63.A93FB4E0...@lp.airnews.net>
NNTP-Posting-Time: Wed Jun 14 05:22:47 2000
NNTP-Posting-Host: !Z!O:1k-W&]"](<FV%r*Et`,6 (Encoded at Airnews!)

post.post.aaztxa --------------
From: themo...@nospam.bigfoot.com (Molecule)
Newsgroups: alt.binaries.multimedia.erotica.repost
Subject: (TomMix) Little White Chicks/Big Black Monster Dicks
3m/1f/bj/fk/2fac -
Message-ID: <0E90CFC05C667CC2.27F5DF12...@lp.airnews.net>
NNTP-Posting-Time: Wed Jun 14 05:24:02 2000
NNTP-Posting-Host: !Z!O:1k-W&]"](<FV%r*Et`,6 (Encoded at Airnews!)

(63 other rejected posts redacted)

Obviously, these likely weren't being re-posted by Tom, but you can
plainly see his "branding" in the Subject: field.

Is TomMix yet another perverted cismale sex criminal who's into hardcore
pr0n and misogynistic exploitation of women that's got lots to say about
trans women?

--

<https://groups.google.com/g/rec.arts.movies.erotica/c/wOAce3- bLzo/m/NMTo96Vx2n8J>
In article <rame.981541205p31956@bash>,
TomMix <TomMix@worldnet.att.net> wrote:

I stayed in a Holiday Inn in Texas about six months ago. I looked at
the porn channel just to see what it was like in the bible-belt. I
think the film was a censored hardcore flick with some of the action
put back in to keep you from being completely bored. They also cut-out
the cum-shot.

https://groups.google.com/g/rec.arts.movies.erotica/c/VgwBqTEjx5Y/m/nCCTv M8UM34J
TomMix
unread,
Apr 27, 1999, 3:00:00rC>AM
to
Vic Apocalypse <rc...@iserv.net> wrote:

I have noticed that GS and fisting video is available for purchase in
the US via the internet -- what happens if I actually order such a
product? Does it actually arrive? Do the feds arrive as well?

I don't really want to drive over to Windsor (assuming that rumor is
true).
---------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn't have any trouble getting my order filled from
xxx-imports (US) or videodrome (canada).

I've only placed one order with each outfit, but they each came though
OK. The videodrome came as a bare cassette and without a factory type
label. XXX-import came with the original case and label. The canada $
being down, makes videodrome a little bit cheaper, but you do seem to
get a little less from them.

TomMix

Message-ID: <slrn10t1vbc.22sd6.tommix@devnull.org>
"When someone canrCOt defend their point, they reach for the lowest thing
they can think of and hope it distracts from the fact theyrCOve got nothing
of substance left to say." - Tom Mix right before he reaches for the
lowest thing he can think of

--

Anton Eaks is a sockpuppeting troll:

From: Donald Trump <noemail@aol.com> posting-account="U2FsdGVkX1+C4Ys9W76hsOFvKQYp7+8v"; posting- host="82cded5d211e2e5858d923a18468d8ff"
Message-ID: <MPG.447166d2b63a6b309896b1@news.eternal-september.org>
[...]
You know I have been waiting since Fakey called all the
alphabet law on me, and then Jen supposed to have called
and also gonna get me for copyright infringement because I
steal movies and games off the net. Oh the DEA because Jen
thinks I am cartel. ho hum.

Skeeter replies to his own sock for clarity:

From: Skeeter <invalid@none.com>
Message-ID: <MPG.447167454401ecc198b7bb@usnews.blocknews.net>

In article <MPG.447166d2b63a6b309896b1@news.eternal-
september.org>, noemail@aol.com says...
BWAHAHAHAHA..... I was torlling another froup and forgot
to switch servers. LOL

--

"I love it when you melt down. You love me so much you post a mile logs
sig all about me. But since you're a fag you will get nowhere with me." - Anton "Skeeter" Eaks in <MPG.44655a309bf8fd9898b623@usnews.blocknews.net>

Anton Eaks' Harassment/menacing Evidence:

Date: Sun, 21 Jun 2026 13:28:30 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.44a1e94889fe9a2a98c210@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I think it's time for a welfare check for you since you always talk
about pedophilia. My buddy seems to
know a lot about you and where you work. Just saying he is good at what
he does so behave yourself."

Date: Sun, 21 Jun 2026 13:53:59 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.44a1ef3e6ba3cc3198c214@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Jen deserves what is about to happen."

Date: Fri, 22 May 2026 13:14:59 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.447a59234a24907298b8be@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Grab an AR and go shoot the place up, that will show them."

Date: Sat, 16 May 2026 12:53:04 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.44726afb84d25b1198b7d3@usnews.blocknews.net>
"You're a fag and it's time to send some more anonymous mails."

Date: Tue, 31 Mar 2026 09:36:01 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.443597cfd9dc917498b38c@usnews.blocknews.net>
"<I shared your info>"

Date: Fri, 27 Mar 2026 07:53:23 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.443039c02e50741298b341@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Piss off faggot. Sleep light and pay attention."

Date: Wed, 25 Mar 2026 07:52:53 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.442d969fab2afe4498b320@usnews.blocknews.net>
"There is an old friend who does not like Jen from way
back. Jen knows what he is capable of."

Date: Tue, 24 Mar 2026 07:26:35 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.442c3ef697f30f6598b2ed@usnews.blocknews.net>
"You fucked up. Now the fun begins."

Date: Tue, 24 Mar 2026 07:28:35 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.442c3f73510def3798b2ee@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I know it (Jen's Address) and I also know where he works."

Date: Mon, 23 Mar 2026 07:58:08 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.442af4dd1d02d1d798b2ca@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I know someone who does not like him at all. Robert knows
what this guy is capable of. I guess it's time to spank
Robert again. His boss will find it interesting."

Date: Sun, 22 Mar 2026 10:27:58 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.4429c67ed5a2fc7798b2bd@usnews.blocknews.net>
"What matters most is how your boss.....well nevermind."

Date: Sun, 22 Mar 2026 09:31:29 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.4429b940c16cb95d98b2af@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Oh there are others taking an interest."

Date: Sun, 22 Mar 2026 09:27:37 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.4429b851f57fc6be98b2aa@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Now about that job of yours."

Date: Tue, 17 Mar 2026 08:41:02 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.442315e7bfd756bb98b1ff@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I am for real this time. Gonna put you one the front burner.
Stay alert."

Date: Mon, 2 Mar 2026 10:46:59 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.440f7afdc13dea7d98b108@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I guess it's time to get a hold of our friend Steve.
You're getting out of line again."

Date: Mon, 2 Mar 2026 10:48:20 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.440f7b52f29cd68c98b10a@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Any funny emails at your job?"

Date: Wed, 3 Dec 2025 09:12:09 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.439a0f49e9d22c798a8f6@usnews.blocknews.net>
"You better do something. Shit is about to get real."

Date: Thu, 10 Apr 2025 12:04:37 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.4261b61b538404fa989cba@usnews.blocknews.net>
"You don't own a gun but maybe we better find out."

Date: Fri, 11 Apr 2025 12:07:20 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.42630847d6f576de989d0d@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Piss off and sleep light."

Date: Sun, 20 Apr 2025 05:37:30 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.426e8a69c10dff41989f31@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I think it's time you got a wake up call."

Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2025 08:37:06 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.42754bfa355cfc0998a055@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I know enough to cause you grief."

Date: Sat, 20 Sep 2025 10:24:37 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.43388333854ff93498a4de@usnews.blocknews.net>
"i wonder if they have the red flag rule there, time to
find out"

Date: Sun, 9 Jun 2024 09:42:47 -0600
Message-ID: <6665cd78$0$3747334$882e4bbb@reader.netnews.com>
"Guess It's time to have my old AHM buddies have some more fun."

Date: Sun, 21 Jan 2024 10:27:21 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.401701e322ea65e6990ea1@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Snitches get stitches."

Date: Wed, 17 Jan 2024 08:46:05 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.4011a42a6603a80f990cde@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Well I backed off of my plan but now I have changed my mind. It's a go."

Date: Sat, 6 Jan 2024 10:28:27 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.40033ba117e89214990b09@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Yours could get interesting."

Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2024 12:48:56 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.40020b12d6e98c7d990a8b@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I happen to know who to talk to at Blocknews and it isn't a Brad"

Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2024 05:54:20 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.4001a9e51ddb434d990a3d@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Guess it's time to make you famous again. Watch for links."

Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2024 06:42:42 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.4001b52e6ed1d33c990a44@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Wait for it. This time it's gonna get spread widely."

Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2024 06:22:53 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.4001b09ce286a712990a42@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Since you are so into outing it's time for a refresher course on who and where you are."

Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2024 06:56:22 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.4001b8665277410d990a50@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Wait for it. It might show up on some local web site there."

Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2024 07:16:49 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.4001bd3ce67e85b2990a58@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I bet he's shaking in his slippers."

Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2024 08:45:24 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.4001d202159abc6990a63@usnews.blocknews.net>
"You fucked up because I have you scared. Have I sent an email yet? Maybe maybe not."

Date: Wed, 7 Jun 2023 13:34:34 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.3eea89b6a3d77a0d98d5f4@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Answering your own socks now? Damn you need a welfare check. I might
just have to arrange that."

Date: Tue, 14 Mar 2023 14:15:04 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.3e7a83b27c6f371298ba35@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Pittsburgh. Plenty of info available if so needed."

Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2023 15:26:28 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.3e6ad0818861d4ed98b634@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I think it's time to play with the info I have. Just for shits and
grins. Just ignore those unmarked phone calls."

Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2023 16:50:02 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.3e6ae41746d0c0ce98b652@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I will send out a little birdy."

Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2023 16:53:09 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.3e6ae4cfd471d67698b653@usnews.blocknews.net>
"It's not a threat, it's a promise."

Date: Mon, 2 Jan 2023 11:45:33 -0700
Message-ID: <MPG.3e1cd438318b8c2a98ac2c@usnews.blocknews.net>
"I think it's time I contact your friends."

Date: Thu, 29 Sep 2022 12:27:12 -0600
Message-ID: <MPG.3d9f914395f99a47989806@usnews.blocknews.net>
"Believe me they are still watching."
"I have notified one and told them to proceed with plan 2."

Date: Tue, 12 Jul 2022 11:03:56 -0600
Message-ID: <dbarchlleqfk377ees81536qvccf2n609b@4ax.com>
"You sound scared, are you scared?"

Date: Sun, 10 Jul 2022 12:01:01 -0600
Message-ID: <6u4mchpoa1sbcg4i0cjpntoct3dr9p8a36@4ax.com>
"I'm up for a trip to Pitts."

Date: Tue, 12 Jul 2022 11:08:04 -0600
Message-ID: <4darchl4a7hocc33t83jmfov74hvh4ndfp@4ax.com>
"This :localghOst seems to own you. I can tell you it is not Checkmate.
I have kown LocalghOst for years and you are so wrong."

https://www.rmequality.org/post/legal-protections-for-trans-people-in-
colorado
ColoradorCOs hate crime laws protect individuals from crimes motivated
either entirely or partly by bias against sexual orientation and/or
gender identity (H.B. 05-1014). Bias-motivated charges apply in cases
where crimes are determined to be motivated by prejudice against LGBTQ+ individuals.

Additionally, colluding across state lines to commit a crime is grounds
for federal RICO charges and felonies for all parties involved. HTH,
Anton.
--

The Infamous Eagle Ass Mythology

From: % <pursent100@gmail.com>
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 2026 09:49:28 -0700
Message-ID: <P5KdnY7zccgzXEL0nZ2dnZfqnPGdnZ2d@giganews.com>
"The Eagle wasn't always the Eagle. The Eagle, before he became the
Eagle, was Yucatangee, the Talker. Yucatangee talked and talked. It
talked so much it heard only itself. Not the river, not the wind, not
even the Wolf. The Raven came and said "The Wolf is hungry. If you stop talking, you'll hear him. The wind too. And when you hear the wind,
you'll fly." So he stopped talking. And became its nature, the Eagle.
The Eagle soared, and its flight said all it needed to say and then I ate
its ass."

--

https://podscan.fm/podcasts/pretend/episodes/listener-reaction-didnt-see- it-coming-part-3
So, it's Kenito Wills, right? Yes And where's that from? Where's that
name from? That's a cool name It's actually not my real legal name, it is
a name that was given to me by many of the Mexican people I work with at
Tyson Ah, cool They just started calling me Kenito and it stuck and I
just use it I love it My real name is actually Kent, Kent Wills Oh,
Kenito Okay, so we just call everything Kenito, we just add an Kenito to
the end of it Yeah, yeah

Message-ID: <MPG.439a275e15d584ba98a8fb@usnews.blocknews.net>
From: Skeeter <invalid@none.com>

Perhaps YOUR neighbors should know about your plastic garbage bag floor

coverings held stable by turpentine and paint thinner cans on the corners
so you can grow and process your "medicinal" dog shit boot floor weed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUefkJHMu3Y
https://ibb.co/KLbt06s https://i.ibb.co/fnq31MN/Skeeters-Brick-Weed-Shitbox-Trailer-3.jpg https://ibb.co/XFXBpkX https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCtIIQdaP03JS8EroV0p0WNQ https://ibb.co/zNN7mb1
https://ibb.co/SBQc1cb

HTH, criminal.

What I do is legal. Your neighbors might think different
about a tranny, obsessed lying gun fanatic. - Anton Eaks grows his dog
shit boot garbage bag floor weed "LEGALLY", TYVM!

--

"The percentage of poasters with mental issues gets bigger every day as
the 'sane' poasters give up on usenet." - Some insane Usenet poster

Date: Fri, 8 Aug 2025 13:04:54 +0100
From: onion@anon.invalid (Mr ?n!on)
Message-ID: <1rgqzzk.2zxwu61j7n037N%onion@anon.invalid>
I rebut his unsupported allegation that I "have made multiple
intimidating threats in January to "post my pics". "
A proper citation is required. I won't be holding my breath.

Date: Wed, 1 Jan 2025 15:28:30 +0000
From: snipeco.2@gmail.com (Sn!pe)
Message-ID: <1r5hmpt.7k31k41v4jkebN%snipeco.2@gmail.com>
Maybe Usenet -is- ready to see those selfies again after all. [fu set]

Date: Fri, 3 Jan 2025 00:28:07 +0000
From: snipeco.2@gmail.com (Sn!pe)
Message-ID: <1r5k6g1.1oxpq95ksjpy2N%snipeco.2@gmail.com>
If you keep on jumping on my poasts I'll put those selfies up.
Fair warning, your choice.

Date: Wed, 15 Jan 2025 20:27:15 +0000
From: snipeco.2@gmail.com (Sn!pe)
Message-ID: <1r67y1d.1xu2dkypsqalhN%snipeco.2@gmail.com>
I also have those selfies. Your choice, be warned.

"Whereas I CAN post non-sequiturs, as I prove with my reply" - Kent
Bradley Wills in Message-ID: <acpb6khjfsur6le8u914f7a37asce7hjcu@4ax.com>

Kent/Kenito Wills is a lying fraud and a world-class K0ok:

<https://www.facebook.com/photo.php? fbid=10226575407554944&set=pb.1339154565.-2207520000&type=3>

"A very special Happy Son's Day to my most beloved son, Kent. This
picture was taken before you lost over 100 lbs."

"Ken|!to Wills (https://www.facebook.com/kwills3)
ItrCOs not my birthday. ThatrCOs in January."

Kent celebrating his 49th birthday after losing 100 lbs https://www.facebook.com/photo.php? fbid=10226575407554944&set=pb.1339154565.-2207520000&type=3
Fred A Wills
A very special Happy Son's Day to my most beloved son, Kent. This picture
was taken before you lost over 100 lbs.

Vangie Hansen
Happy Birthday Kent!!!??

Dottie Wilkinson Dunlap
Happy birthday!

Ken|!to Wills
ItrCOs not my birthday. ThatrCOs in January.

https://groups.google.com/g/rec.autos.misc/c/Ou60H28ExUw
Kent Bradley Wills DOB Jan 8, 1969 Felony Garage Burglar used teen as accomplice

AI guy in suit that Kent/Kenito identifies as:
https://www.facebook.com/photo/?
fbid=10231572239674019&set=a.1603583254411

https://www.facebook.com/kwills3
Ken|!to Wills (-U-|-+-u-e-+)
1.4K followers rCo 0 following

"I am not a "hetero cismale"." - Steve K. Hall in <1r5hu1f.z02fkr1t8gjr5N%snipeco.2@gmail.com>

"Claiming that I "refuse to respect pronouns" is dead wrong. I respect
them with everyone but "Jen" and "their" ilk, because "they" are a
phony." - Scott Doty AKA Creon AKA Vallor AKA Doc Hammerhead declares why
he ironically reserves the "right" to misgender others just like his MAGA bigot cohorts are wont to in Message-ID:
<l54g7pF27huU2@mid.individual.net>

"You're stupid if you run "make" as root, numbnuts." - Scott Doty in <qgmhQ.8004$v9ff.889@fx42.iad>

Additionally, one will be disappointed if one doesn't "sudo make install"
after "sudo make modules_install". - Scott Doty running make as root in <nX7hQ.78395$i168.5679@fx13.iad>

Message-ID: <nistjjhili8963p9l65oi962r3p4mktej5@4ax.com>
" And yet, one can still see the headers.
If you weren't so stupid, you would know how. I will try, and
likely fail, to dumb it down to your intellectual level.
To the right of the post there are three dots. Click on them. A
few options will appear. Click on "Show original message" and follow
the instructions as best your learning disability will permit.
If you still can't see the headers, there is nothing more I can
do. I cannot dumb this down any more than I have." - Kenito Wills,
stupider than shit-stupid. (See: https://ibb.co/MVsRGqN)

"It's just like you to read all that, and come up a sick and clueless
response like that one, totally unrelated to the point. It must get
confusing to be intelligent enough to "sit at the best reading table in school," and fail to cobble together a basic understanding of what you've
just read. The nasty side of you always manages to take control to guard
your fragile ego, which explains why you never get along with people, and
get visitors like Red Elephant who take the time and trouble to come by
and embarrass you..." - <MPG.41696ec8ecc18ea4989796@usnews.blocknews.net> Jimbo responds to a yes/no question exactly as one might expect him to.

"Bullshit! You salivate over every word I write, then beg for more.
Then when you realize that I've put you in another hole you can't worm
your way out of... even if you did "sit at the best reading table in elementary school," YOU revert to pedo lames, because that's the best you
can do. In fact, no one here has any interest in your obsession with
pedo lames but you, because you're intellectually weak. In fact, you
seem suspiciously obsessed with that topic. Maybe some day we'll find
out why." - <MPG.4169de194a070345989798@usnews.blocknews.net> No Jim, I
am not "obsessed" with what you did and concealed and continue to
backpedal from.

https://groups.google.com/g/misc.legal/c/6FaoS9bawDI/m/Wdupq7BHaSkJ
"I've spoken against CPS many times. That I realize that they were 100% correct in regards to you doesn't mean I'm pro-CPS." - Kent Wills doesn't
like Child Protection Services getting in his way of abusing children.

https://groups.google.com/g/misc.legal/c/AmluvRraNjg/m/gufYNdgK3E8J
"Greg has made it very clear he likes little girls. And not in a sexually healthy way." - Kent Wills believes that there's a "sexually healthy" way
to be a pedophile.

"I'm actually glad it's out in the open now, it's a lot of weight to
bear. Some will graciously accept that, and some probably won't. It makes
it real easy to know who's worth regarding as a friend. Those few
remaining haters hide behind socks... I wonder why?" - Checkmate AKA
Auntie Tranny <youdaman@betamail.corn> AKA "Rick Sabian" AKA "Morphing Fuckwit" AKA "automatic tranny" AKA "jen der queer" AKA
"livelong@and.prosper" AKA "FOAD <foad@grnail.corn>" AKA "Destiny <faghaitur@bucket.list>" AKA "DAVID KEETING <Squiggles@ass.worm>" AKA
"f4c3411 <f3c4L@f37l5h.corn>" AKA "<"Hunter's Dildo
<RumPPumPPa@uPPa.yOOaSS>" >" AKA "Mustafa Sheboygan" AKA "Peter, the
Booty Judge" <root@127.0.0.1> AKA "Mund Harmonika <root@127.0.0.1>" AKA "Mundharmonika <root@127.0.0.1>" AKA "% <%@hotmale.com>" AKA "Checkmate <trouble@soon.corn>" AKA "Mundharmonika <R00T@MOUTH.ORGAN>" AKA
"Mundharmonika <R00T@127.O.O.1>" AKA "Tard Wrangler <youknowit@alphamale.corn>" hates when people hate pedo rapists. He
wants friends who like pedo rapists. Write that down and don't forget
it!
<https://groups.google.com/g/alt.checkmate/c/2VcCBNwMdeo/m/A0wpvxZRAAAJ>

"I think we should destroy every last fucking mosque in America." - "Checkmate, DoW #1" <Lunatic.Fringe@The.Edge> proves for us that white
males are violent in Message-ID:
<MPG.32c5bfefd18c9a698f0a8@news.altopia.com>

"Yeah, but you think everybody's Greg. There are a couple people here who can't resist responding to everything the aSSwurm or the Pussy Willow
says. It does me no good to plonk aSSwurm and Pussy Willow if I still
have to wade through a hundred inane posts a day involving those two
assholes, so now I've plonked the chronic responders as well. They'll
figure it out, and then they can make a choice... exchange stupid drivel
with those two, or have more intelligent and interesting conversations
with me. I know damned well Greg got sick of all that shit, and now I'm
sick of it too. Those who choose to get led around by the lowest common denominator are fucking up AC and every other group they play that game
in. If that's the kind of Usenet they want, they can wallow in the same
slop as the two retards elsewhere, because they're only contributing to fucking this group up too. I can take or leave this shit, because I have plenty to keep me occupied with my room addition project, and it's a hell
of a lot more rewarding than exchanging baby talk with the likes of the aSSwurm. May his fucking worthless AIDS-infested carcass drop fucking
dead ASAP and quit wasting oxygen. To sum it up, talk to those two idiots elsewhere, or they'll probably be the only people left to talk to here."
One can only presume that Jim and Creon/Vallor have solved this problem
and are together in a private chat "having more intelligent and
interesting conversations" instead of these "Civil" calls for shunning
and authoritative control of discussion. As Seen on TV : <MPG.35cd7d50e1b224b1994604@news.altopia.com>

"I'm pretty sure all gods are fictional, I'm smart enough to not proclaim
I know this." - Kwills is only smart enough to doubt himself while
arguing that a belief in imaginary made-up gods can't just be ignored as "mental illness" in <mo4q0j9tcqjt68s039loiacrbarihsh9i5@4ax.com>

"If you worried half as much about your own personal life as you do
everyone else's, you might almost be tolerable, obsessed stalker." -James "Checkmate" Gorman, in perhaps the most ironic and mentally-challenged statement ever made on Usenet. <MPG.4001ba2c14cace6c98cb6f@usnews.blocknews.net>

"Trying to diminish others doesn't make you look any better. In fact, it
does quite the opposite. Why are you always so bitter and angry? Do you
have AIDS or something like so many other tranny girls do?" -James
"Checkmate" Gorman in <MPG.405409befd41f28898969d@test.blocknews.net>

"You should see my archive on you" -James "Checkmate" Gorman teases us
with his "dosser" in <MPG.3eea81b23145043b98c338@usnews.blocknews.net>

"Sorry, nothing to see here. The joint wasn't as bad as they say, but I'm
not looking to go back. I'm a model citizen, clean as a whistle. I've
owned my own home for 12 years, owned my own business almost as long,
don't bother anyone and they don't bother me. You have nothing in any
"police report" pertaining to me. Don't you think they would have "come a-knockin" a long time ago if they had any reason to? You're delusional
and paranoid, and I have to wonder why.

Oh... I should mention that there are a LOT of trannies in prison. I
don't know why, but there are. The State even has to give them hormone
shots for their tiddies at taxpayer's expense, and they wear bras and
panties. I found everything about them revolting. That's why the whole
"Bubba" thing is almost completely a myth, except in cell living. That
shit wouldn't fly in a 100-man dorm, but trust me, those little trollops
find ways to serve the willing when the lights go out. You see something,
you keep your mouth shut about it because that way you don't get in a
wreck. I never partook in such activities because the whole idea is just repulsive. I think that's a big part of what I don't like about you. I've
seen how they act and I've talked to a few... total drama queens in every sense." -James "Checkmate" Gorman reminisces about prison in <MPG.3ceb37c2eddbaff98b07a@usnews.blocknews.net>

"Not true. I've seen square waves on the oscilloscope from some certain generator. Square waves can be created from other than sine waves. Sine
waves aren't everything (or anything you sick pervert %), I think that's
the point you are missing. - Mathemagician "Lane Larson" in <939d6741- df96-5f2e-a444-b6dfd77de09e@stoat.inhoin.edu> seems to argue that square
wave generators must use Fourier transforms "of course" to generate
"almost" square waves... in his feeble attempt to quash my assertion that "square waves do not exist in reality" in post <=3D?U=3D?UTF-8?Q?T?=3DF- 8?Q?=3DF0=3D9F=3D8C=3DBA?=3DKWuXdYTXCQ5ApC$@88.203.236.221=3D?U=3D?UTF-8? Q?T?=3DF-8?Q?=3DF0=3D9F=3D8C=3DBA?=3D>.

"Colour me fanboi, oh yes indeed. I'm a fanboi who is proudly content to
be just that." - snipeco.2@gmail.com (Sn!pe) in <1qx4ikk.c8jzw919si6cmN%snipeco.2@gmail.com>

Golden Killfile, June 2005
KOTM, November 2006
Bob Allisat Memorial Hook, Line & Sinker, November 2006
Special Ops Cody Memorial Purple Heart, November 2006
Special Ops Cody Memorial Purple Heart, September 2007
Tony Sidaway Memorial "Drama Queen" Award, November 2006
Busted Urinal Award, April 2007
Order of the Holey Sockpuppet, September 2007
Barbara Woodhouse Memorial Dog Whistle, September 2006
Barbara Woodhouse Memorial Dog Whistle, April 2008
Tinfoil Sombrero, February 2007
AUK Mascot, September 2007
Putting the Awards Out of Order to Screw With the OCD Fuckheads, March
2016

BEGIN: Official Guarantee of PWNerShip
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END: Official Guarantee of PWNerShip

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 98 ***
A TALE OF TWO CITIES
A STORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

By Charles Dickens
0403m
Original
0404m
Original


Contents
Book the FirstrCoRecalled to Life
CHAPTER I. The Period
CHAPTER II. The Mail
CHAPTER III. The Night Shadows
CHAPTER IV. The Preparation
CHAPTER V. The Wine-shop
CHAPTER VI. The Shoemaker

Book the SecondrCothe Golden Thread
CHAPTER I. Five Years Later
CHAPTER II. A Sight
CHAPTER III. A Disappointment
CHAPTER IV. Congratulatory
CHAPTER V. The Jackal
CHAPTER VI. Hundreds of People
CHAPTER VII. Monseigneur in Town
CHAPTER VIII. Monseigneur in the Country
CHAPTER IX. The GorgonrCOs Head
CHAPTER X. Two Promises
CHAPTER XI. A Companion Picture
CHAPTER XII. The Fellow of Delicacy
CHAPTER XIII. The Fellow of No Delicacy
CHAPTER XIV. The Honest Tradesman
CHAPTER XV. Knitting
CHAPTER XVI. Still Knitting
CHAPTER XVII. One Night
CHAPTER XVIII. Nine Days
CHAPTER XIX. An Opinion
CHAPTER XX. A Plea
CHAPTER XXI. Echoing Footsteps
CHAPTER XXII. The Sea Still Rises
CHAPTER XXIII. Fire Rises
CHAPTER XXIV. Drawn to the Loadstone Rock

Book the ThirdrCothe Track of a Storm
CHAPTER I. In Secret
CHAPTER II. The Grindstone
CHAPTER III. The Shadow
CHAPTER IV. Calm in Storm
CHAPTER V. The Wood-Sawyer
CHAPTER VI. Triumph
CHAPTER VII. A Knock at the Door
CHAPTER VIII. A Hand at Cards
CHAPTER IX. The Game Made
CHAPTER X. The Substance of the Shadow
CHAPTER XI. Dusk
CHAPTER XII. Darkness
CHAPTER XIII. Fifty-two
CHAPTER XIV. The Knitting Done
CHAPTER XV. The Footsteps Die Out For Ever
Book the FirstrCoRecalled to Life
CHAPTER I.
The Period
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of
wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was
the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season
of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we
had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going
direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other wayrCoin short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a
fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that
things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period,
as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had
heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made
for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost
had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its
messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally
deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have
proved more important to the human race than any communications yet
received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her
sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down
hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her
Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue
torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not
kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks
which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards.
It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there
were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked
by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a
certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in
history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers
of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the
weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed
about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had
already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman
and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one
heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch
as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical
and traitorous.

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to
justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and
highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families
were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their
furniture to upholsterersrCO warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and
challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of
rCLthe Captain,rCY gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the
mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and
then got shot dead himself by the other four, rCLin consequence of the
failure of his ammunition:rCY after which the mail was robbed in peace;
that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand
and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the
illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London
gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law
fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at
Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. GilesrCOs, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of
the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever
worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long
rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday
who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate
by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a
wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmerrCOs boy of sixpence.

All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close
upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five.
Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded,
those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the
fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a
high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creaturesrCothe creatures
of this chronicle among the restrCoalong the roads that lay before them.

CHAPTER II.
The Mail
It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November,
before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The
Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up ShooterrCOs Hill. He walked up hill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses
had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach
across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to
Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in
combination, had read that article of war which forbade a purpose
otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their
duty.

With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through
the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested
them and brought them to a stand, with a wary rCLWo-ho! so-ho-then!rCY the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon itrColike an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the
hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.

There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding
none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the
air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the
waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings,
and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed
into it, as if they had made it all.

Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the
side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the
ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from
anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was
hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from
the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers
were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the
road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when
every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in rCLthe CaptainrCOsrCY pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable non- descript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the
Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one
thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up ShooterrCOs Hill, as
he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet,
and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols,
deposited on a substratum of cutlass.

The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected
the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they
all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but
the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have
taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the
journey.

rCLWo-ho!rCY said the coachman. rCLSo, then! One more pull and yourCOre at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it! rCoJoe!rCY

rCLHalloa!rCY the guard replied.

rCLWhat orCOclock do you make it, Joe?rCY

rCLTen minutes, good, past eleven.rCY

rCLMy blood!rCY ejaculated the vexed coachman, rCLand not atop of ShooterrCOs yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!rCY

The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative,
made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit.
Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its
passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had
had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into
the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting
shot instantly as a highwayman.

The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses
stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for
the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.

rCLTst! Joe!rCY cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.

rCLWhat do you say, Tom?rCY

They both listened.

rCLI say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe.rCY

rCLI say a horse at a gallop, Tom,rCY returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. rCLGentlemen! In the kingrCOs name, all of you!rCY

With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.

The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in;
the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they remained in
the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and
from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back
and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his
ears and looked back, without contradicting.

The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring
of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet
indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the
passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the
quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding
the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation.

The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.

rCLSo-ho!rCY the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. rCLYo there! Stand! I shall fire!rCY

The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering,
a manrCOs voice called from the mist, rCLIs that the Dover mail?rCY

rCLNever you mind what it is!rCY the guard retorted. rCLWhat are you?rCY

rCLIs that the Dover mail?rCY

rCLWhy do you want to know?rCY

rCLI want a passenger, if it is.rCY

rCLWhat passenger?rCY

rCLMr. Jarvis Lorry.rCY

Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard,
the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.

rCLKeep where you are,rCY the guard called to the voice in the mist, rCLbecause, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight.rCY

rCLWhat is the matter?rCY asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. rCLWho wants me? Is it Jerry?rCY

(rCLI donrCOt like JerryrCOs voice, if it is Jerry,rCY growled the guard to himself. rCLHerCOs hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.rCY)

rCLYes, Mr. Lorry.rCY

rCLWhat is the matter?rCY

rCLA despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co.rCY

rCLI know this messenger, guard,rCY said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the roadrCoassisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. rCLHe may come close; thererCOs nothing wrong.rCY

rCLI hope there ainrCOt, but I canrCOt make so rCONation sure of that,rCY said the
guard, in gruff soliloquy. rCLHallo you!rCY

rCLWell! And hallo you!rCY said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.

0414m
Original
rCLCome on at a footpace! drCOye mind me? And if yourCOve got holsters to that saddle orCO yourn, donrCOt let me see your hand go nigh rCOem. For IrCOm a devil
at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now letrCOs look at you.rCY

The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist,
and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a
small folded paper. The riderrCOs horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.

rCLGuard!rCY said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.

The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman,
answered curtly, rCLSir.rCY

rCLThere is nothing to apprehend. I belong to TellsonrCOs Bank. You must know TellsonrCOs Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to
drink. I may read this?rCY

rCLIf so be as yourCOre quick, sir.rCY

He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and readrCofirst
to himself and then aloud: rCLrCyWait at Dover for MamrCOselle.rCO ItrCOs not long,
you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, Recalled to life.rCY

Jerry started in his saddle. rCLThatrCOs a Blazing strange answer, too,rCY said
he, at his hoarsest.

rCLTake that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well
as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night.rCY

With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in; not at
all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted
their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape
the hazard of originating any other kind of action.

The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round
it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in
his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to the supplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smithrCOs tools,
a couple of torches, and a tinder-box. For he was furnished with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out,
which did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside,
keep the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.

rCLTom!rCY softly over the coach roof.

rCLHallo, Joe.rCY

rCLDid you hear the message?rCY

rCLI did, Joe.rCY

rCLWhat did you make of it, Tom?rCY

rCLNothing at all, Joe.rCY

rCLThatrCOs a coincidence, too,rCY the guard mused, rCLfor I made the same of it
myself.rCY

Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not
only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and
shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding
about half a gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily-
splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing
and the night was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill.

rCLAfter that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I wonrCOt trust your fore-legs till I get you on the level,rCY said this hoarse messenger,
glancing at his mare. rCLrCyRecalled to life.rCO ThatrCOs a Blazing strange message. Much of that wouldnrCOt do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! YourCOd be in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion,
Jerry!rCY

CHAPTER III.
The Night Shadows
Awonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted
to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn
consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of
those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in
the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its
imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness,
even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves
of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all.
No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein,
as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried
treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book
should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a
page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal
frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in
ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love,
the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and
which I shall carry in mine to my liferCOs end. In any of the burial-places
of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable
than its busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me, or
than I am to them?

As to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance, the
messenger on horseback had exactly the same possessions as the King, the
first Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the
three passengers shut up in the narrow compass of one lumbering old mail coach; they were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each had
been in his own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the
breadth of a county between him and the next.

The messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at ale-
houses by the way to drink, but evincing a tendency to keep his own
counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over his eyes. He had eyes that
assorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with
no depth in the colour or form, and much too near togetherrCoas if they
were afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too far apart. They had a sinister expression, under an old cocked-hat like a three-cornered spittoon, and over a great muffler for the chin and
throat, which descended nearly to the wearerrCOs knees. When he stopped for drink, he moved this muffler with his left hand, only while he poured his liquor in with his right; as soon as that was done, he muffled again.

rCLNo, Jerry, no!rCY said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. rCLIt
wouldnrCOt do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it wouldnrCOt suit your line of business! RecalledrCo! Bust me if I donrCOt think herCOd been a drinking!rCY

His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, several
times, to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown,
which was raggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all
over it, and growing down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so
like SmithrCOs work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall
than a head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have
declined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over.

While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the night
watchman in his box at the door of TellsonrCOs Bank, by Temple Bar, who was
to deliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night
took such shapes to him as arose out of the message, and took such shapes
to the mare as arose out of her private topics of uneasiness. They seemed
to be numerous, for she shied at every shadow on the road.

What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon its tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To whom,
likewise, the shadows of the night revealed themselves, in the forms
their dozing eyes and wandering thoughts suggested.

TellsonrCOs Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank passengerrCowith an arm drawn through the leathern strap, which did what lay in it to keep
him from pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his
corner, whenever the coach got a special joltrConodded in his place, with half-shut eyes, the little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly
gleaming through them, and the bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became
the bank, and did a great stroke of business. The rattle of the harness
was the chink of money, and more drafts were honoured in five minutes
than even TellsonrCOs, with all its foreign and home connection, ever paid
in thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms underground, at TellsonrCOs, with such of their valuable stores and secrets as were known to the passenger
(and it was not a little that he knew about them), opened before him, and
he went in among them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle,
and found them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had
last seen them.

But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though the coach (in
a confused way, like the presence of pain under an opiate) was always
with him, there was another current of impression that never ceased to
run, all through the night. He was on his way to dig some one out of a
grave.

Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves before him
was the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did not indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of five-and-forty by
years, and they differed principally in the passions they expressed, and
in the ghastliness of their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt,
defiance, stubbornness, submission, lamentation, succeeded one another;
so did varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and figures. But the face was in the main one face, and every head was
prematurely white. A hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this spectre:

rCLBuried how long?rCY

The answer was always the same: rCLAlmost eighteen years.rCY

rCLYou had abandoned all hope of being dug out?rCY

rCLLong ago.rCY

rCLYou know that you are recalled to life?rCY

rCLThey tell me so.rCY

rCLI hope you care to live?rCY

rCLI canrCOt say.rCY

rCLShall I show her to you? Will you come and see her?rCY

The answers to this question were various and contradictory. Sometimes
the broken reply was, rCLWait! It would kill me if I saw her too soon.rCY Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was, rCLTake
me to her.rCY Sometimes it was staring and bewildered, and then it was, rCLI donrCOt know her. I donrCOt understand.rCY

After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, and
dig, digrConow with a spade, now with a great key, now with his handsrCoto
dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth hanging about
his face and hair, he would suddenly fan away to dust. The passenger
would then start to himself, and lower the window, to get the reality of
mist and rain on his cheek.

Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the moving
patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreating
by jerks, the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the train
of the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple Bar, the
real business of the past day, the real strong rooms, the real express
sent after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. Out of
the midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would accost it
again.

rCLBuried how long?rCY

rCLAlmost eighteen years.rCY

rCLI hope you care to live?rCY

rCLI canrCOt say.rCY

DigrCodigrCodigrCountil an impatient movement from one of the two passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm securely through
the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering forms, until
his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid away into the bank
and the grave.

rCLBuried how long?rCY

rCLAlmost eighteen years.rCY

rCLYou had abandoned all hope of being dug out?rCY

rCLLong ago.rCY

The words were still in his hearing as just spokenrCodistinctly in his
hearing as ever spoken words had been in his liferCowhen the weary
passenger started to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the
shadows of the night were gone.

He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was a
ridge of ploughed land, with a plough upon it where it had been left last night when the horses were unyoked; beyond, a quiet coppice-wood, in
which many leaves of burning red and golden yellow still remained upon
the trees. Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the
sun rose bright, placid, and beautiful.

rCLEighteen years!rCY said the passenger, looking at the sun. rCLGracious Creator of day! To be buried alive for eighteen years!rCY

CHAPTER IV.
The Preparation
When the mail got successfully to Dover, in the course of the forenoon,
the head drawer at the Royal George Hotel opened the coach-door as his
custom was. He did it with some flourish of ceremony, for a mail journey
from London in winter was an achievement to congratulate an adventurous traveller upon.

By that time, there was only one adventurous traveller left be
congratulated: for the two others had been set down at their respective roadside destinations. The mildewy inside of the coach, with its damp and dirty straw, its disagreeable smell, and its obscurity, was rather like a larger dog-kennel. Mr. Lorry, the passenger, shaking himself out of it in chains of straw, a tangle of shaggy wrapper, flapping hat, and muddy
legs, was rather like a larger sort of dog.

rCLThere will be a packet to Calais, tomorrow, drawer?rCY

rCLYes, sir, if the weather holds and the wind sets tolerable fair. The
tide will serve pretty nicely at about two in the afternoon, sir. Bed,
sir?rCY

rCLI shall not go to bed till night; but I want a bedroom, and a barber.rCY

rCLAnd then breakfast, sir? Yes, sir. That way, sir, if you please. Show Concord! GentlemanrCOs valise and hot water to Concord. Pull off
gentlemanrCOs boots in Concord. (You will find a fine sea-coal fire, sir.) Fetch barber to Concord. Stir about there, now, for Concord!rCY

The Concord bed-chamber being always assigned to a passenger by the mail,
and passengers by the mail being always heavily wrapped up from head to
foot, the room had the odd interest for the establishment of the Royal
George, that although but one kind of man was seen to go into it, all
kinds and varieties of men came out of it. Consequently, another drawer,
and two porters, and several maids and the landlady, were all loitering
by accident at various points of the road between the Concord and the coffee-room, when a gentleman of sixty, formally dressed in a brown suit
of clothes, pretty well worn, but very well kept, with large square cuffs
and large flaps to the pockets, passed along on his way to his breakfast.

The coffee-room had no other occupant, that forenoon, than the gentleman
in brown. His breakfast-table was drawn before the fire, and as he sat,
with its light shining on him, waiting for the meal, he sat so still,
that he might have been sitting for his portrait.

Very orderly and methodical he looked, with a hand on each knee, and a
loud watch ticking a sonorous sermon under his flapped waist-coat, as
though it pitted its gravity and longevity against the levity and
evanescence of the brisk fire. He had a good leg, and was a little vain
of it, for his brown stockings fitted sleek and close, and were of a fine texture; his shoes and buckles, too, though plain, were trim. He wore an
odd little sleek crisp flaxen wig, setting very close to his head: which
wig, it is to be presumed, was made of hair, but which looked far more as though it were spun from filaments of silk or glass. His linen, though
not of a fineness in accordance with his stockings, was as white as the
tops of the waves that broke upon the neighbouring beach, or the specks
of sail that glinted in the sunlight far at sea. A face habitually
suppressed and quieted, was still lighted up under the quaint wig by a
pair of moist bright eyes that it must have cost their owner, in years
gone by, some pains to drill to the composed and reserved expression of TellsonrCOs Bank. He had a healthy colour in his cheeks, and his face,
though lined, bore few traces of anxiety. But, perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in TellsonrCOs Bank were principally occupied with the
cares of other people; and perhaps second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, come easily off and on.

Completing his resemblance to a man who was sitting for his portrait, Mr. Lorry dropped off to sleep. The arrival of his breakfast roused him, and
he said to the drawer, as he moved his chair to it:

rCLI wish accommodation prepared for a young lady who may come here at any time to-day. She may ask for Mr. Jarvis Lorry, or she may only ask for a gentleman from TellsonrCOs Bank. Please to let me know.rCY

rCLYes, sir. TellsonrCOs Bank in London, sir?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLYes, sir. We have oftentimes the honour to entertain your gentlemen in their travelling backwards and forwards betwixt London and Paris, sir. A
vast deal of travelling, sir, in Tellson and CompanyrCOs House.rCY

rCLYes. We are quite a French House, as well as an English one.rCY

rCLYes, sir. Not much in the habit of such travelling yourself, I think, sir?rCY

rCLNot of late years. It is fifteen years since werCosince IrCocame last from France.rCY

rCLIndeed, sir? That was before my time here, sir. Before our peoplerCOs time here, sir. The George was in other hands at that time, sir.rCY

rCLI believe so.rCY

rCLBut I would hold a pretty wager, sir, that a House like Tellson and
Company was flourishing, a matter of fifty, not to speak of fifteen years ago?rCY

rCLYou might treble that, and say a hundred and fifty, yet not be far from
the truth.rCY

rCLIndeed, sir!rCY

Rounding his mouth and both his eyes, as he stepped backward from the
table, the waiter shifted his napkin from his right arm to his left,
dropped into a comfortable attitude, and stood surveying the guest while
he ate and drank, as from an observatory or watchtower. According to the immemorial usage of waiters in all ages.

When Mr. Lorry had finished his breakfast, he went out for a stroll on
the beach. The little narrow, crooked town of Dover hid itself away from
the beach, and ran its head into the chalk cliffs, like a marine ostrich.
The beach was a desert of heaps of sea and stones tumbling wildly about,
and the sea did what it liked, and what it liked was destruction. It
thundered at the town, and thundered at the cliffs, and brought the coast down, madly. The air among the houses was of so strong a piscatory
flavour that one might have supposed sick fish went up to be dipped in
it, as sick people went down to be dipped in the sea. A little fishing
was done in the port, and a quantity of strolling about by night, and
looking seaward: particularly at those times when the tide made, and was
near flood. Small tradesmen, who did no business whatever, sometimes unaccountably realised large fortunes, and it was remarkable that nobody
in the neighbourhood could endure a lamplighter.

As the day declined into the afternoon, and the air, which had been at intervals clear enough to allow the French coast to be seen, became again charged with mist and vapour, Mr. LorryrCOs thoughts seemed to cloud too.
When it was dark, and he sat before the coffee-room fire, awaiting his
dinner as he had awaited his breakfast, his mind was busily digging,
digging, digging, in the live red coals.

A bottle of good claret after dinner does a digger in the red coals no
harm, otherwise than as it has a tendency to throw him out of work. Mr.
Lorry had been idle a long time, and had just poured out his last
glassful of wine with as complete an appearance of satisfaction as is
ever to be found in an elderly gentleman of a fresh complexion who has
got to the end of a bottle, when a rattling of wheels came up the narrow street, and rumbled into the inn-yard.

He set down his glass untouched. rCLThis is MamrCOselle!rCY said he.

In a very few minutes the waiter came in to announce that Miss Manette
had arrived from London, and would be happy to see the gentleman from TellsonrCOs.

rCLSo soon?rCY

Miss Manette had taken some refreshment on the road, and required none
then, and was extremely anxious to see the gentleman from TellsonrCOs immediately, if it suited his pleasure and convenience.

The gentleman from TellsonrCOs had nothing left for it but to empty his
glass with an air of stolid desperation, settle his odd little flaxen wig
at the ears, and follow the waiter to Miss ManetterCOs apartment. It was a large, dark room, furnished in a funereal manner with black horsehair,
and loaded with heavy dark tables. These had been oiled and oiled, until
the two tall candles on the table in the middle of the room were gloomily reflected on every leaf; as if they were buried, in deep graves of black mahogany, and no light to speak of could be expected from them until they
were dug out.

The obscurity was so difficult to penetrate that Mr. Lorry, picking his
way over the well-worn Turkey carpet, supposed Miss Manette to be, for
the moment, in some adjacent room, until, having got past the two tall candles, he saw standing to receive him by the table between them and the fire, a young lady of not more than seventeen, in a riding-cloak, and
still holding her straw travelling-hat by its ribbon in her hand. As his
eyes rested on a short, slight, pretty figure, a quantity of golden hair,
a pair of blue eyes that met his own with an inquiring look, and a
forehead with a singular capacity (remembering how young and smooth it
was), of rifting and knitting itself into an expression that was not
quite one of perplexity, or wonder, or alarm, or merely of a bright fixed attention, though it included all the four expressionsrCoas his eyes rested
on these things, a sudden vivid likeness passed before him, of a child
whom he had held in his arms on the passage across that very Channel, one
cold time, when the hail drifted heavily and the sea ran high. The
likeness passed away, like a breath along the surface of the gaunt pier-
glass behind her, on the frame of which, a hospital procession of negro cupids, several headless and all cripples, were offering black baskets of
Dead Sea fruit to black divinities of the feminine genderrCoand he made his formal bow to Miss Manette.

rCLPray take a seat, sir.rCY In a very clear and pleasant young voice; a little foreign in its accent, but a very little indeed.

rCLI kiss your hand, miss,rCY said Mr. Lorry, with the manners of an earlier date, as he made his formal bow again, and took his seat.

rCLI received a letter from the Bank, sir, yesterday, informing me that
some intelligencerCoor discoveryrCorCY

rCLThe word is not material, miss; either word will do.rCY

rCLrCorespecting the small property of my poor father, whom I never sawrCoso long deadrCorCY

Mr. Lorry moved in his chair, and cast a troubled look towards the
hospital procession of negro cupids. As if they had any help for anybody
in their absurd baskets!

rCLrCorendered it necessary that I should go to Paris, there to communicate with a gentleman of the Bank, so good as to be despatched to Paris for
the purpose.rCY

rCLMyself.rCY

rCLAs I was prepared to hear, sir.rCY

She curtseyed to him (young ladies made curtseys in those days), with a
pretty desire to convey to him that she felt how much older and wiser he
was than she. He made her another bow.

rCLI replied to the Bank, sir, that as it was considered necessary, by
those who know, and who are so kind as to advise me, that I should go to France, and that as I am an orphan and have no friend who could go with
me, I should esteem it highly if I might be permitted to place myself,
during the journey, under that worthy gentlemanrCOs protection. The
gentleman had left London, but I think a messenger was sent after him to
beg the favour of his waiting for me here.rCY

rCLI was happy,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLto be entrusted with the charge. I shall be more happy to execute it.rCY

rCLSir, I thank you indeed. I thank you very gratefully. It was told me by
the Bank that the gentleman would explain to me the details of the
business, and that I must prepare myself to find them of a surprising
nature. I have done my best to prepare myself, and I naturally have a
strong and eager interest to know what they are.rCY

rCLNaturally,rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLYesrCoIrCorCY

After a pause, he added, again settling the crisp flaxen wig at the ears, rCLIt is very difficult to begin.rCY

He did not begin, but, in his indecision, met her glance. The young
forehead lifted itself into that singular expressionrCobut it was pretty
and characteristic, besides being singularrCoand she raised her hand, as if with an involuntary action she caught at, or stayed some passing shadow.

rCLAre you quite a stranger to me, sir?rCY

rCLAm I not?rCY Mr. Lorry opened his hands, and extended them outwards with
an argumentative smile.

Between the eyebrows and just over the little feminine nose, the line of
which was as delicate and fine as it was possible to be, the expression deepened itself as she took her seat thoughtfully in the chair by which
she had hitherto remained standing. He watched her as she mused, and the moment she raised her eyes again, went on:

rCLIn your adopted country, I presume, I cannot do better than address you
as a young English lady, Miss Manette?rCY

rCLIf you please, sir.rCY

rCLMiss Manette, I am a man of business. I have a business charge to acquit myself of. In your reception of it, donrCOt heed me any more than if I was
a speaking machinerCotruly, I am not much else. I will, with your leave, relate to you, miss, the story of one of our customers.rCY

rCLStory!rCY

He seemed wilfully to mistake the word she had repeated, when he added,
in a hurry, rCLYes, customers; in the banking business we usually call our connection our customers. He was a French gentleman; a scientific
gentleman; a man of great acquirementsrCoa Doctor.rCY

rCLNot of Beauvais?rCY

rCLWhy, yes, of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of repute in Paris. I had the honour of knowing him there. Our relations
were business relations, but confidential. I was at that time in our
French House, and had beenrCooh! twenty years.rCY

rCLAt that timerCoI may ask, at what time, sir?rCY

rCLI speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He marriedrCoan English ladyrCoand I was
one of the trustees. His affairs, like the affairs of many other French gentlemen and French families, were entirely in TellsonrCOs hands. In a similar way I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or other for scores
of our customers. These are mere business relations, miss; there is no friendship in them, no particular interest, nothing like sentiment. I
have passed from one to another, in the course of my business life, just
as I pass from one of our customers to another in the course of my
business day; in short, I have no feelings; I am a mere machine. To go on rCorCY

rCLBut this is my fatherrCOs story, sir; and I begin to thinkrCYrCothe curiously
roughened forehead was very intent upon himrCorCLthat when I was left an orphan through my motherrCOs surviving my father only two years, it was you who brought me to England. I am almost sure it was you.rCY

Mr. Lorry took the hesitating little hand that confidingly advanced to
take his, and he put it with some ceremony to his lips. He then conducted
the young lady straightway to her chair again, and, holding the chair-
back with his left hand, and using his right by turns to rub his chin,
pull his wig at the ears, or point what he said, stood looking down into
her face while she sat looking up into his.

rCLMiss Manette, it was I. And you will see how truly I spoke of myself
just now, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold
with my fellow-creatures are mere business relations, when you reflect
that I have never seen you since. No; you have been the ward of TellsonrCOs House since, and I have been busy with the other business of TellsonrCOs
House since. Feelings! I have no time for them, no chance of them. I pass
my whole life, miss, in turning an immense pecuniary Mangle.rCY

After this odd description of his daily routine of employment, Mr. Lorry flattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which was most unnecessary, for nothing could be flatter than its shining surface was before), and resumed his former attitude.

rCLSo far, miss (as you have remarked), this is the story of your regretted father. Now comes the difference. If your father had not died when he did rCoDonrCOt be frightened! How you start!rCY

She did, indeed, start. And she caught his wrist with both her hands.

rCLPray,rCY said Mr. Lorry, in a soothing tone, bringing his left hand from the back of the chair to lay it on the supplicatory fingers that clasped
him in so violent a tremble: rCLpray control your agitationrCoa matter of business. As I was sayingrCorCY

Her look so discomposed him that he stopped, wandered, and began anew:

rCLAs I was saying; if Monsieur Manette had not died; if he had suddenly
and silently disappeared; if he had been spirited away; if it had not
been difficult to guess to what dreadful place, though no art could trace
him; if he had an enemy in some compatriot who could exercise a privilege
that I in my own time have known the boldest people afraid to speak of in
a whisper, across the water there; for instance, the privilege of filling
up blank forms for the consignment of any one to the oblivion of a prison
for any length of time; if his wife had implored the king, the queen, the court, the clergy, for any tidings of him, and all quite in vain;rCothen
the history of your father would have been the history of this
unfortunate gentleman, the Doctor of Beauvais.rCY

rCLI entreat you to tell me more, sir.rCY

rCLI will. I am going to. You can bear it?rCY

rCLI can bear anything but the uncertainty you leave me in at this moment.rCY

rCLYou speak collectedly, and yourCoare collected. ThatrCOs good!rCY (Though his
manner was less satisfied than his words.) rCLA matter of business. Regard
it as a matter of businessrCobusiness that must be done. Now if this doctorrCOs wife, though a lady of great courage and spirit, had suffered so intensely from this cause before her little child was bornrCorCY

rCLThe little child was a daughter, sir.rCY

rCLA daughter. A-a-matter of businessrCodonrCOt be distressed. Miss, if the poor lady had suffered so intensely before her little child was born,
that she came to the determination of sparing the poor child the
inheritance of any part of the agony she had known the pains of, by
rearing her in the belief that her father was deadrCoNo, donrCOt kneel! In HeavenrCOs name why should you kneel to me!rCY

rCLFor the truth. O dear, good, compassionate sir, for the truth!rCY

rCLArCoa matter of business. You confuse me, and how can I transact business if I am confused? Let us be clear-headed. If you could kindly mention
now, for instance, what nine times ninepence are, or how many shillings
in twenty guineas, it would be so encouraging. I should be so much more
at my ease about your state of mind.rCY

Without directly answering to this appeal, she sat so still when he had
very gently raised her, and the hands that had not ceased to clasp his
wrists were so much more steady than they had been, that she communicated
some reassurance to Mr. Jarvis Lorry.

rCLThatrCOs right, thatrCOs right. Courage! Business! You have business before you; useful business. Miss Manette, your mother took this course with
you. And when she diedrCoI believe broken-heartedrCohaving never slackened
her unavailing search for your father, she left you, at two years old, to
grow to be blooming, beautiful, and happy, without the dark cloud upon
you of living in uncertainty whether your father soon wore his heart out
in prison, or wasted there through many lingering years.rCY

As he said the words he looked down, with an admiring pity, on the
flowing golden hair; as if he pictured to himself that it might have been already tinged with grey.

rCLYou know that your parents had no great possession, and that what they
had was secured to your mother and to you. There has been no new
discovery, of money, or of any other property; butrCorCY

He felt his wrist held closer, and he stopped. The expression in the
forehead, which had so particularly attracted his notice, and which was
now immovable, had deepened into one of pain and horror.

rCLBut he has beenrCobeen found. He is alive. Greatly changed, it is too probable; almost a wreck, it is possible; though we will hope the best.
Still, alive. Your father has been taken to the house of an old servant
in Paris, and we are going there: I, to identify him if I can: you, to
restore him to life, love, duty, rest, comfort.rCY

A shiver ran through her frame, and from it through his. She said, in a
low, distinct, awe-stricken voice, as if she were saying it in a dream,

rCLI am going to see his Ghost! It will be his GhostrConot him!rCY

Mr. Lorry quietly chafed the hands that held his arm. rCLThere, there,
there! See now, see now! The best and the worst are known to you, now.
You are well on your way to the poor wronged gentleman, and, with a fair
sea voyage, and a fair land journey, you will be soon at his dear side.rCY

She repeated in the same tone, sunk to a whisper, rCLI have been free, I
have been happy, yet his Ghost has never haunted me!rCY

rCLOnly one thing more,rCY said Mr. Lorry, laying stress upon it as a wholesome means of enforcing her attention: rCLhe has been found under
another name; his own, long forgotten or long concealed. It would be
worse than useless now to inquire which; worse than useless to seek to
know whether he has been for years overlooked, or always designedly held prisoner. It would be worse than useless now to make any inquiries,
because it would be dangerous. Better not to mention the subject,
anywhere or in any way, and to remove himrCofor a while at all eventsrCoout
of France. Even I, safe as an Englishman, and even TellsonrCOs, important
as they are to French credit, avoid all naming of the matter. I carry
about me, not a scrap of writing openly referring to it. This is a secret service altogether. My credentials, entries, and memoranda, are all comprehended in the one line, rCyRecalled to Life;rCO which may mean
anything. But what is the matter! She doesnrCOt notice a word! Miss Manette!rCY

Perfectly still and silent, and not even fallen back in her chair, she
sat under his hand, utterly insensible; with her eyes open and fixed upon
him, and with that last expression looking as if it were carved or
branded into her forehead. So close was her hold upon his arm, that he
feared to detach himself lest he should hurt her; therefore he called out loudly for assistance without moving.

A wild-looking woman, whom even in his agitation, Mr. Lorry observed to
be all of a red colour, and to have red hair, and to be dressed in some extraordinary tight-fitting fashion, and to have on her head a most
wonderful bonnet like a Grenadier wooden measure, and good measure too,
or a great Stilton cheese, came running into the room in advance of the
inn servants, and soon settled the question of his detachment from the
poor young lady, by laying a brawny hand upon his chest, and sending him flying back against the nearest wall.

(rCLI really think this must be a man!rCY was Mr. LorryrCOs breathless reflection, simultaneously with his coming against the wall.)

rCLWhy, look at you all!rCY bawled this figure, addressing the inn servants. rCLWhy donrCOt you go and fetch things, instead of standing there staring at me? I am not so much to look at, am I? Why donrCOt you go and fetch things? IrCOll let you know, if you donrCOt bring smelling-salts, cold water, and vinegar, quick, I will.rCY

There was an immediate dispersal for these restoratives, and she softly
laid the patient on a sofa, and tended her with great skill and
gentleness: calling her rCLmy precious!rCY and rCLmy bird!rCY and spreading her
golden hair aside over her shoulders with great pride and care.

rCLAnd you in brown!rCY she said, indignantly turning to Mr. Lorry; rCLcouldnrCOt
you tell her what you had to tell her, without frightening her to death?
Look at her, with her pretty pale face and her cold hands. Do you call
that being a Banker?rCY

Mr. Lorry was so exceedingly disconcerted by a question so hard to
answer, that he could only look on, at a distance, with much feebler
sympathy and humility, while the strong woman, having banished the inn servants under the mysterious penalty of rCLletting them knowrCY something
not mentioned if they stayed there, staring, recovered her charge by a
regular series of gradations, and coaxed her to lay her drooping head
upon her shoulder.

rCLI hope she will do well now,rCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLNo thanks to you in brown, if she does. My darling pretty!rCY

rCLI hope,rCY said Mr. Lorry, after another pause of feeble sympathy and humility, rCLthat you accompany Miss Manette to France?rCY

rCLA likely thing, too!rCY replied the strong woman. rCLIf it was ever intended
that I should go across salt water, do you suppose Providence would have
cast my lot in an island?rCY

This being another question hard to answer, Mr. Jarvis Lorry withdrew to consider it.

CHAPTER V.
The Wine-shop
Alarge cask of wine had been dropped and broken, in the street. The
accident had happened in getting it out of a cart; the cask had tumbled
out with a run, the hoops had burst, and it lay on the stones just
outside the door of the wine-shop, shattered like a walnut-shell.

All the people within reach had suspended their business, or their
idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough, irregular
stones of the street, pointing every way, and designed, one might have thought, expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little pools; these were surrounded, each by its own
jostling group or crowd, according to its size. Some men kneeled down,
made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, or tried to help
women, who bent over their shoulders, to sip, before the wine had all run
out between their fingers. Others, men and women, dipped in the puddles
with little mugs of mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs
from womenrCOs heads, which were squeezed dry into infantsrCO mouths; others made small mud-embankments, to stem the wine as it ran; others, directed
by lookers-on up at high windows, darted here and there, to cut off
little streams of wine that started away in new directions; others
devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed pieces of the cask,
licking, and even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager relish. There was no drainage to carry off the wine, and not only did it
all get taken up, but so much mud got taken up along with it, that there
might have been a scavenger in the street, if anybody acquainted with it
could have believed in such a miraculous presence.

A shrill sound of laughter and of amused voicesrCovoices of men, women, and childrenrCoresounded in the street while this wine game lasted. There was little roughness in the sport, and much playfulness. There was a special companionship in it, an observable inclination on the part of every one
to join some other one, which led, especially among the luckier or lighter-hearted, to frolicsome embraces, drinking of healths, shaking of hands, and even joining of hands and dancing, a dozen together. When the
wine was gone, and the places where it had been most abundant were raked
into a gridiron-pattern by fingers, these demonstrations ceased, as
suddenly as they had broken out. The man who had left his saw sticking in
the firewood he was cutting, set it in motion again; the women who had
left on a door-step the little pot of hot ashes, at which she had been
trying to soften the pain in her own starved fingers and toes, or in
those of her child, returned to it; men with bare arms, matted locks, and cadaverous faces, who had emerged into the winter light from cellars,
moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on the scene that
appeared more natural to it than sunshine.

The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street in
the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had
stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many
wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left red marks on
the billets; and the forehead of the woman who nursed her baby, was
stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her head again.
Those who had been greedy with the staves of the cask, had acquired a
tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so besmirched, his
head more out of a long squalid bag of a nightcap than in it, scrawled
upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy wine-leesrCoblood.

The time was to come, when that wine too would be spilled on the street- stones, and when the stain of it would be red upon many there.

And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam
had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavyrCo
cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want, were the lords in waiting on
the saintly presencerConobles of great power all of them; but, most
especially the last. Samples of a people that had undergone a terrible grinding and regrinding in the mill, and certainly not in the fabulous
mill which ground old people young, shivered at every corner, passed in
and out at every doorway, looked from every window, fluttered in every
vestige of a garment that the wind shook. The mill which had worked them
down, was the mill that grinds young people old; the children had ancient faces and grave voices; and upon them, and upon the grown faces, and
ploughed into every furrow of age and coming up afresh, was the sigh,
Hunger. It was prevalent everywhere. Hunger was pushed out of the tall
houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and lines; Hunger
was patched into them with straw and rag and wood and paper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum of firewood that the man
sawed off; Hunger stared down from the smokeless chimneys, and started up
from the filthy street that had no offal, among its refuse, of anything
to eat. Hunger was the inscription on the bakerrCOs shelves, written in
every small loaf of his scanty stock of bad bread; at the sausage-shop,
in every dead-dog preparation that was offered for sale. Hunger rattled
its dry bones among the roasting chestnuts in the turned cylinder; Hunger
was shred into atomics in every farthing porringer of husky chips of
potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil.

Its abiding place was in all things fitted to it. A narrow winding
street, full of offence and stench, with other narrow winding streets diverging, all peopled by rags and nightcaps, and all smelling of rags
and nightcaps, and all visible things with a brooding look upon them that looked ill. In the hunted air of the people there was yet some wild-beast thought of the possibility of turning at bay. Depressed and slinking
though they were, eyes of fire were not wanting among them; nor
compressed lips, white with what they suppressed; nor foreheads knitted
into the likeness of the gallows-rope they mused about enduring, or inflicting. The trade signs (and they were almost as many as the shops)
were, all, grim illustrations of Want. The butcher and the porkman
painted up, only the leanest scrags of meat; the baker, the coarsest of
meagre loaves. The people rudely pictured as drinking in the wine-shops, croaked over their scanty measures of thin wine and beer, and were
gloweringly confidential together. Nothing was represented in a
flourishing condition, save tools and weapons; but, the cutlerrCOs knives
and axes were sharp and bright, the smithrCOs hammers were heavy, and the gunmakerrCOs stock was murderous. The crippling stones of the pavement,
with their many little reservoirs of mud and water, had no footways, but
broke off abruptly at the doors. The kennel, to make amends, ran down the middle of the streetrCowhen it ran at all: which was only after heavy
rains, and then it ran, by many eccentric fits, into the houses. Across
the streets, at wide intervals, one clumsy lamp was slung by a rope and pulley; at night, when the lamplighter had let these down, and lighted,
and hoisted them again, a feeble grove of dim wicks swung in a sickly
manner overhead, as if they were at sea. Indeed they were at sea, and the
ship and crew were in peril of tempest.

For, the time was to come, when the gaunt scarecrows of that region
should have watched the lamplighter, in their idleness and hunger, so
long, as to conceive the idea of improving on his method, and hauling up
men by those ropes and pulleys, to flare upon the darkness of their
condition. But, the time was not come yet; and every wind that blew over France shook the rags of the scarecrows in vain, for the birds, fine of
song and feather, took no warning.

The wine-shop was a corner shop, better than most others in its
appearance and degree, and the master of the wine-shop had stood outside
it, in a yellow waistcoat and green breeches, looking on at the struggle
for the lost wine. rCLItrCOs not my affair,rCY said he, with a final shrug of the shoulders. rCLThe people from the market did it. Let them bring another.rCY

There, his eyes happening to catch the tall joker writing up his joke, he called to him across the way:

rCLSay, then, my Gaspard, what do you do there?rCY

The fellow pointed to his joke with immense significance, as is often the
way with his tribe. It missed its mark, and completely failed, as is
often the way with his tribe too.

rCLWhat now? Are you a subject for the mad hospital?rCY said the wine-shop keeper, crossing the road, and obliterating the jest with a handful of
mud, picked up for the purpose, and smeared over it. rCLWhy do you write in the public streets? Is thererCotell me thourCois there no other place to
write such words in?rCY

In his expostulation he dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accidentally, perhaps not) upon the jokerrCOs heart. The joker rapped it with his own,
took a nimble spring upward, and came down in a fantastic dancing
attitude, with one of his stained shoes jerked off his foot into his
hand, and held out. A joker of an extremely, not to say wolfishly
practical character, he looked, under those circumstances.

rCLPut it on, put it on,rCY said the other. rCLCall wine, wine; and finish there.rCY With that advice, he wiped his soiled hand upon the jokerrCOs
dress, such as it wasrCoquite deliberately, as having dirtied the hand on
his account; and then recrossed the road and entered the wine-shop.

This wine-shop keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man of thirty,
and he should have been of a hot temperament, for, although it was a
bitter day, he wore no coat, but carried one slung over his shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, too, and his brown arms were bare to the
elbows. Neither did he wear anything more on his head than his own crisply-curling short dark hair. He was a dark man altogether, with good
eyes and a good bold breadth between them. Good-humoured looking on the
whole, but implacable-looking, too; evidently a man of a strong
resolution and a set purpose; a man not desirable to be met, rushing down
a narrow pass with a gulf on either side, for nothing would turn the man.

Madame Defarge, his wife, sat in the shop behind the counter as he came
in. Madame Defarge was a stout woman of about his own age, with a
watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything, a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, strong features, and great composure of manner.
There was a character about Madame Defarge, from which one might have predicated that she did not often make mistakes against herself in any of
the reckonings over which she presided. Madame Defarge being sensitive to cold, was wrapped in fur, and had a quantity of bright shawl twined about
her head, though not to the concealment of her large earrings. Her
knitting was before her, but she had laid it down to pick her teeth with
a toothpick. Thus engaged, with her right elbow supported by her left
hand, Madame Defarge said nothing when her lord came in, but coughed just
one grain of cough. This, in combination with the lifting of her darkly defined eyebrows over her toothpick by the breadth of a line, suggested
to her husband that he would do well to look round the shop among the customers, for any new customer who had dropped in while he stepped over
the way.

The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until they rested
upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who were seated in a corner.
Other company were there: two playing cards, two playing dominoes, three standing by the counter lengthening out a short supply of wine. As he
passed behind the counter, he took notice that the elderly gentleman said
in a look to the young lady, rCLThis is our man.rCY

rCLWhat the devil do you do in that galley there?rCY said Monsieur Defarge to himself; rCLI donrCOt know you.rCY

But, he feigned not to notice the two strangers, and fell into discourse
with the triumvirate of customers who were drinking at the counter.

rCLHow goes it, Jacques?rCY said one of these three to Monsieur Defarge. rCLIs all the spilt wine swallowed?rCY

rCLEvery drop, Jacques,rCY answered Monsieur Defarge.

When this interchange of Christian name was effected, Madame Defarge,
picking her teeth with her toothpick, coughed another grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line.

rCLIt is not often,rCY said the second of the three, addressing Monsieur Defarge, rCLthat many of these miserable beasts know the taste of wine, or
of anything but black bread and death. Is it not so, Jacques?rCY

rCLIt is so, Jacques,rCY Monsieur Defarge returned.

At this second interchange of the Christian name, Madame Defarge, still
using her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another grain of
cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line.

The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his empty drinking vessel and smacked his lips.

rCLAh! So much the worse! A bitter taste it is that such poor cattle always have in their mouths, and hard lives they live, Jacques. Am I right, Jacques?rCY

rCLYou are right, Jacques,rCY was the response of Monsieur Defarge.

This third interchange of the Christian name was completed at the moment
when Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, and
slightly rustled in her seat.

rCLHold then! True!rCY muttered her husband. rCLGentlemenrComy wife!rCY

The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with three flourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, and giving
them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner round the wine-
shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness and repose of
spirit, and became absorbed in it.

rCLGentlemen,rCY said her husband, who had kept his bright eye observantly upon her, rCLgood day. The chamber, furnished bachelor-fashion, that you wished to see, and were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on the fifth floor. The doorway of the staircase gives on the little courtyard close
to the left here,rCY pointing with his hand, rCLnear to the window of my establishment. But, now that I remember, one of you has already been
there, and can show the way. Gentlemen, adieu!rCY

They paid for their wine, and left the place. The eyes of Monsieur
Defarge were studying his wife at her knitting when the elderly gentleman advanced from his corner, and begged the favour of a word.

rCLWillingly, sir,rCY said Monsieur Defarge, and quietly stepped with him to the door.

Their conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the first
word, Monsieur Defarge started and became deeply attentive. It had not
lasted a minute, when he nodded and went out. The gentleman then beckoned
to the young lady, and they, too, went out. Madame Defarge knitted with
nimble fingers and steady eyebrows, and saw nothing.

Mr. Jarvis Lorry and Miss Manette, emerging from the wine-shop thus,
joined Monsieur Defarge in the doorway to which he had directed his own company just before. It opened from a stinking little black courtyard,
and was the general public entrance to a great pile of houses, inhabited
by a great number of people. In the gloomy tile-paved entry to the gloomy tile-paved staircase, Monsieur Defarge bent down on one knee to the child
of his old master, and put her hand to his lips. It was a gentle action,
but not at all gently done; a very remarkable transformation had come
over him in a few seconds. He had no good-humour in his face, nor any
openness of aspect left, but had become a secret, angry, dangerous man.

rCLIt is very high; it is a little difficult. Better to begin slowly.rCY
Thus, Monsieur Defarge, in a stern voice, to Mr. Lorry, as they began ascending the stairs.

rCLIs he alone?rCY the latter whispered.

rCLAlone! God help him, who should be with him!rCY said the other, in the
same low voice.

rCLIs he always alone, then?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLOf his own desire?rCY

rCLOf his own necessity. As he was, when I first saw him after they found
me and demanded to know if I would take him, and, at my peril be discreet
rCoas he was then, so he is now.rCY

rCLHe is greatly changed?rCY

rCLChanged!rCY

The keeper of the wine-shop stopped to strike the wall with his hand, and mutter a tremendous curse. No direct answer could have been half so
forcible. Mr. LorryrCOs spirits grew heavier and heavier, as he and his two companions ascended higher and higher.

Such a staircase, with its accessories, in the older and more crowded
parts of Paris, would be bad enough now; but, at that time, it was vile
indeed to unaccustomed and unhardened senses. Every little habitation
within the great foul nest of one high buildingrCothat is to say, the room
or rooms within every door that opened on the general staircaserColeft its
own heap of refuse on its own landing, besides flinging other refuse from
its own windows. The uncontrollable and hopeless mass of decomposition so engendered, would have polluted the air, even if poverty and deprivation
had not loaded it with their intangible impurities; the two bad sources combined made it almost insupportable. Through such an atmosphere, by a
steep dark shaft of dirt and poison, the way lay. Yielding to his own disturbance of mind, and to his young companionrCOs agitation, which became greater every instant, Mr. Jarvis Lorry twice stopped to rest. Each of
these stoppages was made at a doleful grating, by which any languishing
good airs that were left uncorrupted, seemed to escape, and all spoilt
and sickly vapours seemed to crawl in. Through the rusted bars, tastes,
rather than glimpses, were caught of the jumbled neighbourhood; and
nothing within range, nearer or lower than the summits of the two great
towers of Notre-Dame, had any promise on it of healthy life or wholesome aspirations.

At last, the top of the staircase was gained, and they stopped for the
third time. There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination
and of contracted dimensions, to be ascended, before the garret story was reached. The keeper of the wine-shop, always going a little in advance,
and always going on the side which Mr. Lorry took, as though he dreaded
to be asked any question by the young lady, turned himself about here,
and, carefully feeling in the pockets of the coat he carried over his shoulder, took out a key.

rCLThe door is locked then, my friend?rCY said Mr. Lorry, surprised.

rCLAy. Yes,rCY was the grim reply of Monsieur Defarge.

rCLYou think it necessary to keep the unfortunate gentleman so retired?rCY

rCLI think it necessary to turn the key.rCY Monsieur Defarge whispered it closer in his ear, and frowned heavily.

rCLWhy?rCY

rCLWhy! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he would be frightenedrCoraverCotear himself to piecesrCodierCocome to I know not what harmrCo
if his door was left open.rCY

rCLIs it possible!rCY exclaimed Mr. Lorry.

rCLIs it possible!rCY repeated Defarge, bitterly. rCLYes. And a beautiful world
we live in, when it is possible, and when many other such things are
possible, and not only possible, but donerCodone, see you!rCounder that sky there, every day. Long live the Devil. Let us go on.rCY

This dialogue had been held in so very low a whisper, that not a word of
it had reached the young ladyrCOs ears. But, by this time she trembled
under such strong emotion, and her face expressed such deep anxiety, and, above all, such dread and terror, that Mr. Lorry felt it incumbent on him
to speak a word or two of reassurance.

rCLCourage, dear miss! Courage! Business! The worst will be over in a
moment; it is but passing the room-door, and the worst is over. Then, all
the good you bring to him, all the relief, all the happiness you bring to
him, begin. Let our good friend here, assist you on that side. ThatrCOs
well, friend Defarge. Come, now. Business, business!rCY

They went up slowly and softly. The staircase was short, and they were
soon at the top. There, as it had an abrupt turn in it, they came all at
once in sight of three men, whose heads were bent down close together at
the side of a door, and who were intently looking into the room to which
the door belonged, through some chinks or holes in the wall. On hearing footsteps close at hand, these three turned, and rose, and showed
themselves to be the three of one name who had been drinking in the wine-
shop.

rCLI forgot them in the surprise of your visit,rCY explained Monsieur
Defarge. rCLLeave us, good boys; we have business here.rCY

The three glided by, and went silently down.

There appearing to be no other door on that floor, and the keeper of the wine-shop going straight to this one when they were left alone, Mr. Lorry asked him in a whisper, with a little anger:

rCLDo you make a show of Monsieur Manette?rCY

rCLI show him, in the way you have seen, to a chosen few.rCY

rCLIs that well?rCY

rCLI think it is well.rCY

rCLWho are the few? How do you choose them?rCY

rCLI choose them as real men, of my namerCoJacques is my namerCoto whom the sight is likely to do good. Enough; you are English; that is another
thing. Stay there, if you please, a little moment.rCY

With an admonitory gesture to keep them back, he stooped, and looked in through the crevice in the wall. Soon raising his head again, he struck
twice or thrice upon the doorrCoevidently with no other object than to make
a noise there. With the same intention, he drew the key across it, three
or four times, before he put it clumsily into the lock, and turned it as heavily as he could.

The door slowly opened inward under his hand, and he looked into the room
and said something. A faint voice answered something. Little more than a single syllable could have been spoken on either side.

He looked back over his shoulder, and beckoned them to enter. Mr. Lorry
got his arm securely round the daughterrCOs waist, and held her; for he
felt that she was sinking.

rCLA-a-a-business, business!rCY he urged, with a moisture that was not of business shining on his cheek. rCLCome in, come in!rCY

rCLI am afraid of it,rCY she answered, shuddering.

rCLOf it? What?rCY

rCLI mean of him. Of my father.rCY

Rendered in a manner desperate, by her state and by the beckoning of
their conductor, he drew over his neck the arm that shook upon his
shoulder, lifted her a little, and hurried her into the room. He sat her
down just within the door, and held her, clinging to him.

Defarge drew out the key, closed the door, locked it on the inside, took
out the key again, and held it in his hand. All this he did,
methodically, and with as loud and harsh an accompaniment of noise as he
could make. Finally, he walked across the room with a measured tread to
where the window was. He stopped there, and faced round.

The garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like, was dim
and dark: for, the window of dormer shape, was in truth a door in the
roof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of stores from the street: unglazed, and closing up the middle in two pieces, like any other
door of French construction. To exclude the cold, one half of this door
was fast closed, and the other was opened but a very little way. Such a
scanty portion of light was admitted through these means, that it was difficult, on first coming in, to see anything; and long habit alone
could have slowly formed in any one, the ability to do any work requiring nicety in such obscurity. Yet, work of that kind was being done in the
garret; for, with his back towards the door, and his face towards the
window where the keeper of the wine-shop stood looking at him, a white-
haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making
shoes.

CHAPTER VI.
The Shoemaker
Good day!rCY said Monsieur Defarge, looking down at the white head that
bent low over the shoemaking.

It was raised for a moment, and a very faint voice responded to the salutation, as if it were at a distance:

rCLGood day!rCY

rCLYou are still hard at work, I see?rCY

After a long silence, the head was lifted for another moment, and the
voice replied, rCLYesrCoI am working.rCY This time, a pair of haggard eyes had looked at the questioner, before the face had dropped again.

The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not the
faintness of physical weakness, though confinement and hard fare no doubt
had their part in it. Its deplorable peculiarity was, that it was the faintness of solitude and disuse. It was like the last feeble echo of a
sound made long and long ago. So entirely had it lost the life and
resonance of the human voice, that it affected the senses like a once beautiful colour faded away into a poor weak stain. So sunken and
suppressed it was, that it was like a voice underground. So expressive it
was, of a hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller, wearied
out by lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have remembered home and friends in such a tone before lying down to die.

Some minutes of silent work had passed: and the haggard eyes had looked
up again: not with any interest or curiosity, but with a dull mechanical perception, beforehand, that the spot where the only visitor they were
aware of had stood, was not yet empty.

rCLI want,rCY said Defarge, who had not removed his gaze from the shoemaker, rCLto let in a little more light here. You can bear a little more?rCY

The shoemaker stopped his work; looked with a vacant air of listening, at
the floor on one side of him; then similarly, at the floor on the other
side of him; then, upward at the speaker.

rCLWhat did you say?rCY

rCLYou can bear a little more light?rCY

rCLI must bear it, if you let it in.rCY (Laying the palest shadow of a stress upon the second word.)

The opened half-door was opened a little further, and secured at that
angle for the time. A broad ray of light fell into the garret, and showed
the workman with an unfinished shoe upon his lap, pausing in his labour.
His few common tools and various scraps of leather were at his feet and
on his bench. He had a white beard, raggedly cut, but not very long, a
hollow face, and exceedingly bright eyes. The hollowness and thinness of
his face would have caused them to look large, under his yet dark
eyebrows and his confused white hair, though they had been really
otherwise; but, they were naturally large, and looked unnaturally so. His yellow rags of shirt lay open at the throat, and showed his body to be withered and worn. He, and his old canvas frock, and his loose stockings,
and all his poor tatters of clothes, had, in a long seclusion from direct light and air, faded down to such a dull uniformity of parchment-yellow,
that it would have been hard to say which was which.

He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and the very bones
of it seemed transparent. So he sat, with a steadfastly vacant gaze,
pausing in his work. He never looked at the figure before him, without
first looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he had
lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never spoke, without
first wandering in this manner, and forgetting to speak.

rCLAre you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?rCY asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward.

rCLWhat did you say?rCY

rCLDo you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?rCY

rCLI canrCOt say that I mean to. I suppose so. I donrCOt know.rCY

But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it again.

Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the door. When
he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoemaker looked up. He showed no surprise at seeing another figure, but the
unsteady fingers of one of his hands strayed to his lips as he looked at
it (his lips and his nails were of the same pale lead-colour), and then
the hand dropped to his work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The
look and the action had occupied but an instant.

rCLYou have a visitor, you see,rCY said Monsieur Defarge.

rCLWhat did you say?rCY

rCLHere is a visitor.rCY

The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a hand from his
work.

rCLCome!rCY said Defarge. rCLHere is monsieur, who knows a well-made shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working at. Take it, monsieur.rCY

Mr. Lorry took it in his hand.

rCLTell monsieur what kind of shoe it is, and the makerrCOs name.rCY

There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoemaker replied:

rCLI forget what it was you asked me. What did you say?rCY

rCLI said, couldnrCOt you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieurrCOs information?rCY

rCLIt is a ladyrCOs shoe. It is a young ladyrCOs walking-shoe. It is in the present mode. I never saw the mode. I have had a pattern in my hand.rCY He glanced at the shoe with some little passing touch of pride.

rCLAnd the makerrCOs name?rCY said Defarge.

Now that he had no work to hold, he laid the knuckles of the right hand
in the hollow of the left, and then the knuckles of the left hand in the hollow of the right, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, and
so on in regular changes, without a momentrCOs intermission. The task of recalling him from the vagrancy into which he always sank when he had
spoken, was like recalling some very weak person from a swoon, or endeavouring, in the hope of some disclosure, to stay the spirit of a fast-dying man.

rCLDid you ask me for my name?rCY

rCLAssuredly I did.rCY

rCLOne Hundred and Five, North Tower.rCY

rCLIs that all?rCY

rCLOne Hundred and Five, North Tower.rCY

With a weary sound that was not a sigh, nor a groan, he bent to work
again, until the silence was again broken.

rCLYou are not a shoemaker by trade?rCY said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly
at him.

His haggard eyes turned to Defarge as if he would have transferred the question to him: but as no help came from that quarter, they turned back
on the questioner when they had sought the ground.

rCLI am not a shoemaker by trade? No, I was not a shoemaker by trade. I-I learnt it here. I taught myself. I asked leave torCorCY

He lapsed away, even for minutes, ringing those measured changes on his
hands the whole time. His eyes came slowly back, at last, to the face
from which they had wandered; when they rested on it, he started, and
resumed, in the manner of a sleeper that moment awake, reverting to a
subject of last night.

rCLI asked leave to teach myself, and I got it with much difficulty after a long while, and I have made shoes ever since.rCY

As he held out his hand for the shoe that had been taken from him, Mr.
Lorry said, still looking steadfastly in his face:

rCLMonsieur Manette, do you remember nothing of me?rCY

The shoe dropped to the ground, and he sat looking fixedly at the
questioner.

rCLMonsieur ManetterCY; Mr. Lorry laid his hand upon DefargerCOs arm; rCLdo you
remember nothing of this man? Look at him. Look at me. Is there no old
banker, no old business, no old servant, no old time, rising in your
mind, Monsieur Manette?rCY

As the captive of many years sat looking fixedly, by turns, at Mr. Lorry
and at Defarge, some long obliterated marks of an actively intent
intelligence in the middle of the forehead, gradually forced themselves through the black mist that had fallen on him. They were overclouded
again, they were fainter, they were gone; but they had been there. And so exactly was the expression repeated on the fair young face of her who had crept along the wall to a point where she could see him, and where she
now stood looking at him, with hands which at first had been only raised
in frightened compassion, if not even to keep him off and shut out the
sight of him, but which were now extending towards him, trembling with eagerness to lay the spectral face upon her warm young breast, and love
it back to life and hoperCoso exactly was the expression repeated (though
in stronger characters) on her fair young face, that it looked as though
it had passed like a moving light, from him to her.

Darkness had fallen on him in its place. He looked at the two, less and
less attentively, and his eyes in gloomy abstraction sought the ground
and looked about him in the old way. Finally, with a deep long sigh, he
took the shoe up, and resumed his work.

rCLHave you recognised him, monsieur?rCY asked Defarge in a whisper.

rCLYes; for a moment. At first I thought it quite hopeless, but I have unquestionably seen, for a single moment, the face that I once knew so
well. Hush! Let us draw further back. Hush!rCY

She had moved from the wall of the garret, very near to the bench on
which he sat. There was something awful in his unconsciousness of the
figure that could have put out its hand and touched him as he stooped
over his labour.

Not a word was spoken, not a sound was made. She stood, like a spirit,
beside him, and he bent over his work.

It happened, at length, that he had occasion to change the instrument in
his hand, for his shoemakerrCOs knife. It lay on that side of him which was not the side on which she stood. He had taken it up, and was stooping to
work again, when his eyes caught the skirt of her dress. He raised them,
and saw her face. The two spectators started forward, but she stayed them
with a motion of her hand. She had no fear of his striking at her with
the knife, though they had.

He stared at her with a fearful look, and after a while his lips began to
form some words, though no sound proceeded from them. By degrees, in the pauses of his quick and laboured breathing, he was heard to say:

rCLWhat is this?rCY

With the tears streaming down her face, she put her two hands to her
lips, and kissed them to him; then clasped them on her breast, as if she
laid his ruined head there.

rCLYou are not the gaolerrCOs daughter?rCY

She sighed rCLNo.rCY

rCLWho are you?rCY

Not yet trusting the tones of her voice, she sat down on the bench beside
him. He recoiled, but she laid her hand upon his arm. A strange thrill
struck him when she did so, and visibly passed over his frame; he laid
the knife down softly, as he sat staring at her.

Her golden hair, which she wore in long curls, had been hurriedly pushed aside, and fell down over her neck. Advancing his hand by little and
little, he took it up and looked at it. In the midst of the action he
went astray, and, with another deep sigh, fell to work at his shoemaking.

0442m
Original
But not for long. Releasing his arm, she laid her hand upon his shoulder. After looking doubtfully at it, two or three times, as if to be sure that
it was really there, he laid down his work, put his hand to his neck, and
took off a blackened string with a scrap of folded rag attached to it. He opened this, carefully, on his knee, and it contained a very little
quantity of hair: not more than one or two long golden hairs, which he
had, in some old day, wound off upon his finger.

He took her hair into his hand again, and looked closely at it. rCLIt is
the same. How can it be! When was it! How was it!rCY

As the concentrated expression returned to his forehead, he seemed to
become conscious that it was in hers too. He turned her full to the
light, and looked at her.

rCLShe had laid her head upon my shoulder, that night when I was summoned outrCoshe had a fear of my going, though I had nonerCoand when I was brought to the North Tower they found these upon my sleeve. rCyYou will leave me
them? They can never help me to escape in the body, though they may in
the spirit.rCO Those were the words I said. I remember them very well.rCY

He formed this speech with his lips many times before he could utter it.
But when he did find spoken words for it, they came to him coherently,
though slowly.

rCLHow was this?rCoWas it you?rCY

Once more, the two spectators started, as he turned upon her with a
frightful suddenness. But she sat perfectly still in his grasp, and only
said, in a low voice, rCLI entreat you, good gentlemen, do not come near
us, do not speak, do not move!rCY

rCLHark!rCY he exclaimed. rCLWhose voice was that?rCY

His hands released her as he uttered this cry, and went up to his white
hair, which they tore in a frenzy. It died out, as everything but his shoemaking did die out of him, and he refolded his little packet and
tried to secure it in his breast; but he still looked at her, and
gloomily shook his head.

rCLNo, no, no; you are too young, too blooming. It canrCOt be. See what the prisoner is. These are not the hands she knew, this is not the face she
knew, this is not a voice she ever heard. No, no. She wasrCoand He wasrCo before the slow years of the North TowerrCoages ago. What is your name, my gentle angel?rCY

Hailing his softened tone and manner, his daughter fell upon her knees
before him, with her appealing hands upon his breast.

rCLO, sir, at another time you shall know my name, and who my mother was,
and who my father, and how I never knew their hard, hard history. But I
cannot tell you at this time, and I cannot tell you here. All that I may
tell you, here and now, is, that I pray to you to touch me and to bless
me. Kiss me, kiss me! O my dear, my dear!rCY

His cold white head mingled with her radiant hair, which warmed and
lighted it as though it were the light of Freedom shining on him.

rCLIf you hear in my voicerCoI donrCOt know that it is so, but I hope it isrCoif
you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that once was sweet music
in your ears, weep for it, weep for it! If you touch, in touching my
hair, anything that recalls a beloved head that lay on your breast when
you were young and free, weep for it, weep for it! If, when I hint to you
of a Home that is before us, where I will be true to you with all my duty
and with all my faithful service, I bring back the remembrance of a Home
long desolate, while your poor heart pined away, weep for it, weep for
it!rCY

She held him closer round the neck, and rocked him on her breast like a
child.

rCLIf, when I tell you, dearest dear, that your agony is over, and that I
have come here to take you from it, and that we go to England to be at
peace and at rest, I cause you to think of your useful life laid waste,
and of our native France so wicked to you, weep for it, weep for it! And
if, when I shall tell you of my name, and of my father who is living, and
of my mother who is dead, you learn that I have to kneel to my honoured father, and implore his pardon for having never for his sake striven all
day and lain awake and wept all night, because the love of my poor mother
hid his torture from me, weep for it, weep for it! Weep for her, then,
and for me! Good gentlemen, thank God! I feel his sacred tears upon my
face, and his sobs strike against my heart. O, see! Thank God for us,
thank God!rCY

He had sunk in her arms, and his face dropped on her breast: a sight so touching, yet so terrible in the tremendous wrong and suffering which had
gone before it, that the two beholders covered their faces.

When the quiet of the garret had been long undisturbed, and his heaving
breast and shaken form had long yielded to the calm that must follow all stormsrCoemblem to humanity, of the rest and silence into which the storm called Life must hush at lastrCothey came forward to raise the father and daughter from the ground. He had gradually dropped to the floor, and lay
there in a lethargy, worn out. She had nestled down with him, that his
head might lie upon her arm; and her hair drooping over him curtained him
from the light.

rCLIf, without disturbing him,rCY she said, raising her hand to Mr. Lorry as he stooped over them, after repeated blowings of his nose, rCLall could be arranged for our leaving Paris at once, so that, from the very door, he
could be taken awayrCorCY

rCLBut, consider. Is he fit for the journey?rCY asked Mr. Lorry.

rCLMore fit for that, I think, than to remain in this city, so dreadful to him.rCY

rCLIt is true,rCY said Defarge, who was kneeling to look on and hear. rCLMore than that; Monsieur Manette is, for all reasons, best out of France. Say, shall I hire a carriage and post-horses?rCY

rCLThatrCOs business,rCY said Mr. Lorry, resuming on the shortest notice his methodical manners; rCLand if business is to be done, I had better do it.rCY

rCLThen be so kind,rCY urged Miss Manette, rCLas to leave us here. You see how composed he has become, and you cannot be afraid to leave him with me
now. Why should you be? If you will lock the door to secure us from interruption, I do not doubt that you will find him, when you come back,
as quiet as you leave him. In any case, I will take care of him until you return, and then we will remove him straight.rCY

Both Mr. Lorry and Defarge were rather disinclined to this course, and in favour of one of them remaining. But, as there were not only carriage and horses to be seen to, but travelling papers; and as time pressed, for the
day was drawing to an end, it came at last to their hastily dividing the business that was necessary to be done, and hurrying away to do it.

Then, as the darkness closed in, the daughter laid her head down on the
hard ground close at the fatherrCOs side, and watched him. The darkness deepened and deepened, and they both lay quiet, until a light gleamed
through the chinks in the wall.

Mr. Lorry and Monsieur Defarge had made all ready for the journey, and
had brought with them, besides travelling cloaks and wrappers, bread and
meat, wine, and hot coffee. Monsieur Defarge put this provender, and the
lamp he carried, on the shoemakerrCOs bench (there was nothing else in the garret but a pallet bed), and he and Mr. Lorry roused the captive, and assisted him to his feet.

No human intelligence could have read the mysteries of his mind, in the
scared blank wonder of his face. Whether he knew what had happened,
whether he recollected what they had said to him, whether he knew that he
was free, were questions which no sagacity could have solved. They tried speaking to him; but, he was so confused, and so very slow to answer,
that they took fright at his bewilderment, and agreed for the time to
tamper with him no more. He had a wild, lost manner of occasionally
clasping his head in his hands, that had not been seen in him before;
yet, he had some pleasure in the mere sound of his daughterrCOs voice, and invariably turned to it when she spoke.

In the submissive way of one long accustomed to obey under coercion, he
ate and drank what they gave him to eat and drink, and put on the cloak
and other wrappings, that they gave him to wear. He readily responded to
his daughterrCOs drawing her arm through his, and tookrCoand keptrCoher hand in
both his own.

They began to descend; Monsieur Defarge going first with the lamp, Mr.
Lorry closing the little procession. They had not traversed many steps of
the long main staircase when he stopped, and stared at the roof and round
at the walls.

rCLYou remember the place, my father? You remember coming up here?rCY

rCLWhat did you say?rCY

But, before she could repeat the question, he murmured an answer as if
she had repeated it.

rCLRemember? No, I donrCOt remember. It was so very long ago.rCY

That he had no recollection whatever of his having been brought from his prison to that house, was apparent to them. They heard him mutter, rCLOne Hundred and Five, North Tower;rCY and when he looked about him, it
evidently was for the strong fortress-walls which had long encompassed
him. On their reaching the courtyard he instinctively altered his tread,
as being in expectation of a drawbridge; and when there was no
drawbridge, and he saw the carriage waiting in the open street, he
dropped his daughterrCOs hand and clasped his head again.

No crowd was about the door; no people were discernible at any of the
many windows; not even a chance passerby was in the street. An unnatural silence and desertion reigned there. Only one soul was to be seen, and
that was Madame DefargerCowho leaned against the door-post, knitting, and
saw nothing.

The prisoner had got into a coach, and his daughter had followed him,
when Mr. LorryrCOs feet were arrested on the step by his asking, miserably, for his shoemaking tools and the unfinished shoes. Madame Defarge
immediately called to her husband that she would get them, and went,
knitting, out of the lamplight, through the courtyard. She quickly
brought them down and handed them in;rCoand immediately afterwards leaned against the door-post, knitting, and saw nothing.

Defarge got upon the box, and gave the word rCLTo the Barrier!rCY The postilion cracked his whip, and they clattered away under the feeble over-swinging lamps.

Under the over-swinging lampsrCoswinging ever brighter in the better
streets, and ever dimmer in the worserCoand by lighted shops, gay crowds, illuminated coffee-houses, and theatre-doors, to one of the city gates. Soldiers with lanterns, at the guard-house there. rCLYour papers, travellers!rCY rCLSee here then, Monsieur the Officer,rCY said Defarge, getting
down, and taking him gravely apart, rCLthese are the papers of monsieur inside, with the white head. They were consigned to me, with him, at the
rCorCY He dropped his voice, there was a flutter among the military lanterns, and one of them being handed into the coach by an arm in uniform, the
eyes connected with the arm looked, not an every day or an every night
look, at monsieur with the white head. rCLIt is well. Forward!rCY from the uniform. rCLAdieu!rCY from Defarge. And so, under a short grove of feebler
and feebler over-swinging lamps, out under the great grove of stars.

Beneath that arch of unmoved and eternal lights; some, so remote from
this little earth that the learned tell us it is doubtful whether their
rays have even yet discovered it, as a point in space where anything is suffered or done: the shadows of the night were broad and black. All
through the cold and restless interval, until dawn, they once more
whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis LorryrCositting opposite the buried man who had been dug out, and wondering what subtle powers were for ever lost
to him, and what were capable of restorationrCothe old inquiry:

rCLI hope you care to be recalled to life?rCY

And the old answer:

rCLI canrCOt say.rCY

The end of the first book.

Book the SecondrCothe Golden Thread
CHAPTER I.
Five Years Later
TellsonrCOs Bank by Temple Bar was an old-fashioned place, even in the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty. It was very small, very dark, very ugly, very incommodious. It was an old-fashioned place, moreover, in the
moral attribute that the partners in the House were proud of its
smallness, proud of its darkness, proud of its ugliness, proud of its incommodiousness. They were even boastful of its eminence in those particulars, and were fired by an express conviction that, if it were
less objectionable, it would be less respectable. This was no passive
belief, but an active weapon which they flashed at more convenient places
of business. TellsonrCOs (they said) wanted no elbow-room, TellsonrCOs wanted no light, TellsonrCOs wanted no embellishment. Noakes and Co.rCOs might, or Snooks BrothersrCO might; but TellsonrCOs, thank HeavenrCo!

Any one of these partners would have disinherited his son on the question
of rebuilding TellsonrCOs. In this respect the House was much on a par with the Country; which did very often disinherit its sons for suggesting improvements in laws and customs that had long been highly objectionable,
but were only the more respectable.

Thus it had come to pass, that TellsonrCOs was the triumphant perfection of inconvenience. After bursting open a door of idiotic obstinacy with a
weak rattle in its throat, you fell into TellsonrCOs down two steps, and
came to your senses in a miserable little shop, with two little counters, where the oldest of men made your cheque shake as if the wind rustled it, while they examined the signature by the dingiest of windows, which were always under a shower-bath of mud from Fleet-street, and which were made
the dingier by their own iron bars proper, and the heavy shadow of Temple
Bar. If your business necessitated your seeing rCLthe House,rCY you were put into a species of Condemned Hold at the back, where you meditated on a misspent life, until the House came with its hands in its pockets, and
you could hardly blink at it in the dismal twilight. Your money came out
of, or went into, wormy old wooden drawers, particles of which flew up
your nose and down your throat when they were opened and shut. Your bank-
notes had a musty odour, as if they were fast decomposing into rags
again. Your plate was stowed away among the neighbouring cesspools, and
evil communications corrupted its good polish in a day or two. Your deeds
got into extemporised strong-rooms made of kitchens and sculleries, and fretted all the fat out of their parchments into the banking-house air.
Your lighter boxes of family papers went up-stairs into a Barmecide room,
that always had a great dining-table in it and never had a dinner, and
where, even in the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty, the first letters written to you by your old love, or by your little children, were
but newly released from the horror of being ogled through the windows, by
the heads exposed on Temple Bar with an insensate brutality and ferocity worthy of Abyssinia or Ashantee.

But indeed, at that time, putting to death was a recipe much in vogue
with all trades and professions, and not least of all with TellsonrCOs.
Death is NaturerCOs remedy for all things, and why not LegislationrCOs? Accordingly, the forger was put to Death; the utterer of a bad note was
put to Death; the unlawful opener of a letter was put to Death; the
purloiner of forty shillings and sixpence was put to Death; the holder of
a horse at TellsonrCOs door, who made off with it, was put to Death; the coiner of a bad shilling was put to Death; the sounders of three-fourths
of the notes in the whole gamut of Crime, were put to Death. Not that it
did the least good in the way of preventionrCoit might almost have been
worth remarking that the fact was exactly the reverserCobut, it cleared off (as to this world) the trouble of each particular case, and left nothing
else connected with it to be looked after. Thus, TellsonrCOs, in its day,
like greater places of business, its contemporaries, had taken so many
lives, that, if the heads laid low before it had been ranged on Temple
Bar instead of being privately disposed of, they would probably have
excluded what little light the ground floor had, in a rather significant manner.

Cramped in all kinds of dim cupboards and hutches at TellsonrCOs, the
oldest of men carried on the business gravely. When they took a young man
into TellsonrCOs London house, they hid him somewhere till he was old. They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full Tellson
flavour and blue-mould upon him. Then only was he permitted to be seen, spectacularly poring over large books, and casting his breeches and
gaiters into the general weight of the establishment.

Outside TellsonrCOsrConever by any means in it, unless called inrCowas an odd- job-man, an occasional porter and messenger, who served as the live sign
of the house. He was never absent during business hours, unless upon an errand, and then he was represented by his son: a grisly urchin of
twelve, who was his express image. People understood that TellsonrCOs, in a stately way, tolerated the odd-job-man. The house had always tolerated
some person in that capacity, and time and tide had drifted this person
to the post. His surname was Cruncher, and on the youthful occasion of
his renouncing by proxy the works of darkness, in the easterly parish
church of Hounsditch, he had received the added appellation of Jerry.

The scene was Mr. CruncherrCOs private lodging in Hanging-sword-alley, Whitefriars: the time, half-past seven of the clock on a windy March
morning, Anno Domini seventeen hundred and eighty. (Mr. Cruncher himself always spoke of the year of our Lord as Anna Dominoes: apparently under
the impression that the Christian era dated from the invention of a
popular game, by a lady who had bestowed her name upon it.)

Mr. CruncherrCOs apartments were not in a savoury neighbourhood, and were
but two in number, even if a closet with a single pane of glass in it
might be counted as one. But they were very decently kept. Early as it
was, on the windy March morning, the room in which he lay abed was
already scrubbed throughout; and between the cups and saucers arranged
for breakfast, and the lumbering deal table, a very clean white cloth was spread.

Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchwork counterpane, like a Harlequin at
home. At first, he slept heavily, but, by degrees, began to roll and
surge in bed, until he rose above the surface, with his spiky hair
looking as if it must tear the sheets to ribbons. At which juncture, he exclaimed, in a voice of dire exasperation:

rCLBust me, if she ainrCOt at it agin!rCY

A woman of orderly and industrious appearance rose from her knees in a
corner, with sufficient haste and trepidation to show that she was the
person referred to.

rCLWhat!rCY said Mr. Cruncher, looking out of bed for a boot. rCLYourCOre at it
agin, are you?rCY

After hailing the morn with this second salutation, he threw a boot at
the woman as a third. It was a very muddy boot, and may introduce the odd circumstance connected with Mr. CruncherrCOs domestic economy, that,
whereas he often came home after banking hours with clean boots, he often
got up next morning to find the same boots covered with clay.

rCLWhat,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, varying his apostrophe after missing his mark rCorCLwhat are you up to, Aggerawayter?rCY

rCLI was only saying my prayers.rCY

rCLSaying your prayers! YourCOre a nice woman! What do you mean by flopping yourself down and praying agin me?rCY

rCLI was not praying against you; I was praying for you.rCY

rCLYou werenrCOt. And if you were, I wonrCOt be took the liberty with. Here! your motherrCOs a nice woman, young Jerry, going a praying agin your fatherrCOs prosperity. YourCOve got a dutiful mother, you have, my son. YourCOve got a religious mother, you have, my boy: going and flopping
herself down, and praying that the bread-and-butter may be snatched out
of the mouth of her only child.rCY

Master Cruncher (who was in his shirt) took this very ill, and, turning
to his mother, strongly deprecated any praying away of his personal
board.

rCLAnd what do you suppose, you conceited female,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, with unconscious inconsistency, rCLthat the worth of your prayers may be? Name
the price that you put your prayers at!rCY

rCLThey only come from the heart, Jerry. They are worth no more than that.rCY

rCLWorth no more than that,rCY repeated Mr. Cruncher. rCLThey ainrCOt worth much,
then. Whether or no, I wonrCOt be prayed agin, I tell you. I canrCOt afford it. IrCOm not a going to be made unlucky by your sneaking. If you must go flopping yourself down, flop in favour of your husband and child, and not
in opposition to rCOem. If I had had any but a unnatrCOral wife, and this
poor boy had had any but a unnatrCOral mother, I might have made some money last week instead of being counter-prayed and countermined and
religiously circumwented into the worst of luck. B-u-u-ust me!rCY said Mr. Cruncher, who all this time had been putting on his clothes, rCLif I ainrCOt, what with piety and one blowed thing and another, been choused this last
week into as bad luck as ever a poor devil of a honest tradesman met
with! Young Jerry, dress yourself, my boy, and while I clean my boots
keep a eye upon your mother now and then, and if you see any signs of
more flopping, give me a call. For, I tell you,rCY here he addressed his
wife once more, rCLI wonrCOt be gone agin, in this manner. I am as rickety as a hackney-coach, IrCOm as sleepy as laudanum, my lines is strained to that degree that I shouldnrCOt know, if it wasnrCOt for the pain in rCOem, which was
me and which somebody else, yet IrCOm none the better for it in pocket; and itrCOs my suspicion that yourCOve been at it from morning to night to prevent me from being the better for it in pocket, and I wonrCOt put up with it, Aggerawayter, and what do you say now!rCY

Growling, in addition, such phrases as rCLAh! yes! YourCOre religious, too. You wouldnrCOt put yourself in opposition to the interests of your husband
and child, would you? Not you!rCY and throwing off other sarcastic sparks
from the whirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Cruncher betook
himself to his boot-cleaning and his general preparation for business. In
the meantime, his son, whose head was garnished with tenderer spikes, and whose young eyes stood close by one another, as his fatherrCOs did, kept
the required watch upon his mother. He greatly disturbed that poor woman
at intervals, by darting out of his sleeping closet, where he made his
toilet, with a suppressed cry of rCLYou are going to flop, mother. rCoHalloa, father!rCY and, after raising this fictitious alarm, darting in again with
an undutiful grin.

Mr. CruncherrCOs temper was not at all improved when he came to his
breakfast. He resented Mrs. CruncherrCOs saying grace with particular animosity.

rCLNow, Aggerawayter! What are you up to? At it again?rCY

His wife explained that she had merely rCLasked a blessing.rCY

rCLDonrCOt do it!rCY said Mr. Crunches looking about, as if he rather expected to see the loaf disappear under the efficacy of his wiferCOs petitions. rCLI ainrCOt a going to be blest out of house and home. I wonrCOt have my wittles blest off my table. Keep still!rCY

Exceedingly red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at a party
which had taken anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncher worried his breakfast rather than ate it, growling over it like any four-footed
inmate of a menagerie. Towards nine orCOclock he smoothed his ruffled
aspect, and, presenting as respectable and business-like an exterior as
he could overlay his natural self with, issued forth to the occupation of
the day.

It could scarcely be called a trade, in spite of his favourite
description of himself as rCLa honest tradesman.rCY His stock consisted of a wooden stool, made out of a broken-backed chair cut down, which stool,
young Jerry, walking at his fatherrCOs side, carried every morning to
beneath the banking-house window that was nearest Temple Bar: where, with
the addition of the first handful of straw that could be gleaned from any passing vehicle to keep the cold and wet from the odd-job-manrCOs feet, it formed the encampment for the day. On this post of his, Mr. Cruncher was
as well known to Fleet-street and the Temple, as the Bar itself,rCoand was almost as in-looking.

Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to touch his three-
cornered hat to the oldest of men as they passed in to TellsonrCOs, Jerry
took up his station on this windy March morning, with young Jerry
standing by him, when not engaged in making forays through the Bar, to
inflict bodily and mental injuries of an acute description on passing
boys who were small enough for his amiable purpose. Father and son,
extremely like each other, looking silently on at the morning traffic in Fleet-street, with their two heads as near to one another as the two eyes
of each were, bore a considerable resemblance to a pair of monkeys. The resemblance was not lessened by the accidental circumstance, that the
mature Jerry bit and spat out straw, while the twinkling eyes of the
youthful Jerry were as restlessly watchful of him as of everything else
in Fleet-street.

The head of one of the regular indoor messengers attached to TellsonrCOs establishment was put through the door, and the word was given:

rCLPorter wanted!rCY

rCLHooray, father! HererCOs an early job to begin with!rCY

Having thus given his parent God speed, young Jerry seated himself on the stool, entered on his reversionary interest in the straw his father had
been chewing, and cogitated.

rCLAl-ways rusty! His fingers is al-ways rusty!rCY muttered young Jerry. rCLWhere does my father get all that iron rust from? He donrCOt get no iron rust here!rCY

CHAPTER II.
A Sight
You know the Old Bailey well, no doubt?rCY said one of the oldest of clerks
to Jerry the messenger.

rCLYe-es, sir,rCY returned Jerry, in something of a dogged manner. rCLI do know
the Bailey.rCY

rCLJust so. And you know Mr. Lorry.rCY

rCLI know Mr. Lorry, sir, much better than I know the Bailey. Much better,rCY said Jerry, not unlike a reluctant witness at the establishment in
question, rCLthan I, as a honest tradesman, wish to know the Bailey.rCY

rCLVery well. Find the door where the witnesses go in, and show the door- keeper this note for Mr. Lorry. He will then let you in.rCY

rCLInto the court, sir?rCY

rCLInto the court.rCY

Mr. CruncherrCOs eyes seemed to get a little closer to one another, and to interchange the inquiry, rCLWhat do you think of this?rCY

rCLAm I to wait in the court, sir?rCY he asked, as the result of that conference.

rCLI am going to tell you. The door-keeper will pass the note to Mr. Lorry, and do you make any gesture that will attract Mr. LorryrCOs attention, and show him where you stand. Then what you have to do, is, to remain there
until he wants you.rCY

rCLIs that all, sir?rCY

rCLThatrCOs all. He wishes to have a messenger at hand. This is to tell him you are there.rCY

As the ancient clerk deliberately folded and superscribed the note, Mr. Cruncher, after surveying him in silence until he came to the blotting-
paper stage, remarked:

rCLI suppose theyrCOll be trying Forgeries this morning?rCY

rCLTreason!rCY

rCLThatrCOs quartering,rCY said Jerry. rCLBarbarous!rCY

rCLIt is the law,rCY remarked the ancient clerk, turning his surprised spectacles upon him. rCLIt is the law.rCY

rCLItrCOs hard in the law to spile a man, I think. ItrCOs hard enough to kill him, but itrCOs wery hard to spile him, sir.rCY

rCLNot at all,rCY retained the ancient clerk. rCLSpeak well of the law. Take care of your chest and voice, my good friend, and leave the law to take
care of itself. I give you that advice.rCY

rCLItrCOs the damp, sir, what settles on my chest and voice,rCY said Jerry. rCLI
leave you to judge what a damp way of earning a living mine is.rCY

rCLWell, well,rCY said the old clerk; rCLwe all have our various ways of gaining a livelihood. Some of us have damp ways, and some of us have dry
ways. Here is the letter. Go along.rCY

Jerry took the letter, and, remarking to himself with less internal
deference than he made an outward show of, rCLYou are a lean old one, too,rCY made his bow, informed his son, in passing, of his destination, and went
his way.

They hanged at Tyburn, in those days, so the street outside Newgate had
not obtained one infamous notoriety that has since attached to it. But,
the gaol was a vile place, in which most kinds of debauchery and villainy
were practised, and where dire diseases were bred, that came into court
with the prisoners, and sometimes rushed straight from the dock at my
Lord Chief Justice himself, and pulled him off the bench. It had more
than once happened, that the Judge in the black cap pronounced his own
doom as certainly as the prisonerrCOs, and even died before him. For the
rest, the Old Bailey was famous as a kind of deadly inn-yard, from which
pale travellers set out continually, in carts and coaches, on a violent passage into the other world: traversing some two miles and a half of
public street and road, and shaming few good citizens, if any. So
powerful is use, and so desirable to be good use in the beginning. It was famous, too, for the pillory, a wise old institution, that inflicted a punishment of which no one could foresee the extent; also, for the whipping-post, another dear old institution, very humanising and
softening to behold in action; also, for extensive transactions in blood- money, another fragment of ancestral wisdom, systematically leading to
the most frightful mercenary crimes that could be committed under Heaven. Altogether, the Old Bailey, at that date, was a choice illustration of
the precept, that rCLWhatever is is right;rCY an aphorism that would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence, that nothing that ever was, was wrong.

Making his way through the tainted crowd, dispersed up and down this
hideous scene of action, with the skill of a man accustomed to make his
way quietly, the messenger found out the door he sought, and handed in
his letter through a trap in it. For, people then paid to see the play at
the Old Bailey, just as they paid to see the play in BedlamrCoonly the
former entertainment was much the dearer. Therefore, all the Old Bailey
doors were well guardedrCoexcept, indeed, the social doors by which the criminals got there, and those were always left wide open.

After some delay and demur, the door grudgingly turned on its hinges a
very little way, and allowed Mr. Jerry Cruncher to squeeze himself into
court.

rCLWhatrCOs on?rCY he asked, in a whisper, of the man he found himself next to.

rCLNothing yet.rCY

rCLWhatrCOs coming on?rCY

rCLThe Treason case.rCY

rCLThe quartering one, eh?rCY

rCLAh!rCY returned the man, with a relish; rCLherCOll be drawn on a hurdle to be
half hanged, and then herCOll be taken down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and
then his head will be chopped off, and herCOll be cut into quarters. ThatrCOs the sentence.rCY

rCLIf herCOs found Guilty, you mean to say?rCY Jerry added, by way of proviso.

rCLOh! theyrCOll find him guilty,rCY said the other. rCLDonrCOt you be afraid of
that.rCY

Mr. CruncherrCOs attention was here diverted to the door-keeper, whom he
saw making his way to Mr. Lorry, with the note in his hand. Mr. Lorry sat
at a table, among the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged gentleman,
the prisonerrCOs counsel, who had a great bundle of papers before him: and nearly opposite another wigged gentleman with his hands in his pockets,
whose whole attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him then or
afterwards, seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of the court. After
some gruff coughing and rubbing of his chin and signing with his hand,
Jerry attracted the notice of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look for
him, and who quietly nodded and sat down again.

rCLWhatrCOs he got to do with the case?rCY asked the man he had spoken with.

rCLBlest if I know,rCY said Jerry.

rCLWhat have you got to do with it, then, if a person may inquire?rCY

rCLBlest if I know that either,rCY said Jerry.

The entrance of the Judge, and a consequent great stir and settling down
in the court, stopped the dialogue. Presently, the dock became the
central point of interest. Two gaolers, who had been standing there, went
out, and the prisoner was brought in, and put to the bar.

Everybody present, except the one wigged gentleman who looked at the
ceiling, stared at him. All the human breath in the place, rolled at him,
like a sea, or a wind, or a fire. Eager faces strained round pillars and corners, to get a sight of him; spectators in back rows stood up, not to
miss a hair of him; people on the floor of the court, laid their hands on
the shoulders of the people before them, to help themselves, at anybodyrCOs cost, to a view of himrCostood a-tiptoe, got upon ledges, stood upon next
to nothing, to see every inch of him. Conspicuous among these latter,
like an animated bit of the spiked wall of Newgate, Jerry stood: aiming
at the prisoner the beery breath of a whet he had taken as he came along,
and discharging it to mingle with the waves of other beer, and gin, and
tea, and coffee, and what not, that flowed at him, and already broke upon
the great windows behind him in an impure mist and rain.

The object of all this staring and blaring, was a young man of about five-and-twenty, well-grown and well-looking, with a sunburnt cheek and a
dark eye. His condition was that of a young gentleman. He was plainly
dressed in black, or very dark grey, and his hair, which was long and
dark, was gathered in a ribbon at the back of his neck; more to be out of
his way than for ornament. As an emotion of the mind will express itself through any covering of the body, so the paleness which his situation engendered came through the brown upon his cheek, showing the soul to be stronger than the sun. He was otherwise quite self-possessed, bowed to
the Judge, and stood quiet.

The sort of interest with which this man was stared and breathed at, was
not a sort that elevated humanity. Had he stood in peril of a less
horrible sentencerCohad there been a chance of any one of its savage
details being sparedrCoby just so much would he have lost in his
fascination. The form that was to be doomed to be so shamefully mangled,
was the sight; the immortal creature that was to be so butchered and torn asunder, yielded the sensation. Whatever gloss the various spectators put
upon the interest, according to their several arts and powers of self-
deceit, the interest was, at the root of it, Ogreish.

Silence in the court! Charles Darnay had yesterday pleaded Not Guilty to
an indictment denouncing him (with infinite jingle and jangle) for that
he was a false traitor to our serene, illustrious, excellent, and so
forth, prince, our Lord the King, by reason of his having, on divers occasions, and by divers means and ways, assisted Lewis, the French King,
in his wars against our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so
forth; that was to say, by coming and going, between the dominions of our
said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, and those of the said French Lewis, and wickedly, falsely, traitorously, and otherwise evil- adverbiously, revealing to the said French Lewis what forces our said
serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, had in preparation to send
to Canada and North America. This much, Jerry, with his head becoming
more and more spiky as the law terms bristled it, made out with huge satisfaction, and so arrived circuitously at the understanding that the aforesaid, and over and over again aforesaid, Charles Darnay, stood there before him upon his trial; that the jury were swearing in; and that Mr. Attorney-General was making ready to speak.

The accused, who was (and who knew he was) being mentally hanged,
beheaded, and quartered, by everybody there, neither flinched from the situation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it. He was quiet and
attentive; watched the opening proceedings with a grave interest; and
stood with his hands resting on the slab of wood before him, so
composedly, that they had not displaced a leaf of the herbs with which it
was strewn. The court was all bestrewn with herbs and sprinkled with
vinegar, as a precaution against gaol air and gaol fever.

Over the prisonerrCOs head there was a mirror, to throw the light down upon him. Crowds of the wicked and the wretched had been reflected in it, and
had passed from its surface and this earthrCOs together. Haunted in a most ghastly manner that abominable place would have been, if the glass could
ever have rendered back its reflections, as the ocean is one day to give
up its dead. Some passing thought of the infamy and disgrace for which it
had been reserved, may have struck the prisonerrCOs mind. Be that as it
may, a change in his position making him conscious of a bar of light
across his face, he looked up; and when he saw the glass his face
flushed, and his right hand pushed the herbs away.

It happened, that the action turned his face to that side of the court
which was on his left. About on a level with his eyes, there sat, in that corner of the JudgerCOs bench, two persons upon whom his look immediately rested; so immediately, and so much to the changing of his aspect, that
all the eyes that were turned upon him, turned to them.

The spectators saw in the two figures, a young lady of little more than twenty, and a gentleman who was evidently her father; a man of a very remarkable appearance in respect of the absolute whiteness of his hair,
and a certain indescribable intensity of face: not of an active kind, but pondering and self-communing. When this expression was upon him, he
looked as if he were old; but when it was stirred and broken uprCoas it was now, in a moment, on his speaking to his daughterrCohe became a handsome
man, not past the prime of life.

His daughter had one of her hands drawn through his arm, as she sat by
him, and the other pressed upon it. She had drawn close to him, in her
dread of the scene, and in her pity for the prisoner. Her forehead had
been strikingly expressive of an engrossing terror and compassion that
saw nothing but the peril of the accused. This had been so very
noticeable, so very powerfully and naturally shown, that starers who had
had no pity for him were touched by her; and the whisper went about, rCLWho are they?rCY

Jerry, the messenger, who had made his own observations, in his own
manner, and who had been sucking the rust off his fingers in his
absorption, stretched his neck to hear who they were. The crowd about him
had pressed and passed the inquiry on to the nearest attendant, and from
him it had been more slowly pressed and passed back; at last it got to
Jerry:

rCLWitnesses.rCY

rCLFor which side?rCY

rCLAgainst.rCY

rCLAgainst what side?rCY

rCLThe prisonerrCOs.rCY

The Judge, whose eyes had gone in the general direction, recalled them,
leaned back in his seat, and looked steadily at the man whose life was in
his hand, as Mr. Attorney-General rose to spin the rope, grind the axe,
and hammer the nails into the scaffold.

CHAPTER III.
A Disappointment
Mr. Attorney-General had to inform the jury, that the prisoner before
them, though young in years, was old in the treasonable practices which claimed the forfeit of his life. That this correspondence with the public enemy was not a correspondence of to-day, or of yesterday, or even of
last year, or of the year before. That, it was certain the prisoner had,
for longer than that, been in the habit of passing and repassing between France and England, on secret business of which he could give no honest account. That, if it were in the nature of traitorous ways to thrive
(which happily it never was), the real wickedness and guilt of his
business might have remained undiscovered. That Providence, however, had
put it into the heart of a person who was beyond fear and beyond
reproach, to ferret out the nature of the prisonerrCOs schemes, and, struck with horror, to disclose them to his MajestyrCOs Chief Secretary of State
and most honourable Privy Council. That, this patriot would be produced
before them. That, his position and attitude were, on the whole, sublime. That, he had been the prisonerrCOs friend, but, at once in an auspicious
and an evil hour detecting his infamy, had resolved to immolate the
traitor he could no longer cherish in his bosom, on the sacred altar of
his country. That, if statues were decreed in Britain, as in ancient
Greece and Rome, to public benefactors, this shining citizen would
assuredly have had one. That, as they were not so decreed, he probably
would not have one. That, Virtue, as had been observed by the poets (in
many passages which he well knew the jury would have, word for word, at
the tips of their tongues; whereat the juryrCOs countenances displayed a guilty consciousness that they knew nothing about the passages), was in a manner contagious; more especially the bright virtue known as patriotism,
or love of country. That, the lofty example of this immaculate and unimpeachable witness for the Crown, to refer to whom however unworthily
was an honour, had communicated itself to the prisonerrCOs servant, and had engendered in him a holy determination to examine his masterrCOs table-
drawers and pockets, and secrete his papers. That, he (Mr. Attorney-
General) was prepared to hear some disparagement attempted of this
admirable servant; but that, in a general way, he preferred him to his
(Mr. Attorney-GeneralrCOs) brothers and sisters, and honoured him more than his (Mr. Attorney-GeneralrCOs) father and mother. That, he called with confidence on the jury to come and do likewise. That, the evidence of
these two witnesses, coupled with the documents of their discovering that would be produced, would show the prisoner to have been furnished with
lists of his MajestyrCOs forces, and of their disposition and preparation, both by sea and land, and would leave no doubt that he had habitually
conveyed such information to a hostile power. That, these lists could not
be proved to be in the prisonerrCOs handwriting; but that it was all the
same; that, indeed, it was rather the better for the prosecution, as
showing the prisoner to be artful in his precautions. That, the proof
would go back five years, and would show the prisoner already engaged in
these pernicious missions, within a few weeks before the date of the very first action fought between the British troops and the Americans. That,
for these reasons, the jury, being a loyal jury (as he knew they were),
and being a responsible jury (as they knew they were), must positively
find the prisoner Guilty, and make an end of him, whether they liked it
or not. That, they never could lay their heads upon their pillows; that,
they never could tolerate the idea of their wives laying their heads upon their pillows; that, they never could endure the notion of their children laying their heads upon their pillows; in short, that there never more
could be, for them or theirs, any laying of heads upon pillows at all,
unless the prisonerrCOs head was taken off. That head Mr. Attorney-General concluded by demanding of them, in the name of everything he could think
of with a round turn in it, and on the faith of his solemn asseveration
that he already considered the prisoner as good as dead and gone.

When the Attorney-General ceased, a buzz arose in the court as if a cloud
of great blue-flies were swarming about the prisoner, in anticipation of
what he was soon to become. When toned down again, the unimpeachable
patriot appeared in the witness-box.

Mr. Solicitor-General then, following his leaderrCOs lead, examined the patriot: John Barsad, gentleman, by name. The story of his pure soul was exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had described it to berCoperhaps, if it
had a fault, a little too exactly. Having released his noble bosom of its burden, he would have modestly withdrawn himself, but that the wigged gentleman with the papers before him, sitting not far from Mr. Lorry,
begged to ask him a few questions. The wigged gentleman sitting opposite, still looking at the ceiling of the court.

Had he ever been a spy himself? No, he scorned the base insinuation. What
did he live upon? His property. Where was his property? He didnrCOt
precisely remember where it was. What was it? No business of anybodyrCOs.
Had he inherited it? Yes, he had. From whom? Distant relation. Very
distant? Rather. Ever been in prison? Certainly not. Never in a debtorsrCO prison? DidnrCOt see what that had to do with it. Never in a debtorsrCO prison?rCoCome, once again. Never? Yes. How many times? Two or three times. Not five or six? Perhaps. Of what profession? Gentleman. Ever been
kicked? Might have been. Frequently? No. Ever kicked downstairs?
Decidedly not; once received a kick on the top of a staircase, and fell downstairs of his own accord. Kicked on that occasion for cheating at
dice? Something to that effect was said by the intoxicated liar who
committed the assault, but it was not true. Swear it was not true?
Positively. Ever live by cheating at play? Never. Ever live by play? Not
more than other gentlemen do. Ever borrow money of the prisoner? Yes.
Ever pay him? No. Was not this intimacy with the prisoner, in reality a
very slight one, forced upon the prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets?
No. Sure he saw the prisoner with these lists? Certain. Knew no more
about the lists? No. Had not procured them himself, for instance? No.
Expect to get anything by this evidence? No. Not in regular government
pay and employment, to lay traps? Oh dear no. Or to do anything? Oh dear
no. Swear that? Over and over again. No motives but motives of sheer patriotism? None whatever.

The virtuous servant, Roger Cly, swore his way through the case at a
great rate. He had taken service with the prisoner, in good faith and simplicity, four years ago. He had asked the prisoner, aboard the Calais packet, if he wanted a handy fellow, and the prisoner had engaged him. He
had not asked the prisoner to take the handy fellow as an act of charityrCo never thought of such a thing. He began to have suspicions of the
prisoner, and to keep an eye upon him, soon afterwards. In arranging his clothes, while travelling, he had seen similar lists to these in the prisonerrCOs pockets, over and over again. He had taken these lists from
the drawer of the prisonerrCOs desk. He had not put them there first. He
had seen the prisoner show these identical lists to French gentlemen at Calais, and similar lists to French gentlemen, both at Calais and
Boulogne. He loved his country, and couldnrCOt bear it, and had given information. He had never been suspected of stealing a silver tea-pot; he
had been maligned respecting a mustard-pot, but it turned out to be only
a plated one. He had known the last witness seven or eight years; that
was merely a coincidence. He didnrCOt call it a particularly curious coincidence; most coincidences were curious. Neither did he call it a
curious coincidence that true patriotism was his only motive too. He was
a true Briton, and hoped there were many like him.

The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr. Jarvis
Lorry.

rCLMr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in TellsonrCOs bank?rCY

rCLI am.rCY

rCLOn a certain Friday night in November one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, did business occasion you to travel between London and
Dover by the mail?rCY

rCLIt did.rCY

rCLWere there any other passengers in the mail?rCY

rCLTwo.rCY

rCLDid they alight on the road in the course of the night?rCY

rCLThey did.rCY

rCLMr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one of those two passengers?rCY

rCLI cannot undertake to say that he was.rCY

rCLDoes he resemble either of these two passengers?rCY

rCLBoth were so wrapped up, and the night was so dark, and we were all so reserved, that I cannot undertake to say even that.rCY

rCLMr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner. Supposing him wrapped up as
those two passengers were, is there anything in his bulk and stature to
render it unlikely that he was one of them?rCY

rCLNo.rCY

rCLYou will not swear, Mr. Lorry, that he was not one of them?rCY

rCLNo.rCY

rCLSo at least you say he may have been one of them?rCY

rCLYes. Except that I remember them both to have beenrColike myselfrCotimorous of highwaymen, and the prisoner has not a timorous air.rCY

rCLDid you ever see a counterfeit of timidity, Mr. Lorry?rCY

rCLI certainly have seen that.rCY

rCLMr. Lorry, look once more upon the prisoner. Have you seen him, to your certain knowledge, before?rCY

rCLI have.rCY

rCLWhen?rCY

rCLI was returning from France a few days afterwards, and, at Calais, the prisoner came on board the packet-ship in which I returned, and made the voyage with me.rCY

rCLAt what hour did he come on board?rCY

rCLAt a little after midnight.rCY

rCLIn the dead of the night. Was he the only passenger who came on board at that untimely hour?rCY

rCLHe happened to be the only one.rCY

rCLNever mind about rCyhappening,rCO Mr. Lorry. He was the only passenger who came on board in the dead of the night?rCY

rCLHe was.rCY

rCLWere you travelling alone, Mr. Lorry, or with any companion?rCY

rCLWith two companions. A gentleman and lady. They are here.rCY

rCLThey are here. Had you any conversation with the prisoner?rCY

rCLHardly any. The weather was stormy, and the passage long and rough, and
I lay on a sofa, almost from shore to shore.rCY

rCLMiss Manette!rCY

The young lady, to whom all eyes had been turned before, and were now
turned again, stood up where she had sat. Her father rose with her, and
kept her hand drawn through his arm.

rCLMiss Manette, look upon the prisoner.rCY

To be confronted with such pity, and such earnest youth and beauty, was
far more trying to the accused than to be confronted with all the crowd. Standing, as it were, apart with her on the edge of his grave, not all
the staring curiosity that looked on, could, for the moment, nerve him to remain quite still. His hurried right hand parcelled out the herbs before
him into imaginary beds of flowers in a garden; and his efforts to
control and steady his breathing shook the lips from which the colour
rushed to his heart. The buzz of the great flies was loud again.

rCLMiss Manette, have you seen the prisoner before?rCY

rCLYes, sir.rCY

rCLWhere?rCY

rCLOn board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on the same occasion.rCY

rCLYou are the young lady just now referred to?rCY

rCLO! most unhappily, I am!rCY

The plaintive tone of her compassion merged into the less musical voice
of the Judge, as he said something fiercely: rCLAnswer the questions put to you, and make no remark upon them.rCY

rCLMiss Manette, had you any conversation with the prisoner on that passage across the Channel?rCY

rCLYes, sir.rCY

rCLRecall it.rCY

In the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: rCLWhen the
gentleman came on boardrCorCY

rCLDo you mean the prisoner?rCY inquired the Judge, knitting his brows.

rCLYes, my Lord.rCY

rCLThen say the prisoner.rCY

rCLWhen the prisoner came on board, he noticed that my father,rCY turning her eyes lovingly to him as he stood beside her, rCLwas much fatigued and in a very weak state of health. My father was so reduced that I was afraid to
take him out of the air, and I had made a bed for him on the deck near
the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at his side to take care of him.
There were no other passengers that night, but we four. The prisoner was
so good as to beg permission to advise me how I could shelter my father
from the wind and weather, better than I had done. I had not known how to
do it well, not understanding how the wind would set when we were out of
the harbour. He did it for me. He expressed great gentleness and kindness
for my fatherrCOs state, and I am sure he felt it. That was the manner of
our beginning to speak together.rCY

rCLLet me interrupt you for a moment. Had he come on board alone?rCY

rCLNo.rCY

rCLHow many were with him?rCY

rCLTwo French gentlemen.rCY

rCLHad they conferred together?rCY

rCLThey had conferred together until the last moment, when it was necessary for the French gentlemen to be landed in their boat.rCY

rCLHad any papers been handed about among them, similar to these lists?rCY

rCLSome papers had been handed about among them, but I donrCOt know what papers.rCY

rCLLike these in shape and size?rCY

rCLPossibly, but indeed I donrCOt know, although they stood whispering very near to me: because they stood at the top of the cabin steps to have the
light of the lamp that was hanging there; it was a dull lamp, and they
spoke very low, and I did not hear what they said, and saw only that they looked at papers.rCY

rCLNow, to the prisonerrCOs conversation, Miss Manette.rCY

rCLThe prisoner was as open in his confidence with merCowhich arose out of my helpless situationrCoas he was kind, and good, and useful to my father. I hope,rCY bursting into tears, rCLI may not repay him by doing him harm to- day.rCY

Buzzing from the blue-flies.

rCLMiss Manette, if the prisoner does not perfectly understand that you
give the evidence which it is your duty to giverCowhich you must giverCoand which you cannot escape from givingrCowith great unwillingness, he is the
only person present in that condition. Please to go on.rCY

rCLHe told me that he was travelling on business of a delicate and
difficult nature, which might get people into trouble, and that he was therefore travelling under an assumed name. He said that this business
had, within a few days, taken him to France, and might, at intervals,
take him backwards and forwards between France and England for a long
time to come.rCY

rCLDid he say anything about America, Miss Manette? Be particular.rCY

rCLHe tried to explain to me how that quarrel had arisen, and he said that,
so far as he could judge, it was a wrong and foolish one on EnglandrCOs
part. He added, in a jesting way, that perhaps George Washington might
gain almost as great a name in history as George the Third. But there was
no harm in his way of saying this: it was said laughingly, and to beguile
the time.rCY

Any strongly marked expression of face on the part of a chief actor in a
scene of great interest to whom many eyes are directed, will be
unconsciously imitated by the spectators. Her forehead was painfully
anxious and intent as she gave this evidence, and, in the pauses when she stopped for the Judge to write it down, watched its effect upon the
counsel for and against. Among the lookers-on there was the same
expression in all quarters of the court; insomuch, that a great majority
of the foreheads there, might have been mirrors reflecting the witness,
when the Judge looked up from his notes to glare at that tremendous
heresy about George Washington.

Mr. Attorney-General now signified to my Lord, that he deemed it
necessary, as a matter of precaution and form, to call the young ladyrCOs father, Doctor Manette. Who was called accordingly.

rCLDoctor Manette, look upon the prisoner. Have you ever seen him before?rCY

rCLOnce. When he called at my lodgings in London. Some three years, or
three years and a half ago.rCY

rCLCan you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet, or
speak to his conversation with your daughter?rCY

rCLSir, I can do neither.rCY

rCLIs there any particular and special reason for your being unable to do either?rCY

He answered, in a low voice, rCLThere is.rCY

rCLHas it been your misfortune to undergo a long imprisonment, without
trial, or even accusation, in your native country, Doctor Manette?rCY

0465m
Original
He answered, in a tone that went to every heart, rCLA long imprisonment.rCY

rCLWere you newly released on the occasion in question?rCY

rCLThey tell me so.rCY

rCLHave you no remembrance of the occasion?rCY

rCLNone. My mind is a blank, from some timerCoI cannot even say what timerCo when I employed myself, in my captivity, in making shoes, to the time
when I found myself living in London with my dear daughter here. She had become familiar to me, when a gracious God restored my faculties; but, I
am quite unable even to say how she had become familiar. I have no
remembrance of the process.rCY

Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the father and daughter sat down
together.

A singular circumstance then arose in the case. The object in hand being
to show that the prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotter untracked,
in the Dover mail on that Friday night in November five years ago, and
got out of the mail in the night, as a blind, at a place where he did not remain, but from which he travelled back some dozen miles or more, to a garrison and dockyard, and there collected information; a witness was
called to identify him as having been at the precise time required, in
the coffee-room of an hotel in that garrison-and-dockyard town, waiting
for another person. The prisonerrCOs counsel was cross-examining this
witness with no result, except that he had never seen the prisoner on any other occasion, when the wigged gentleman who had all this time been
looking at the ceiling of the court, wrote a word or two on a little
piece of paper, screwed it up, and tossed it to him. Opening this piece
of paper in the next pause, the counsel looked with great attention and curiosity at the prisoner.

rCLYou say again you are quite sure that it was the prisoner?rCY

The witness was quite sure.

rCLDid you ever see anybody very like the prisoner?rCY

Not so like (the witness said) as that he could be mistaken.

rCLLook well upon that gentleman, my learned friend there,rCY pointing to him who had tossed the paper over, rCLand then look well upon the prisoner. How say you? Are they very like each other?rCY

Allowing for my learned friendrCOs appearance being careless and slovenly
if not debauched, they were sufficiently like each other to surprise, not
only the witness, but everybody present, when they were thus brought into comparison. My Lord being prayed to bid my learned friend lay aside his
wig, and giving no very gracious consent, the likeness became much more remarkable. My Lord inquired of Mr. Stryver (the prisonerrCOs counsel), whether they were next to try Mr. Carton (name of my learned friend) for treason? But, Mr. Stryver replied to my Lord, no; but he would ask the
witness to tell him whether what happened once, might happen twice;
whether he would have been so confident if he had seen this illustration
of his rashness sooner, whether he would be so confident, having seen it;
and more. The upshot of which, was, to smash this witness like a crockery vessel, and shiver his part of the case to useless lumber.

Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust off his fingers
in his following of the evidence. He had now to attend while Mr. Stryver fitted the prisonerrCOs case on the jury, like a compact suit of clothes; showing them how the patriot, Barsad, was a hired spy and traitor, an unblushing trafficker in blood, and one of the greatest scoundrels upon
earth since accursed JudasrCowhich he certainly did look rather like. How
the virtuous servant, Cly, was his friend and partner, and was worthy to
be; how the watchful eyes of those forgers and false swearers had rested
on the prisoner as a victim, because some family affairs in France, he
being of French extraction, did require his making those passages across
the ChannelrCothough what those affairs were, a consideration for others
who were near and dear to him, forbade him, even for his life, to
disclose. How the evidence that had been warped and wrested from the
young lady, whose anguish in giving it they had witnessed, came to
nothing, involving the mere little innocent gallantries and politenesses likely to pass between any young gentleman and young lady so thrown together;rCowith the exception of that reference to George Washington,
which was altogether too extravagant and impossible to be regarded in any other light than as a monstrous joke. How it would be a weakness in the government to break down in this attempt to practise for popularity on
the lowest national antipathies and fears, and therefore Mr. Attorney-
General had made the most of it; how, nevertheless, it rested upon
nothing, save that vile and infamous character of evidence too often disfiguring such cases, and of which the State Trials of this country
were full. But, there my Lord interposed (with as grave a face as if it
had not been true), saying that he could not sit upon that Bench and
suffer those allusions.

Mr. Stryver then called his few witnesses, and Mr. Cruncher had next to
attend while Mr. Attorney-General turned the whole suit of clothes Mr.
Stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out; showing how Barsad and Cly
were even a hundred times better than he had thought them, and the
prisoner a hundred times worse. Lastly, came my Lord himself, turning the
suit of clothes, now inside out, now outside in, but on the whole
decidedly trimming and shaping them into grave-clothes for the prisoner.

And now, the jury turned to consider, and the great flies swarmed again.

Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the court,
changed neither his place nor his attitude, even in this excitement.
While his learned friend, Mr. Stryver, massing his papers before him, whispered with those who sat near, and from time to time glanced
anxiously at the jury; while all the spectators moved more or less, and grouped themselves anew; while even my Lord himself arose from his seat,
and slowly paced up and down his platform, not unattended by a suspicion
in the minds of the audience that his state was feverish; this one man
sat leaning back, with his torn gown half off him, his untidy wig put on
just as it had happened to light on his head after its removal, his hands
in his pockets, and his eyes on the ceiling as they had been all day. Something especially reckless in his demeanour, not only gave him a disreputable look, but so diminished the strong resemblance he
undoubtedly bore to the prisoner (which his momentary earnestness, when
they were compared together, had strengthened), that many of the lookers-
on, taking note of him now, said to one another they would hardly have
thought the two were so alike. Mr. Cruncher made the observation to his
next neighbour, and added, rCLIrCOd hold half a guinea that he donrCOt get no law-work to do. DonrCOt look like the sort of one to get any, do he?rCY

Yet, this Mr. Carton took in more of the details of the scene than he
appeared to take in; for now, when Miss ManetterCOs head dropped upon her fatherrCOs breast, he was the first to see it, and to say audibly:
rCLOfficer! look to that young lady. Help the gentleman to take her out. DonrCOt you see she will fall!rCY

There was much commiseration for her as she was removed, and much
sympathy with her father. It had evidently been a great distress to him,
to have the days of his imprisonment recalled. He had shown strong
internal agitation when he was questioned, and that pondering or brooding
look which made him old, had been upon him, like a heavy cloud, ever
since. As he passed out, the jury, who had turned back and paused a
moment, spoke, through their foreman.

They were not agreed, and wished to retire. My Lord (perhaps with George Washington on his mind) showed some surprise that they were not agreed,
but signified his pleasure that they should retire under watch and ward,
and retired himself. The trial had lasted all day, and the lamps in the
court were now being lighted. It began to be rumoured that the jury would
be out a long while. The spectators dropped off to get refreshment, and
the prisoner withdrew to the back of the dock, and sat down.

Mr. Lorry, who had gone out when the young lady and her father went out,
now reappeared, and beckoned to Jerry: who, in the slackened interest,
could easily get near him.

rCLJerry, if you wish to take something to eat, you can. But, keep in the
way. You will be sure to hear when the jury come in. DonrCOt be a moment behind them, for I want you to take the verdict back to the bank. You are
the quickest messenger I know, and will get to Temple Bar long before I can.rCY

Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and he knuckled it in acknowledgment of this communication and a shilling. Mr. Carton came up
at the moment, and touched Mr. Lorry on the arm.

rCLHow is the young lady?rCY

rCLShe is greatly distressed; but her father is comforting her, and she
feels the better for being out of court.rCY

rCLIrCOll tell the prisoner so. It wonrCOt do for a respectable bank gentleman like you, to be seen speaking to him publicly, you know.rCY

Mr. Lorry reddened as if he were conscious of having debated the point in
his mind, and Mr. Carton made his way to the outside of the bar. The way
out of court lay in that direction, and Jerry followed him, all eyes,
ears, and spikes.

rCLMr. Darnay!rCY

The prisoner came forward directly.

rCLYou will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, Miss Manette. She will do very well. You have seen the worst of her agitation.rCY

rCLI am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. Could you tell her so
for me, with my fervent acknowledgments?rCY

rCLYes, I could. I will, if you ask it.rCY

Mr. CartonrCOs manner was so careless as to be almost insolent. He stood,
half turned from the prisoner, lounging with his elbow against the bar.

rCLI do ask it. Accept my cordial thanks.rCY

rCLWhat,rCY said Carton, still only half turned towards him, rCLdo you expect, Mr. Darnay?rCY

rCLThe worst.rCY

rCLItrCOs the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think their withdrawing is in your favour.rCY

Loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, Jerry heard no more:
but left themrCoso like each other in feature, so unlike each other in mannerrCostanding side by side, both reflected in the glass above them.

An hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal crowded passages below, even though assisted off with mutton pies and ale. The
hoarse messenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking that
refection, had dropped into a doze, when a loud murmur and a rapid tide
of people setting up the stairs that led to the court, carried him along
with them.

rCLJerry! Jerry!rCY Mr. Lorry was already calling at the door when he got there.

rCLHere, sir! ItrCOs a fight to get back again. Here I am, sir!rCY

Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through the throng. rCLQuick! Have you got
it?rCY

rCLYes, sir.rCY

Hastily written on the paper was the word rCLAcquitted.rCY

rCLIf you had sent the message, rCyRecalled to Life,rCO again,rCY muttered Jerry,
as he turned, rCLI should have known what you meant, this time.rCY

He had no opportunity of saying, or so much as thinking, anything else,
until he was clear of the Old Bailey; for, the crowd came pouring out
with a vehemence that nearly took him off his legs, and a loud buzz swept
into the street as if the baffled blue-flies were dispersing in search of other carrion.

0471m
Original
CHAPTER IV.
Congratulatory
From the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of the
human stew that had been boiling there all day, was straining off, when
Doctor Manette, Lucie Manette, his daughter, Mr. Lorry, the solicitor for
the defence, and its counsel, Mr. Stryver, stood gathered round Mr.
Charles DarnayrCojust releasedrCocongratulating him on his escape from death.

It would have been difficult by a far brighter light, to recognise in
Doctor Manette, intellectual of face and upright of bearing, the
shoemaker of the garret in Paris. Yet, no one could have looked at him
twice, without looking again: even though the opportunity of observation
had not extended to the mournful cadence of his low grave voice, and to
the abstraction that overclouded him fitfully, without any apparent
reason. While one external cause, and that a reference to his long
lingering agony, would alwaysrCoas on the trialrCoevoke this condition from the depths of his soul, it was also in its nature to arise of itself, and
to draw a gloom over him, as incomprehensible to those unacquainted with
his story as if they had seen the shadow of the actual Bastille thrown
upon him by a summer sun, when the substance was three hundred miles
away.

Only his daughter had the power of charming this black brooding from his
mind. She was the golden thread that united him to a Past beyond his
misery, and to a Present beyond his misery: and the sound of her voice,
the light of her face, the touch of her hand, had a strong beneficial influence with him almost always. Not absolutely always, for she could
recall some occasions on which her power had failed; but they were few
and slight, and she believed them over.

Mr. Darnay had kissed her hand fervently and gratefully, and had turned
to Mr. Stryver, whom he warmly thanked. Mr. Stryver, a man of little more
than thirty, but looking twenty years older than he was, stout, loud,
red, bluff, and free from any drawback of delicacy, had a pushing way of shouldering himself (morally and physically) into companies and
conversations, that argued well for his shouldering his way up in life.

He still had his wig and gown on, and he said, squaring himself at his
late client to that degree that he squeezed the innocent Mr. Lorry clean
out of the group: rCLI am glad to have brought you off with honour, Mr. Darnay. It was an infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the
less likely to succeed on that account.rCY

rCLYou have laid me under an obligation to you for liferCoin two senses,rCY said his late client, taking his hand.

rCLI have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay; and my best is as good as
another manrCOs, I believe.rCY

It clearly being incumbent on some one to say, rCLMuch better,rCY Mr. Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but with the interested
object of squeezing himself back again.

rCLYou think so?rCY said Mr. Stryver. rCLWell! you have been present all day, and you ought to know. You are a man of business, too.rCY

rCLAnd as such,rCY quoth Mr. Lorry, whom the counsel learned in the law had now shouldered back into the group, just as he had previously shouldered
him out of itrCorCLas such I will appeal to Doctor Manette, to break up this conference and order us all to our homes. Miss Lucie looks ill, Mr.
Darnay has had a terrible day, we are worn out.rCY

rCLSpeak for yourself, Mr. Lorry,rCY said Stryver; rCLI have a nightrCOs work to
do yet. Speak for yourself.rCY

rCLI speak for myself,rCY answered Mr. Lorry, rCLand for Mr. Darnay, and for Miss Lucie, andrCoMiss Lucie, do you not think I may speak for us all?rCY He asked her the question pointedly, and with a glance at her father.

His face had become frozen, as it were, in a very curious look at Darnay:
an intent look, deepening into a frown of dislike and distrust, not even unmixed with fear. With this strange expression on him his thoughts had wandered away.

rCLMy father,rCY said Lucie, softly laying her hand on his.

He slowly shook the shadow off, and turned to her.

rCLShall we go home, my father?rCY

With a long breath, he answered rCLYes.rCY

The friends of the acquitted prisoner had dispersed, under the impression rCowhich he himself had originatedrCothat he would not be released that
night. The lights were nearly all extinguished in the passages, the iron
gates were being closed with a jar and a rattle, and the dismal place was deserted until to-morrow morningrCOs interest of gallows, pillory, whipping-post, and branding-iron, should repeople it. Walking between her father and Mr. Darnay, Lucie Manette passed into the open air. A hackney-
coach was called, and the father and daughter departed in it.

Mr. Stryver had left them in the passages, to shoulder his way back to
the robing-room. Another person, who had not joined the group, or
interchanged a word with any one of them, but who had been leaning
against the wall where its shadow was darkest, had silently strolled out
after the rest, and had looked on until the coach drove away. He now
stepped up to where Mr. Lorry and Mr. Darnay stood upon the pavement.

rCLSo, Mr. Lorry! Men of business may speak to Mr. Darnay now?rCY

Nobody had made any acknowledgment of Mr. CartonrCOs part in the dayrCOs proceedings; nobody had known of it. He was unrobed, and was none the
better for it in appearance.

rCLIf you knew what a conflict goes on in the business mind, when the
business mind is divided between good-natured impulse and business appearances, you would be amused, Mr. Darnay.rCY

Mr. Lorry reddened, and said, warmly, rCLYou have mentioned that before,
sir. We men of business, who serve a House, are not our own masters. We
have to think of the House more than ourselves.rCY

rCLI know, I know,rCY rejoined Mr. Carton, carelessly. rCLDonrCOt be nettled, Mr.
Lorry. You are as good as another, I have no doubt: better, I dare say.rCY

rCLAnd indeed, sir,rCY pursued Mr. Lorry, not minding him, rCLI really donrCOt know what you have to do with the matter. If yourCOll excuse me, as very
much your elder, for saying so, I really donrCOt know that it is your business.rCY

rCLBusiness! Bless you, I have no business,rCY said Mr. Carton.

rCLIt is a pity you have not, sir.rCY

rCLI think so, too.rCY

rCLIf you had,rCY pursued Mr. Lorry, rCLperhaps you would attend to it.rCY

rCLLord love you, no!rCoI shouldnrCOt,rCY said Mr. Carton.

rCLWell, sir!rCY cried Mr. Lorry, thoroughly heated by his indifference, rCLbusiness is a very good thing, and a very respectable thing. And, sir,
if business imposes its restraints and its silences and impediments, Mr. Darnay as a young gentleman of generosity knows how to make allowance for
that circumstance. Mr. Darnay, good night, God bless you, sir! I hope you
have been this day preserved for a prosperous and happy life.rCoChair there!rCY

Perhaps a little angry with himself, as well as with the barrister, Mr.
Lorry bustled into the chair, and was carried off to TellsonrCOs. Carton,
who smelt of port wine, and did not appear to be quite sober, laughed
then, and turned to Darnay:

rCLThis is a strange chance that throws you and me together. This must be a strange night to you, standing alone here with your counterpart on these street stones?rCY

rCLI hardly seem yet,rCY returned Charles Darnay, rCLto belong to this world again.rCY

rCLI donrCOt wonder at it; itrCOs not so long since you were pretty far advanced on your way to another. You speak faintly.rCY

rCLI begin to think I am faint.rCY

rCLThen why the devil donrCOt you dine? I dined, myself, while those
numskulls were deliberating which world you should belong torCothis, or
some other. Let me show you the nearest tavern to dine well at.rCY

Drawing his arm through his own, he took him down Ludgate-hill to Fleet- street, and so, up a covered way, into a tavern. Here, they were shown
into a little room, where Charles Darnay was soon recruiting his strength
with a good plain dinner and good wine: while Carton sat opposite to him
at the same table, with his separate bottle of port before him, and his
fully half-insolent manner upon him.

rCLDo you feel, yet, that you belong to this terrestrial scheme again, Mr. Darnay?rCY

rCLI am frightfully confused regarding time and place; but I am so far
mended as to feel that.rCY

rCLIt must be an immense satisfaction!rCY

He said it bitterly, and filled up his glass again: which was a large
one.

rCLAs to me, the greatest desire I have, is to forget that I belong to it.
It has no good in it for merCoexcept wine like thisrConor I for it. So we are not much alike in that particular. Indeed, I begin to think we are not
much alike in any particular, you and I.rCY

Confused by the emotion of the day, and feeling his being there with this Double of coarse deportment, to be like a dream, Charles Darnay was at a
loss how to answer; finally, answered not at all.

rCLNow your dinner is done,rCY Carton presently said, rCLwhy donrCOt you call a
health, Mr. Darnay; why donrCOt you give your toast?rCY

rCLWhat health? What toast?rCY

rCLWhy, itrCOs on the tip of your tongue. It ought to be, it must be, IrCOll swear itrCOs there.rCY

rCLMiss Manette, then!rCY

rCLMiss Manette, then!rCY

Looking his companion full in the face while he drank the toast, Carton
flung his glass over his shoulder against the wall, where it shivered to pieces; then, rang the bell, and ordered in another.

rCLThatrCOs a fair young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, Mr. Darnay!rCY he
said, filling his new goblet.

A slight frown and a laconic rCLYes,rCY were the answer.

rCLThatrCOs a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for by! How does it feel? Is it worth being tried for onerCOs life, to be the object of such sympathy and compassion, Mr. Darnay?rCY

Again Darnay answered not a word.

rCLShe was mightily pleased to have your message, when I gave it her. Not
that she showed she was pleased, but I suppose she was.rCY

The allusion served as a timely reminder to Darnay that this disagreeable companion had, of his own free will, assisted him in the strait of the
day. He turned the dialogue to that point, and thanked him for it.

rCLI neither want any thanks, nor merit any,rCY was the careless rejoinder. rCLIt was nothing to do, in the first place; and I donrCOt know why I did it, in the second. Mr. Darnay, let me ask you a question.rCY

rCLWillingly, and a small return for your good offices.rCY

rCLDo you think I particularly like you?rCY

rCLReally, Mr. Carton,rCY returned the other, oddly disconcerted, rCLI have not
asked myself the question.rCY

rCLBut ask yourself the question now.rCY

rCLYou have acted as if you do; but I donrCOt think you do.rCY

rCLI donrCOt think I do,rCY said Carton. rCLI begin to have a very good opinion
of your understanding.rCY

rCLNevertheless,rCY pursued Darnay, rising to ring the bell, rCLthere is nothing in that, I hope, to prevent my calling the reckoning, and our
parting without ill-blood on either side.rCY

Carton rejoining, rCLNothing in life!rCY Darnay rang. rCLDo you call the whole reckoning?rCY said Carton. On his answering in the affirmative, rCLThen bring me another pint of this same wine, drawer, and come and wake me at ten.rCY

The bill being paid, Charles Darnay rose and wished him good night.
Without returning the wish, Carton rose too, with something of a threat
of defiance in his manner, and said, rCLA last word, Mr. Darnay: you think
I am drunk?rCY

rCLI think you have been drinking, Mr. Carton.rCY

rCLThink? You know I have been drinking.rCY

rCLSince I must say so, I know it.rCY

rCLThen you shall likewise know why. I am a disappointed drudge, sir. I
care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me.rCY

rCLMuch to be regretted. You might have used your talents better.rCY

rCLMay be so, Mr. Darnay; may be not. DonrCOt let your sober face elate you, however; you donrCOt know what it may come to. Good night!rCY

When he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a
glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it.

rCLDo you particularly like the man?rCY he muttered, at his own image; rCLwhy should you particularly like a man who resembles you? There is nothing in
you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you! What a change you have made
in yourself! A good reason for taking to a man, that he shows you what
you have fallen away from, and what you might have been! Change places
with him, and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was,
and commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come on, and have it
out in plain words! You hate the fellow.rCY

He resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it all in a few minutes, and fell asleep on his arms, with his hair straggling over the
table, and a long winding-sheet in the candle dripping down upon him.

CHAPTER V.
The Jackal
Those were drinking days, and most men drank hard. So very great is the improvement Time has brought about in such habits, that a moderate
statement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow
in the course of a night, without any detriment to his reputation as a
perfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, a ridiculous exaggeration.
The learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any other
learned profession in its Bacchanalian propensities; neither was Mr.
Stryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative
practice, behind his compeers in this particular, any more than in the
drier parts of the legal race.

A favourite at the Old Bailey, and eke at the Sessions, Mr. Stryver had
begun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which he mounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favourite,
specially, to their longing arms; and shouldering itself towards the
visage of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of KingrCOs Bench, the florid countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed
of wigs, like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from among a
rank garden-full of flaring companions.

It had once been noted at the Bar, that while Mr. Stryver was a glib man,
and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that faculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is among the most striking and necessary of the advocaterCOs accomplishments. But, a
remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The more business he
got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting at its pith and
marrow; and however late at night he sat carousing with Sydney Carton, he always had his points at his fingersrCO ends in the morning.

Sydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was StryverrCOs great
ally. What the two drank together, between Hilary Term and Michaelmas,
might have floated a kingrCOs ship. Stryver never had a case in hand, anywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring at
the ceiling of the court; they went the same Circuit, and even there they prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and Carton was rumoured
to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily and unsteadily to his
lodgings, like a dissipated cat. At last, it began to get about, among
such as were interested in the matter, that although Sydney Carton would
never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered
suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity.

rCLTen orCOclock, sir,rCY said the man at the tavern, whom he had charged to wake himrCorCLten orCOclock, sir.rCY

rCLWhatrCOs the matter?rCY

rCLTen orCOclock, sir.rCY

rCLWhat do you mean? Ten orCOclock at night?rCY

rCLYes, sir. Your honour told me to call you.rCY

rCLOh! I remember. Very well, very well.rCY

After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man dexterously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five minutes, he got up,
tossed his hat on, and walked out. He turned into the Temple, and, having revived himself by twice pacing the pavements of KingrCOs Bench-walk and Paper-buildings, turned into the Stryver chambers.

The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had gone
home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his slippers on,
and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his greater ease. He
had that rather wild, strained, seared marking about the eyes, which may
be observed in all free livers of his class, from the portrait of
Jeffries downward, and which can be traced, under various disguises of
Art, through the portraits of every Drinking Age.

rCLYou are a little late, Memory,rCY said Stryver.

rCLAbout the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later.rCY

They went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with papers,
where there was a blazing fire. A kettle steamed upon the hob, and in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone, with plenty of wine upon it,
and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and lemons.

rCLYou have had your bottle, I perceive, Sydney.rCY

rCLTwo to-night, I think. I have been dining with the dayrCOs client; or seeing him dinerCoitrCOs all one!rCY

rCLThat was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to bear upon the identification. How did you come by it? When did it strike you?rCY

rCLI thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and I thought I should have
been much the same sort of fellow, if I had had any luck.rCY

Mr. Stryver laughed till he shook his precocious paunch.

rCLYou and your luck, Sydney! Get to work, get to work.rCY

Sullenly enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an adjoining
room, and came back with a large jug of cold water, a basin, and a towel
or two. Steeping the towels in the water, and partially wringing them
out, he folded them on his head in a manner hideous to behold, sat down
at the table, and said, rCLNow I am ready!rCY

rCLNot much boiling down to be done to-night, Memory,rCY said Mr. Stryver, gaily, as he looked among his papers.

rCLHow much?rCY

rCLOnly two sets of them.rCY

rCLGive me the worst first.rCY

rCLThere they are, Sydney. Fire away!rCY

The lion then composed himself on his back on a sofa on one side of the drinking-table, while the jackal sat at his own paper-bestrewn table
proper, on the other side of it, with the bottles and glasses ready to
his hand. Both resorted to the drinking-table without stint, but each in
a different way; the lion for the most part reclining with his hands in
his waistband, looking at the fire, or occasionally flirting with some
lighter document; the jackal, with knitted brows and intent face, so deep
in his task, that his eyes did not even follow the hand he stretched out
for his glassrCowhich often groped about, for a minute or more, before it found the glass for his lips. Two or three times, the matter in hand
became so knotty, that the jackal found it imperative on him to get up,
and steep his towels anew. From these pilgrimages to the jug and basin,
he returned with such eccentricities of damp headgear as no words can describe; which were made the more ludicrous by his anxious gravity.

At length the jackal had got together a compact repast for the lion, and proceeded to offer it to him. The lion took it with care and caution,
made his selections from it, and his remarks upon it, and the jackal
assisted both. When the repast was fully discussed, the lion put his
hands in his waistband again, and lay down to meditate. The jackal then invigorated himself with a bumper for his throttle, and a fresh
application to his head, and applied himself to the collection of a
second meal; this was administered to the lion in the same manner, and
was not disposed of until the clocks struck three in the morning.

rCLAnd now we have done, Sydney, fill a bumper of punch,rCY said Mr. Stryver.

The jackal removed the towels from his head, which had been steaming
again, shook himself, yawned, shivered, and complied.

rCLYou were very sound, Sydney, in the matter of those crown witnesses to-
day. Every question told.rCY

rCLI always am sound; am I not?rCY

rCLI donrCOt gainsay it. What has roughened your temper? Put some punch to it and smooth it again.rCY

With a deprecatory grunt, the jackal again complied.

rCLThe old Sydney Carton of old Shrewsbury School,rCY said Stryver, nodding his head over him as he reviewed him in the present and the past, rCLthe
old seesaw Sydney. Up one minute and down the next; now in spirits and
now in despondency!rCY

rCLAh!rCY returned the other, sighing: rCLyes! The same Sydney, with the same luck. Even then, I did exercises for other boys, and seldom did my own.rCY

rCLAnd why not?rCY

rCLGod knows. It was my way, I suppose.rCY

He sat, with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out before
him, looking at the fire.

rCLCarton,rCY said his friend, squaring himself at him with a bullying air,
as if the fire-grate had been the furnace in which sustained endeavour
was forged, and the one delicate thing to be done for the old Sydney
Carton of old Shrewsbury School was to shoulder him into it, rCLyour way
is, and always was, a lame way. You summon no energy and purpose. Look at me.rCY

rCLOh, botheration!rCY returned Sydney, with a lighter and more good-humoured laugh, rCLdonrCOt you be moral!rCY

rCLHow have I done what I have done?rCY said Stryver; rCLhow do I do what I do?rCY

rCLPartly through paying me to help you, I suppose. But itrCOs not worth your while to apostrophise me, or the air, about it; what you want to do, you
do. You were always in the front rank, and I was always behind.rCY

rCLI had to get into the front rank; I was not born there, was I?rCY

rCLI was not present at the ceremony; but my opinion is you were,rCY said Carton. At this, he laughed again, and they both laughed.

rCLBefore Shrewsbury, and at Shrewsbury, and ever since Shrewsbury,rCY
pursued Carton, rCLyou have fallen into your rank, and I have fallen into mine. Even when we were fellow-students in the Student-Quarter of Paris, picking up French, and French law, and other French crumbs that we didnrCOt get much good of, you were always somewhere, and I was always nowhere.rCY

rCLAnd whose fault was that?rCY

rCLUpon my soul, I am not sure that it was not yours. You were always
driving and riving and shouldering and passing, to that restless degree
that I had no chance for my life but in rust and repose. ItrCOs a gloomy thing, however, to talk about onerCOs own past, with the day breaking. Turn
me in some other direction before I go.rCY

rCLWell then! Pledge me to the pretty witness,rCY said Stryver, holding up
his glass. rCLAre you turned in a pleasant direction?rCY

Apparently not, for he became gloomy again.

rCLPretty witness,rCY he muttered, looking down into his glass. rCLI have had enough of witnesses to-day and to-night; whorCOs your pretty witness?rCY

rCLThe picturesque doctorrCOs daughter, Miss Manette.rCY

rCLShe pretty?rCY

rCLIs she not?rCY

rCLNo.rCY

rCLWhy, man alive, she was the admiration of the whole Court!rCY

rCLRot the admiration of the whole Court! Who made the Old Bailey a judge
of beauty? She was a golden-haired doll!rCY

rCLDo you know, Sydney,rCY said Mr. Stryver, looking at him with sharp eyes, and slowly drawing a hand across his florid face: rCLdo you know, I rather thought, at the time, that you sympathised with the golden-haired doll,
and were quick to see what happened to the golden-haired doll?rCY

rCLQuick to see what happened! If a girl, doll or no doll, swoons within a yard or two of a manrCOs nose, he can see it without a perspective-glass. I pledge you, but I deny the beauty. And now IrCOll have no more drink; IrCOll get to bed.rCY

When his host followed him out on the staircase with a candle, to light
him down the stairs, the day was coldly looking in through its grimy
windows. When he got out of the house, the air was cold and sad, the dull
sky overcast, the river dark and dim, the whole scene like a lifeless
desert. And wreaths of dust were spinning round and round before the
morning blast, as if the desert-sand had risen far away, and the first
spray of it in its advance had begun to overwhelm the city.

Waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this man stood still on
his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the
wilderness before him, a mirage of honourable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. In the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries
from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the
fruits of life hung ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight.
A moment, and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber in a well of
houses, he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with wasted tears.

Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of
good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight
on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.

CHAPTER VI.
Hundreds of People
The quiet lodgings of Doctor Manette were in a quiet street-corner not
far from Soho-square. On the afternoon of a certain fine Sunday when the
waves of four months had rolled over the trial for treason, and carried
it, as to the public interest and memory, far out to sea, Mr. Jarvis
Lorry walked along the sunny streets from Clerkenwell where he lived, on
his way to dine with the Doctor. After several relapses into business- absorption, Mr. Lorry had become the DoctorrCOs friend, and the quiet street-corner was the sunny part of his life.

On this certain fine Sunday, Mr. Lorry walked towards Soho, early in the afternoon, for three reasons of habit. Firstly, because, on fine Sundays,
he often walked out, before dinner, with the Doctor and Lucie; secondly, because, on unfavourable Sundays, he was accustomed to be with them as
the family friend, talking, reading, looking out of window, and generally getting through the day; thirdly, because he happened to have his own
little shrewd doubts to solve, and knew how the ways of the DoctorrCOs household pointed to that time as a likely time for solving them.

A quainter corner than the corner where the Doctor lived, was not to be
found in London. There was no way through it, and the front windows of
the DoctorrCOs lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of street that
had a congenial air of retirement on it. There were few buildings then,
north of the Oxford-road, and forest-trees flourished, and wild flowers
grew, and the hawthorn blossomed, in the now vanished fields. As a consequence, country airs circulated in Soho with vigorous freedom,
instead of languishing into the parish like stray paupers without a settlement; and there was many a good south wall, not far off, on which
the peaches ripened in their season.

The summer light struck into the corner brilliantly in the earlier part
of the day; but, when the streets grew hot, the corner was in shadow,
though not in shadow so remote but that you could see beyond it into a
glare of brightness. It was a cool spot, staid but cheerful, a wonderful
place for echoes, and a very harbour from the raging streets.

There ought to have been a tranquil bark in such an anchorage, and there
was. The Doctor occupied two floors of a large stiff house, where several callings purported to be pursued by day, but whereof little was audible
any day, and which was shunned by all of them at night. In a building at
the back, attainable by a courtyard where a plane-tree rustled its green leaves, church-organs claimed to be made, and silver to be chased, and likewise gold to be beaten by some mysterious giant who had a golden arm starting out of the wall of the front hallrCoas if he had beaten himself precious, and menaced a similar conversion of all visitors. Very little
of these trades, or of a lonely lodger rumoured to live up-stairs, or of
a dim coach-trimming maker asserted to have a counting-house below, was
ever heard or seen. Occasionally, a stray workman putting his coat on, traversed the hall, or a stranger peered about there, or a distant clink
was heard across the courtyard, or a thump from the golden giant. These, however, were only the exceptions required to prove the rule that the
sparrows in the plane-tree behind the house, and the echoes in the corner before it, had their own way from Sunday morning unto Saturday night.

Doctor Manette received such patients here as his old reputation, and its revival in the floating whispers of his story, brought him. His
scientific knowledge, and his vigilance and skill in conducting ingenious experiments, brought him otherwise into moderate request, and he earned
as much as he wanted.

These things were within Mr. Jarvis LorryrCOs knowledge, thoughts, and
notice, when he rang the door-bell of the tranquil house in the corner,
on the fine Sunday afternoon.

rCLDoctor Manette at home?rCY

Expected home.

rCLMiss Lucie at home?rCY

Expected home.

rCLMiss Pross at home?rCY

Possibly at home, but of a certainty impossible for handmaid to
anticipate intentions of Miss Pross, as to admission or denial of the
fact.

rCLAs I am at home myself,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLIrCOll go upstairs.rCY

Although the DoctorrCOs daughter had known nothing of the country of her birth, she appeared to have innately derived from it that ability to make
much of little means, which is one of its most useful and most agreeable characteristics. Simple as the furniture was, it was set off by so many
little adornments, of no value but for their taste and fancy, that its
effect was delightful. The disposition of everything in the rooms, from
the largest object to the least; the arrangement of colours, the elegant variety and contrast obtained by thrift in trifles, by delicate hands,
clear eyes, and good sense; were at once so pleasant in themselves, and
so expressive of their originator, that, as Mr. Lorry stood looking about
him, the very chairs and tables seemed to ask him, with something of that peculiar expression which he knew so well by this time, whether he
approved?

There were three rooms on a floor, and, the doors by which they
communicated being put open that the air might pass freely through them
all, Mr. Lorry, smilingly observant of that fanciful resemblance which he detected all around him, walked from one to another. The first was the
best room, and in it were LucierCOs birds, and flowers, and books, and
desk, and work-table, and box of water-colours; the second was the
DoctorrCOs consulting-room, used also as the dining-room; the third, changingly speckled by the rustle of the plane-tree in the yard, was the DoctorrCOs bedroom, and there, in a corner, stood the disused shoemakerrCOs bench and tray of tools, much as it had stood on the fifth floor of the
dismal house by the wine-shop, in the suburb of Saint Antoine in Paris.

rCLI wonder,rCY said Mr. Lorry, pausing in his looking about, rCLthat he keeps that reminder of his sufferings about him!rCY

rCLAnd why wonder at that?rCY was the abrupt inquiry that made him start.

It proceeded from Miss Pross, the wild red woman, strong of hand, whose acquaintance he had first made at the Royal George Hotel at Dover, and
had since improved.

rCLI should have thoughtrCorCY Mr. Lorry began.

rCLPooh! YourCOd have thought!rCY said Miss Pross; and Mr. Lorry left off.

rCLHow do you do?rCY inquired that lady thenrCosharply, and yet as if to express that she bore him no malice.

rCLI am pretty well, I thank you,rCY answered Mr. Lorry, with meekness; rCLhow are you?rCY

rCLNothing to boast of,rCY said Miss Pross.

rCLIndeed?rCY

rCLAh! indeed!rCY said Miss Pross. rCLI am very much put out about my Ladybird.rCY

rCLIndeed?rCY

rCLFor gracious sake say something else besides rCyindeed,rCO or yourCOll fidget
me to death,rCY said Miss Pross: whose character (dissociated from stature) was shortness.

rCLReally, then?rCY said Mr. Lorry, as an amendment.

rCLReally, is bad enough,rCY returned Miss Pross, rCLbut better. Yes, I am very
much put out.rCY

rCLMay I ask the cause?rCY

rCLI donrCOt want dozens of people who are not at all worthy of Ladybird, to come here looking after her,rCY said Miss Pross.

rCLDo dozens come for that purpose?rCY

rCLHundreds,rCY said Miss Pross.

It was characteristic of this lady (as of some other people before her
time and since) that whenever her original proposition was questioned,
she exaggerated it.

rCLDear me!rCY said Mr. Lorry, as the safest remark he could think of.

rCLI have lived with the darlingrCoor the darling has lived with me, and paid me for it; which she certainly should never have done, you may take your affidavit, if I could have afforded to keep either myself or her for nothingrCosince she was ten years old. And itrCOs really very hard,rCY said Miss Pross.

Not seeing with precision what was very hard, Mr. Lorry shook his head;
using that important part of himself as a sort of fairy cloak that would
fit anything.

rCLAll sorts of people who are not in the least degree worthy of the pet,
are always turning up,rCY said Miss Pross. rCLWhen you began itrCorCY

rCLI began it, Miss Pross?rCY

rCLDidnrCOt you? Who brought her father to life?rCY

rCLOh! If that was beginning itrCorCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLIt wasnrCOt ending it, I suppose? I say, when you began it, it was hard enough; not that I have any fault to find with Doctor Manette, except
that he is not worthy of such a daughter, which is no imputation on him,
for it was not to be expected that anybody should be, under any
circumstances. But it really is doubly and trebly hard to have crowds and multitudes of people turning up after him (I could have forgiven him), to
take LadybirdrCOs affections away from me.rCY

Mr. Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by
this time to be, beneath the service of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creaturesrCofound only among womenrCowho will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost
it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were
never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon
their own sombre lives. He knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so rendered
and so free from any mercenary taint, he had such an exalted respect for
it, that in the retributive arrangements made by his own mindrCowe all make such arrangements, more or lessrCohe stationed Miss Pross much nearer to
the lower Angels than many ladies immeasurably better got up both by
Nature and Art, who had balances at TellsonrCOs.

rCLThere never was, nor will be, but one man worthy of Ladybird,rCY said Miss Pross; rCLand that was my brother Solomon, if he hadnrCOt made a mistake in life.rCY

Here again: Mr. LorryrCOs inquiries into Miss ProssrCOs personal history had established the fact that her brother Solomon was a heartless scoundrel
who had stripped her of everything she possessed, as a stake to speculate with, and had abandoned her in her poverty for evermore, with no touch of compunction. Miss ProssrCOs fidelity of belief in Solomon (deducting a mere trifle for this slight mistake) was quite a serious matter with Mr.
Lorry, and had its weight in his good opinion of her.

rCLAs we happen to be alone for the moment, and are both people of business,rCY he said, when they had got back to the drawing-room and had
sat down there in friendly relations, rCLlet me ask yourCodoes the Doctor, in talking with Lucie, never refer to the shoemaking time, yet?rCY

rCLNever.rCY

rCLAnd yet keeps that bench and those tools beside him?rCY

rCLAh!rCY returned Miss Pross, shaking her head. rCLBut I donrCOt say he donrCOt
refer to it within himself.rCY

rCLDo you believe that he thinks of it much?rCY

rCLI do,rCY said Miss Pross.

rCLDo you imaginerCorCY Mr. Lorry had begun, when Miss Pross took him up short with:

rCLNever imagine anything. Have no imagination at all.rCY

rCLI stand corrected; do you supposerCoyou go so far as to suppose, sometimes?rCY

rCLNow and then,rCY said Miss Pross.

rCLDo you suppose,rCY Mr. Lorry went on, with a laughing twinkle in his
bright eye, as it looked kindly at her, rCLthat Doctor Manette has any
theory of his own, preserved through all those years, relative to the
cause of his being so oppressed; perhaps, even to the name of his oppressor?rCY

rCLI donrCOt suppose anything about it but what Ladybird tells me.rCY

rCLAnd that isrCo?rCY

rCLThat she thinks he has.rCY

rCLNow donrCOt be angry at my asking all these questions; because I am a mere dull man of business, and you are a woman of business.rCY

rCLDull?rCY Miss Pross inquired, with placidity.

Rather wishing his modest adjective away, Mr. Lorry replied, rCLNo, no, no. Surely not. To return to business:rCoIs it not remarkable that Doctor
Manette, unquestionably innocent of any crime as we are all well assured
he is, should never touch upon that question? I will not say with me,
though he had business relations with me many years ago, and we are now intimate; I will say with the fair daughter to whom he is so devotedly attached, and who is so devotedly attached to him? Believe me, Miss
Pross, I donrCOt approach the topic with you, out of curiosity, but out of zealous interest.rCY

rCLWell! To the best of my understanding, and badrCOs the best, yourCOll tell me,rCY said Miss Pross, softened by the tone of the apology, rCLhe is afraid of the whole subject.rCY

rCLAfraid?rCY

rCLItrCOs plain enough, I should think, why he may be. ItrCOs a dreadful remembrance. Besides that, his loss of himself grew out of it. Not
knowing how he lost himself, or how he recovered himself, he may never
feel certain of not losing himself again. That alone wouldnrCOt make the subject pleasant, I should think.rCY

It was a profounder remark than Mr. Lorry had looked for. rCLTrue,rCY said
he, rCLand fearful to reflect upon. Yet, a doubt lurks in my mind, Miss
Pross, whether it is good for Doctor Manette to have that suppression
always shut up within him. Indeed, it is this doubt and the uneasiness it sometimes causes me that has led me to our present confidence.rCY

rCLCanrCOt be helped,rCY said Miss Pross, shaking her head. rCLTouch that string,
and he instantly changes for the worse. Better leave it alone. In short,
must leave it alone, like or no like. Sometimes, he gets up in the dead
of the night, and will be heard, by us overhead there, walking up and
down, walking up and down, in his room. Ladybird has learnt to know then
that his mind is walking up and down, walking up and down, in his old
prison. She hurries to him, and they go on together, walking up and down, walking up and down, until he is composed. But he never says a word of
the true reason of his restlessness, to her, and she finds it best not to
hint at it to him. In silence they go walking up and down together,
walking up and down together, till her love and company have brought him
to himself.rCY

Notwithstanding Miss ProssrCOs denial of her own imagination, there was a perception of the pain of being monotonously haunted by one sad idea, in
her repetition of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to her possessing such a thing.

The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner for echoes; it had
begun to echo so resoundingly to the tread of coming feet, that it seemed
as though the very mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it
going.

rCLHere they are!rCY said Miss Pross, rising to break up the conference; rCLand
now we shall have hundreds of people pretty soon!rCY

It was such a curious corner in its acoustical properties, such a
peculiar Ear of a place, that as Mr. Lorry stood at the open window,
looking for the father and daughter whose steps he heard, he fancied they would never approach. Not only would the echoes die away, as though the
steps had gone; but, echoes of other steps that never came would be heard
in their stead, and would die away for good when they seemed close at
hand. However, father and daughter did at last appear, and Miss Pross was ready at the street door to receive them.

Miss Pross was a pleasant sight, albeit wild, and red, and grim, taking
off her darlingrCOs bonnet when she came up-stairs, and touching it up with the ends of her handkerchief, and blowing the dust off it, and folding
her mantle ready for laying by, and smoothing her rich hair with as much
pride as she could possibly have taken in her own hair if she had been
the vainest and handsomest of women. Her darling was a pleasant sight
too, embracing her and thanking her, and protesting against her taking so
much trouble for herrCowhich last she only dared to do playfully, or Miss Pross, sorely hurt, would have retired to her own chamber and cried. The Doctor was a pleasant sight too, looking on at them, and telling Miss
Pross how she spoilt Lucie, in accents and with eyes that had as much
spoiling in them as Miss Pross had, and would have had more if it were possible. Mr. Lorry was a pleasant sight too, beaming at all this in his little wig, and thanking his bachelor stars for having lighted him in his declining years to a Home. But, no Hundreds of people came to see the
sights, and Mr. Lorry looked in vain for the fulfilment of Miss ProssrCOs prediction.

Dinner-time, and still no Hundreds of people. In the arrangements of the little household, Miss Pross took charge of the lower regions, and always acquitted herself marvellously. Her dinners, of a very modest quality,
were so well cooked and so well served, and so neat in their
contrivances, half English and half French, that nothing could be better.
Miss ProssrCOs friendship being of the thoroughly practical kind, she had ravaged Soho and the adjacent provinces, in search of impoverished
French, who, tempted by shillings and half-crowns, would impart culinary mysteries to her. From these decayed sons and daughters of Gaul, she had acquired such wonderful arts, that the woman and girl who formed the
staff of domestics regarded her as quite a Sorceress, or CinderellarCOs Godmother: who would send out for a fowl, a rabbit, a vegetable or two
from the garden, and change them into anything she pleased.

On Sundays, Miss Pross dined at the DoctorrCOs table, but on other days persisted in taking her meals at unknown periods, either in the lower
regions, or in her own room on the second floorrCoa blue chamber, to which
no one but her Ladybird ever gained admittance. On this occasion, Miss
Pross, responding to LadybirdrCOs pleasant face and pleasant efforts to
please her, unbent exceedingly; so the dinner was very pleasant, too.

It was an oppressive day, and, after dinner, Lucie proposed that the wine should be carried out under the plane-tree, and they should sit there in
the air. As everything turned upon her, and revolved about her, they went
out under the plane-tree, and she carried the wine down for the special benefit of Mr. Lorry. She had installed herself, some time before, as Mr. LorryrCOs cup-bearer; and while they sat under the plane-tree, talking, she kept his glass replenished. Mysterious backs and ends of houses peeped at
them as they talked, and the plane-tree whispered to them in its own way
above their heads.

Still, the Hundreds of people did not present themselves. Mr. Darnay
presented himself while they were sitting under the plane-tree, but he
was only One.

Doctor Manette received him kindly, and so did Lucie. But, Miss Pross
suddenly became afflicted with a twitching in the head and body, and
retired into the house. She was not unfrequently the victim of this
disorder, and she called it, in familiar conversation, rCLa fit of the jerks.rCY

The Doctor was in his best condition, and looked specially young. The resemblance between him and Lucie was very strong at such times, and as
they sat side by side, she leaning on his shoulder, and he resting his
arm on the back of her chair, it was very agreeable to trace the
likeness.

He had been talking all day, on many subjects, and with unusual vivacity. rCLPray, Doctor Manette,rCY said Mr. Darnay, as they sat under the plane-tree rCoand he said it in the natural pursuit of the topic in hand, which
happened to be the old buildings of LondonrCorCLhave you seen much of the Tower?rCY

rCLLucie and I have been there; but only casually. We have seen enough of
it, to know that it teems with interest; little more.rCY

rCLI have been there, as you remember,rCY said Darnay, with a smile, though reddening a little angrily, rCLin another character, and not in a character that gives facilities for seeing much of it. They told me a curious thing
when I was there.rCY

rCLWhat was that?rCY Lucie asked.

rCLIn making some alterations, the workmen came upon an old dungeon, which
had been, for many years, built up and forgotten. Every stone of its
inner wall was covered by inscriptions which had been carved by prisoners rCodates, names, complaints, and prayers. Upon a corner stone in an angle
of the wall, one prisoner, who seemed to have gone to execution, had cut
as his last work, three letters. They were done with some very poor instrument, and hurriedly, with an unsteady hand. At first, they were
read as D. I. C.; but, on being more carefully examined, the last letter
was found to be G. There was no record or legend of any prisoner with
those initials, and many fruitless guesses were made what the name could
have been. At length, it was suggested that the letters were not
initials, but the complete word, DIG. The floor was examined very
carefully under the inscription, and, in the earth beneath a stone, or
tile, or some fragment of paving, were found the ashes of a paper,
mingled with the ashes of a small leathern case or bag. What the unknown prisoner had written will never be read, but he had written something,
and hidden it away to keep it from the gaoler.rCY

rCLMy father,rCY exclaimed Lucie, rCLyou are ill!rCY

He had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. His manner and his
look quite terrified them all.

rCLNo, my dear, not ill. There are large drops of rain falling, and they
made me start. We had better go in.rCY

He recovered himself almost instantly. Rain was really falling in large
drops, and he showed the back of his hand with rain-drops on it. But, he
said not a single word in reference to the discovery that had been told
of, and, as they went into the house, the business eye of Mr. Lorry
either detected, or fancied it detected, on his face, as it turned
towards Charles Darnay, the same singular look that had been upon it when
it turned towards him in the passages of the Court House.

He recovered himself so quickly, however, that Mr. Lorry had doubts of
his business eye. The arm of the golden giant in the hall was not more
steady than he was, when he stopped under it to remark to them that he
was not yet proof against slight surprises (if he ever would be), and
that the rain had startled him.

Tea-time, and Miss Pross making tea, with another fit of the jerks upon
her, and yet no Hundreds of people. Mr. Carton had lounged in, but he
made only Two.

The night was so very sultry, that although they sat with doors and
windows open, they were overpowered by heat. When the tea-table was done
with, they all moved to one of the windows, and looked out into the heavy twilight. Lucie sat by her father; Darnay sat beside her; Carton leaned against a window. The curtains were long and white, and some of the thunder-gusts that whirled into the corner, caught them up to the
ceiling, and waved them like spectral wings.

rCLThe rain-drops are still falling, large, heavy, and few,rCY said Doctor Manette. rCLIt comes slowly.rCY

rCLIt comes surely,rCY said Carton.

They spoke low, as people watching and waiting mostly do; as people in a
dark room, watching and waiting for Lightning, always do.

There was a great hurry in the streets of people speeding away to get
shelter before the storm broke; the wonderful corner for echoes resounded
with the echoes of footsteps coming and going, yet not a footstep was
there.

rCLA multitude of people, and yet a solitude!rCY said Darnay, when they had listened for a while.

rCLIs it not impressive, Mr. Darnay?rCY asked Lucie. rCLSometimes, I have sat here of an evening, until I have fanciedrCobut even the shade of a foolish fancy makes me shudder to-night, when all is so black and solemnrCorCY

rCLLet us shudder too. We may know what it is.rCY

rCLIt will seem nothing to you. Such whims are only impressive as we
originate them, I think; they are not to be communicated. I have
sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by-and-
bye into our lives.rCY

rCLThere is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,rCY Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way.

The footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became more and more rapid. The corner echoed and re-echoed with the tread of feet; some, as
it seemed, under the windows; some, as it seemed, in the room; some
coming, some going, some breaking off, some stopping altogether; all in
the distant streets, and not one within sight.

rCLAre all these footsteps destined to come to all of us, Miss Manette, or
are we to divide them among us?rCY

rCLI donrCOt know, Mr. Darnay; I told you it was a foolish fancy, but you asked for it. When I have yielded myself to it, I have been alone, and
then I have imagined them the footsteps of the people who are to come
into my life, and my fatherrCOs.rCY

rCLI take them into mine!rCY said Carton. rCLI ask no questions and make no stipulations. There is a great crowd bearing down upon us, Miss Manette,
and I see themrCoby the Lightning.rCY He added the last words, after there
had been a vivid flash which had shown him lounging in the window.

rCLAnd I hear them!rCY he added again, after a peal of thunder. rCLHere they come, fast, fierce, and furious!rCY

It was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped him,
for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable storm of thunder and
lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there was not a momentrCOs interval in crash, and fire, and rain, until after the moon rose at
midnight.

The great bell of Saint PaulrCOs was striking one in the cleared air, when
Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted and bearing a lantern, set
forth on his return-passage to Clerkenwell. There were solitary patches
of road on the way between Soho and Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful
of foot-pads, always retained Jerry for this service: though it was
usually performed a good two hours earlier.

rCLWhat a night it has been! Almost a night, Jerry,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLto bring the dead out of their graves.rCY

rCLI never see the night myself, masterrConor yet I donrCOt expect torCowhat would do that,rCY answered Jerry.

rCLGood night, Mr. Carton,rCY said the man of business. rCLGood night, Mr. Darnay. Shall we ever see such a night again, together!rCY

Perhaps. Perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar, bearing down upon them, too.

CHAPTER VII.
Monseigneur in Town
Monseigneur, one of the great lords in power at the Court, held his fortnightly reception in his grand hotel in Paris. Monseigneur was in his inner room, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest of Holiests to the
crowd of worshippers in the suite of rooms without. Monseigneur was about
to take his chocolate. Monseigneur could swallow a great many things with ease, and was by some few sullen minds supposed to be rather rapidly swallowing France; but, his morningrCOs chocolate could not so much as get into the throat of Monseigneur, without the aid of four strong men
besides the Cook.

Yes. It took four men, all four ablaze with gorgeous decoration, and the
Chief of them unable to exist with fewer than two gold watches in his
pocket, emulative of the noble and chaste fashion set by Monseigneur, to conduct the happy chocolate to MonseigneurrCOs lips. One lacquey carried
the chocolate-pot into the sacred presence; a second, milled and frothed
the chocolate with the little instrument he bore for that function; a
third, presented the favoured napkin; a fourth (he of the two gold
watches), poured the chocolate out. It was impossible for Monseigneur to dispense with one of these attendants on the chocolate and hold his high
place under the admiring Heavens. Deep would have been the blot upon his escutcheon if his chocolate had been ignobly waited on by only three men;
he must have died of two.

Monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, where the Comedy
and the Grand Opera were charmingly represented. Monseigneur was out at a little supper most nights, with fascinating company. So polite and so impressible was Monseigneur, that the Comedy and the Grand Opera had far
more influence with him in the tiresome articles of state affairs and
state secrets, than the needs of all France. A happy circumstance for
France, as the like always is for all countries similarly favoured!rCo
always was for England (by way of example), in the regretted days of the
merry Stuart who sold it.

Monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general public business, which
was, to let everything go on in its own way; of particular public
business, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea that it must all go
his wayrCotend to his own power and pocket. Of his pleasures, general and particular, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea, that the world
was made for them. The text of his order (altered from the original by
only a pronoun, which is not much) ran: rCLThe earth and the fulness
thereof are mine, saith Monseigneur.rCY

Yet, Monseigneur had slowly found that vulgar embarrassments crept into
his affairs, both private and public; and he had, as to both classes of affairs, allied himself perforce with a Farmer-General. As to finances
public, because Monseigneur could not make anything at all of them, and
must consequently let them out to somebody who could; as to finances
private, because Farmer-Generals were rich, and Monseigneur, after
generations of great luxury and expense, was growing poor. Hence
Monseigneur had taken his sister from a convent, while there was yet time
to ward off the impending veil, the cheapest garment she could wear, and
had bestowed her as a prize upon a very rich Farmer-General, poor in
family. Which Farmer-General, carrying an appropriate cane with a golden
apple on the top of it, was now among the company in the outer rooms,
much prostrated before by mankindrCoalways excepting superior mankind of
the blood of Monseigneur, who, his own wife included, looked down upon
him with the loftiest contempt.

A sumptuous man was the Farmer-General. Thirty horses stood in his
stables, twenty-four male domestics sat in his halls, six body-women
waited on his wife. As one who pretended to do nothing but plunder and
forage where he could, the Farmer-GeneralrCohowsoever his matrimonial relations conduced to social moralityrCowas at least the greatest reality among the personages who attended at the hotel of Monseigneur that day.

For, the rooms, though a beautiful scene to look at, and adorned with
every device of decoration that the taste and skill of the time could
achieve, were, in truth, not a sound business; considered with any
reference to the scarecrows in the rags and nightcaps elsewhere (and not
so far off, either, but that the watching towers of Notre Dame, almost equidistant from the two extremes, could see them both), they would have
been an exceedingly uncomfortable businessrCoif that could have been anybodyrCOs business, at the house of Monseigneur. Military officers
destitute of military knowledge; naval officers with no idea of a ship;
civil officers without a notion of affairs; brazen ecclesiastics, of the
worst world worldly, with sensual eyes, loose tongues, and looser lives;
all totally unfit for their several callings, all lying horribly in
pretending to belong to them, but all nearly or remotely of the order of Monseigneur, and therefore foisted on all public employments from which anything was to be got; these were to be told off by the score and the
score. People not immediately connected with Monseigneur or the State,
yet equally unconnected with anything that was real, or with lives passed
in travelling by any straight road to any true earthly end, were no less abundant. Doctors who made great fortunes out of dainty remedies for
imaginary disorders that never existed, smiled upon their courtly
patients in the ante-chambers of Monseigneur. Projectors who had
discovered every kind of remedy for the little evils with which the State
was touched, except the remedy of setting to work in earnest to root out
a single sin, poured their distracting babble into any ears they could
lay hold of, at the reception of Monseigneur. Unbelieving Philosophers
who were remodelling the world with words, and making card-towers of
Babel to scale the skies with, talked with Unbelieving Chemists who had
an eye on the transmutation of metals, at this wonderful gathering
accumulated by Monseigneur. Exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding,
which was at that remarkable timerCoand has been sincerCoto be known by its fruits of indifference to every natural subject of human interest, were
in the most exemplary state of exhaustion, at the hotel of Monseigneur.
Such homes had these various notabilities left behind them in the fine
world of Paris, that the spies among the assembled devotees of MonseigneurrCoforming a goodly half of the polite companyrCowould have found it hard to discover among the angels of that sphere one solitary wife,
who, in her manners and appearance, owned to being a Mother. Indeed,
except for the mere act of bringing a troublesome creature into this worldrCowhich does not go far towards the realisation of the name of mother rCothere was no such thing known to the fashion. Peasant women kept the unfashionable babies close, and brought them up, and charming grandmammas
of sixty dressed and supped as at twenty.

The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attendance
upon Monseigneur. In the outermost room were half a dozen exceptional
people who had had, for a few years, some vague misgiving in them that
things in general were going rather wrong. As a promising way of setting
them right, half of the half-dozen had become members of a fantastic sect
of Convulsionists, and were even then considering within themselves
whether they should foam, rage, roar, and turn cataleptic on the spotrCo thereby setting up a highly intelligible finger-post to the Future, for MonseigneurrCOs guidance. Besides these Dervishes, were other three who had rushed into another sect, which mended matters with a jargon about rCLthe Centre of Truth:rCY holding that Man had got out of the Centre of TruthrCo which did not need much demonstrationrCobut had not got out of the Circumference, and that he was to be kept from flying out of the Circumference, and was even to be shoved back into the Centre, by fasting
and seeing of spirits. Among these, accordingly, much discoursing with
spirits went onrCoand it did a world of good which never became manifest.

But, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel of
Monseigneur were perfectly dressed. If the Day of Judgment had only been ascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would have been eternally correct. Such frizzling and powdering and sticking up of hair, such
delicate complexions artificially preserved and mended, such gallant
swords to look at, and such delicate honour to the sense of smell, would surely keep anything going, for ever and ever. The exquisite gentlemen of
the finest breeding wore little pendent trinkets that chinked as they languidly moved; these golden fetters rang like precious little bells;
and what with that ringing, and with the rustle of silk and brocade and
fine linen, there was a flutter in the air that fanned Saint Antoine and
his devouring hunger far away.

Dress was the one unfailing talisman and charm used for keeping all
things in their places. Everybody was dressed for a Fancy Ball that was
never to leave off. From the Palace of the Tuileries, through Monseigneur
and the whole Court, through the Chambers, the Tribunals of Justice, and
all society (except the scarecrows), the Fancy Ball descended to the
Common Executioner: who, in pursuance of the charm, was required to
officiate rCLfrizzled, powdered, in a gold-laced coat, pumps, and white
silk stockings.rCY At the gallows and the wheelrCothe axe was a rarityrCo Monsieur Paris, as it was the episcopal mode among his brother Professors
of the provinces, Monsieur Orleans, and the rest, to call him, presided
in this dainty dress. And who among the company at MonseigneurrCOs
reception in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt, that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold-laced, pumped, and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars
out!

Monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken his chocolate, caused the doors of the Holiest of Holiests to be thrown open,
and issued forth. Then, what submission, what cringing and fawning, what servility, what abject humiliation! As to bowing down in body and spirit, nothing in that way was left for HeavenrCowhich may have been one among
other reasons why the worshippers of Monseigneur never troubled it.

Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, a whisper on one
happy slave and a wave of the hand on another, Monseigneur affably passed through his rooms to the remote region of the Circumference of Truth.
There, Monseigneur turned, and came back again, and so in due course of
time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate sprites, and
was seen no more.

The show being over, the flutter in the air became quite a little storm,
and the precious little bells went ringing downstairs. There was soon but
one person left of all the crowd, and he, with his hat under his arm and
his snuff-box in his hand, slowly passed among the mirrors on his way
out.

rCLI devote you,rCY said this person, stopping at the last door on his way, and turning in the direction of the sanctuary, rCLto the Devil!rCY

With that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had shaken the
dust from his feet, and quietly walked downstairs.

He was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in manner, and
with a face like a fine mask. A face of a transparent paleness; every
feature in it clearly defined; one set expression on it. The nose,
beautifully formed otherwise, was very slightly pinched at the top of
each nostril. In those two compressions, or dints, the only little change
that the face ever showed, resided. They persisted in changing colour sometimes, and they would be occasionally dilated and contracted by
something like a faint pulsation; then, they gave a look of treachery,
and cruelty, to the whole countenance. Examined with attention, its
capacity of helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth,
and the lines of the orbits of the eyes, being much too horizontal and
thin; still, in the effect of the face made, it was a handsome face, and
a remarkable one.

Its owner went downstairs into the courtyard, got into his carriage, and
drove away. Not many people had talked with him at the reception; he had
stood in a little space apart, and Monseigneur might have been warmer in
his manner. It appeared, under the circumstances, rather agreeable to him
to see the common people dispersed before his horses, and often barely escaping from being run down. His man drove as if he were charging an
enemy, and the furious recklessness of the man brought no check into the
face, or to the lips, of the master. The complaint had sometimes made
itself audible, even in that deaf city and dumb age, that, in the narrow streets without footways, the fierce patrician custom of hard driving endangered and maimed the mere vulgar in a barbarous manner. But, few
cared enough for that to think of it a second time, and, in this matter,
as in all others, the common wretches were left to get out of their difficulties as they could.

With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of
consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage
dashed through streets and swept round corners, with women screaming
before it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its
way. At last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of its
wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a
number of voices, and the horses reared and plunged.

0496m
Original
But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their wounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry,
and there were twenty hands at the horsesrCO bridles.

rCLWhat has gone wrong?rCY said Monsieur, calmly looking out.

A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of
the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was down
in the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal.

rCLPardon, Monsieur the Marquis!rCY said a ragged and submissive man, rCLit is a child.rCY

rCLWhy does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?rCY

rCLExcuse me, Monsieur the MarquisrCoit is a pityrCoyes.rCY

The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was,
into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall man suddenly
got up from the ground, and came running at the carriage, Monsieur the
Marquis clapped his hand for an instant on his sword-hilt.

rCLKilled!rCY shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending both arms at their length above his head, and staring at him. rCLDead!rCY

The people closed round, and looked at Monsieur the Marquis. There was
nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at him but watchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger. Neither did the people
say anything; after the first cry, they had been silent, and they
remained so. The voice of the submissive man who had spoken, was flat and
tame in its extreme submission. Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over
them all, as if they had been mere rats come out of their holes.

He took out his purse.

rCLIt is extraordinary to me,rCY said he, rCLthat you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in
the way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses. See! Give him that.rCY

He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads
craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell. The
tall man called out again with a most unearthly cry, rCLDead!rCY

He was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, for whom the rest
made way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon his shoulder, sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain, where some women were stooping over the motionless bundle, and moving gently about it. They
were as silent, however, as the men.

rCLI know all, I know all,rCY said the last comer. rCLBe a brave man, my Gaspard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so, than to
live. It has died in a moment without pain. Could it have lived an hour
as happily?rCY

rCLYou are a philosopher, you there,rCY said the Marquis, smiling. rCLHow do they call you?rCY

rCLThey call me Defarge.rCY

rCLOf what trade?rCY

rCLMonsieur the Marquis, vendor of wine.rCY

rCLPick up that, philosopher and vendor of wine,rCY said the Marquis,
throwing him another gold coin, rCLand spend it as you will. The horses
there; are they right?rCY

Without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time, Monsieur the
Marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just being driven away with the
air of a gentleman who had accidentally broke some common thing, and had
paid for it, and could afford to pay for it; when his ease was suddenly disturbed by a coin flying into his carriage, and ringing on its floor.

rCLHold!rCY said Monsieur the Marquis. rCLHold the horses! Who threw that?rCY

He looked to the spot where Defarge the vendor of wine had stood, a
moment before; but the wretched father was grovelling on his face on the pavement in that spot, and the figure that stood beside him was the
figure of a dark stout woman, knitting.

rCLYou dogs!rCY said the Marquis, but smoothly, and with an unchanged front, except as to the spots on his nose: rCLI would ride over any of you very willingly, and exterminate you from the earth. If I knew which rascal
threw at the carriage, and if that brigand were sufficiently near it, he should be crushed under the wheels.rCY

So cowed was their condition, and so long and hard their experience of
what such a man could do to them, within the law and beyond it, that not
a voice, or a hand, or even an eye was raised. Among the men, not one.
But the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily, and looked the
Marquis in the face. It was not for his dignity to notice it; his
contemptuous eyes passed over her, and over all the other rats; and he
leaned back in his seat again, and gave the word rCLGo on!rCY

He was driven on, and other carriages came whirling by in quick
succession; the Minister, the State-Projector, the Farmer-General, the
Doctor, the Lawyer, the Ecclesiastic, the Grand Opera, the Comedy, the
whole Fancy Ball in a bright continuous flow, came whirling by. The rats
had crept out of their holes to look on, and they remained looking on for hours; soldiers and police often passing between them and the spectacle,
and making a barrier behind which they slunk, and through which they
peeped. The father had long ago taken up his bundle and bidden himself
away with it, when the women who had tended the bundle while it lay on
the base of the fountain, sat there watching the running of the water and
the rolling of the Fancy BallrCowhen the one woman who had stood
conspicuous, knitting, still knitted on with the steadfastness of Fate.
The water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran into
evening, so much life in the city ran into death according to rule, time
and tide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together in
their dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all
things ran their course.

CHAPTER VIII.
Monseigneur in the Country
Abeautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant.
Patches of poor rye where corn should have been, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On
inanimate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillinglyrCoa dejected disposition to give up, and wither away.

Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged up a
steep hill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was
occasioned by an external circumstance beyond his controlrCothe setting
sun.

The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it
gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. rCLIt will
die out,rCY said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing at his hands, rCLdirectly.rCY

In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When the
heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down
hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the red glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis going down together, there was no glow
left when the drag was taken off.

But, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at
the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a church-tower,
a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used
as a prison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on,
the Marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming near home.

The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tannery,
poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays of post-horses, poor fountain,
all usual poor appointments. It had its poor people too. All its people
were poor, and many of them were sitting at their doors, shredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the fountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and any such small yieldings of the earth that could
be eaten. Expressive signs of what made them poor, were not wanting; the
tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax for the lord, tax
local and tax general, were to be paid here and to be paid there,
according to solemn inscription in the little village, until the wonder
was, that there was any village left unswallowed.

Few children were to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men and women, their choice on earth was stated in the prospectrCoLife on the lowest terms that could sustain it, down in the little village under the mill; or captivity
and Death in the dominant prison on the crag.

Heralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of his postilionsrCO whips, which twined snake-like about their heads in the evening air, as
if he came attended by the Furies, Monsieur the Marquis drew up in his travelling carriage at the posting-house gate. It was hard by the
fountain, and the peasants suspended their operations to look at him. He looked at them, and saw in them, without knowing it, the slow sure filing
down of misery-worn face and figure, that was to make the meagreness of Frenchmen an English superstition which should survive the truth through
the best part of a hundred years.

Monsieur the Marquis cast his eyes over the submissive faces that drooped before him, as the like of himself had drooped before Monseigneur of the CourtrCoonly the difference was, that these faces drooped merely to suffer
and not to propitiaterCowhen a grizzled mender of the roads joined the
group.

rCLBring me hither that fellow!rCY said the Marquis to the courier.

The fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fellows closed round
to look and listen, in the manner of the people at the Paris fountain.

rCLI passed you on the road?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, it is true. I had the honour of being passed on the road.rCY

rCLComing up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, it is true.rCY

rCLWhat did you look at, so fixedly?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, I looked at the man.rCY

He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed under the carriage. All his fellows stooped to look under the carriage.

rCLWhat man, pig? And why look there?rCY

rCLPardon, Monseigneur; he swung by the chain of the shoerCothe drag.rCY

rCLWho?rCY demanded the traveller.

rCLMonseigneur, the man.rCY

rCLMay the Devil carry away these idiots! How do you call the man? You know all the men of this part of the country. Who was he?rCY

rCLYour clemency, Monseigneur! He was not of this part of the country. Of
all the days of my life, I never saw him.rCY

rCLSwinging by the chain? To be suffocated?rCY

rCLWith your gracious permission, that was the wonder of it, Monseigneur.
His head hanging overrColike this!rCY

He turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned back, with his
face thrown up to the sky, and his head hanging down; then recovered
himself, fumbled with his cap, and made a bow.

rCLWhat was he like?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, he was whiter than the miller. All covered with dust, white
as a spectre, tall as a spectre!rCY

The picture produced an immense sensation in the little crowd; but all
eyes, without comparing notes with other eyes, looked at Monsieur the
Marquis. Perhaps, to observe whether he had any spectre on his
conscience.

rCLTruly, you did well,rCY said the Marquis, felicitously sensible that such vermin were not to ruffle him, rCLto see a thief accompanying my carriage,
and not open that great mouth of yours. Bah! Put him aside, Monsieur Gabelle!rCY

Monsieur Gabelle was the Postmaster, and some other taxing functionary
united; he had come out with great obsequiousness to assist at this examination, and had held the examined by the drapery of his arm in an official manner.

rCLBah! Go aside!rCY said Monsieur Gabelle.

rCLLay hands on this stranger if he seeks to lodge in your village to-
night, and be sure that his business is honest, Gabelle.rCY

rCLMonseigneur, I am flattered to devote myself to your orders.rCY

rCLDid he run away, fellow?rCowhere is that Accursed?rCY

The accursed was already under the carriage with some half-dozen
particular friends, pointing out the chain with his blue cap. Some half-
dozen other particular friends promptly hauled him out, and presented him breathless to Monsieur the Marquis.

rCLDid the man run away, Dolt, when we stopped for the drag?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hill-side, head first, as
a person plunges into the river.rCY

rCLSee to it, Gabelle. Go on!rCY

The half-dozen who were peering at the chain were still among the wheels,
like sheep; the wheels turned so suddenly that they were lucky to save
their skins and bones; they had very little else to save, or they might
not have been so fortunate.

The burst with which the carriage started out of the village and up the
rise beyond, was soon checked by the steepness of the hill. Gradually, it subsided to a foot pace, swinging and lumbering upward among the many
sweet scents of a summer night. The postilions, with a thousand gossamer
gnats circling about them in lieu of the Furies, quietly mended the
points to the lashes of their whips; the valet walked by the horses; the courier was audible, trotting on ahead into the dull distance.

At the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial-ground, with
a Cross and a new large figure of Our Saviour on it; it was a poor figure
in wood, done by some inexperienced rustic carver, but he had studied the figure from the liferCohis own life, mayberCofor it was dreadfully spare and thin.

To this distressful emblem of a great distress that had long been growing worse, and was not at its worst, a woman was kneeling. She turned her
head as the carriage came up to her, rose quickly, and presented herself
at the carriage-door.

rCLIt is you, Monseigneur! Monseigneur, a petition.rCY

With an exclamation of impatience, but with his unchangeable face,
Monseigneur looked out.

rCLHow, then! What is it? Always petitions!rCY

rCLMonseigneur. For the love of the great God! My husband, the forester.rCY

rCLWhat of your husband, the forester? Always the same with you people. He cannot pay something?rCY

rCLHe has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead.rCY

rCLWell! He is quiet. Can I restore him to you?rCY

rCLAlas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a little heap of poor grass.rCY

rCLWell?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor grass?rCY

rCLAgain, well?rCY

She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner was one of passionate grief; by turns she clasped her veinous and knotted hands together with
wild energy, and laid one of them on the carriage-doorrCotenderly, caressingly, as if it had been a human breast, and could be expected to
feel the appealing touch.

rCLMonseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my petition! My husband died of want; so many die of want; so many more will die of want.rCY

rCLAgain, well? Can I feed them?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, the good God knows; but I donrCOt ask it. My petition is,
that a morsel of stone or wood, with my husbandrCOs name, may be placed
over him to show where he lies. Otherwise, the place will be quickly forgotten, it will never be found when I am dead of the same malady, I
shall be laid under some other heap of poor grass. Monseigneur, they are
so many, they increase so fast, there is so much want. Monseigneur! Monseigneur!rCY

The valet had put her away from the door, the carriage had broken into a
brisk trot, the postilions had quickened the pace, she was left far
behind, and Monseigneur, again escorted by the Furies, was rapidly
diminishing the league or two of distance that remained between him and
his chateau.

The sweet scents of the summer night rose all around him, and rose, as
the rain falls, impartially, on the dusty, ragged, and toil-worn group at
the fountain not far away; to whom the mender of roads, with the aid of
the blue cap without which he was nothing, still enlarged upon his man
like a spectre, as long as they could bear it. By degrees, as they could
bear no more, they dropped off one by one, and lights twinkled in little casements; which lights, as the casements darkened, and more stars came
out, seemed to have shot up into the sky instead of having been
extinguished.

The shadow of a large high-roofed house, and of many over-hanging trees,
was upon Monsieur the Marquis by that time; and the shadow was exchanged
for the light of a flambeau, as his carriage stopped, and the great door
of his chateau was opened to him.

rCLMonsieur Charles, whom I expect; is he arrived from England?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, not yet.rCY

CHAPTER IX.
The GorgonrCOs Head
It was a heavy mass of building, that chateau of Monsieur the Marquis,
with a large stone courtyard before it, and two stone sweeps of staircase meeting in a stone terrace before the principal door. A stony business altogether, with heavy stone balustrades, and stone urns, and stone
flowers, and stone faces of men, and stone heads of lions, in all
directions. As if the GorgonrCOs head had surveyed it, when it was
finished, two centuries ago.

Up the broad flight of shallow steps, Monsieur the Marquis, flambeau
preceded, went from his carriage, sufficiently disturbing the darkness to elicit loud remonstrance from an owl in the roof of the great pile of
stable building away among the trees. All else was so quiet, that the
flambeau carried up the steps, and the other flambeau held at the great
door, burnt as if they were in a close room of state, instead of being in
the open night-air. Other sound than the owlrCOs voice there was none, save the falling of a fountain into its stone basin; for, it was one of those
dark nights that hold their breath by the hour together, and then heave a
long low sigh, and hold their breath again.

The great door clanged behind him, and Monsieur the Marquis crossed a
hall grim with certain old boar-spears, swords, and knives of the chase; grimmer with certain heavy riding-rods and riding-whips, of which many a peasant, gone to his benefactor Death, had felt the weight when his lord
was angry.

Avoiding the larger rooms, which were dark and made fast for the night, Monsieur the Marquis, with his flambeau-bearer going on before, went up
the staircase to a door in a corridor. This thrown open, admitted him to
his own private apartment of three rooms: his bed-chamber and two others.
High vaulted rooms with cool uncarpeted floors, great dogs upon the
hearths for the burning of wood in winter time, and all luxuries
befitting the state of a marquis in a luxurious age and country. The
fashion of the last Louis but one, of the line that was never to breakrCo
the fourteenth LouisrCowas conspicuous in their rich furniture; but, it was diversified by many objects that were illustrations of old pages in the history of France.

A supper-table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; a round room,
in one of the chateaurCOs four extinguisher-topped towers. A small lofty
room, with its window wide open, and the wooden jalousie-blinds closed,
so that the dark night only showed in slight horizontal lines of black, alternating with their broad lines of stone colour.

rCLMy nephew,rCY said the Marquis, glancing at the supper preparation; rCLthey said he was not arrived.rCY

Nor was he; but, he had been expected with Monseigneur.

rCLAh! It is not probable he will arrive to-night; nevertheless, leave the table as it is. I shall be ready in a quarter of an hour.rCY

In a quarter of an hour Monseigneur was ready, and sat down alone to his sumptuous and choice supper. His chair was opposite to the window, and he
had taken his soup, and was raising his glass of Bordeaux to his lips,
when he put it down.

rCLWhat is that?rCY he calmly asked, looking with attention at the horizontal lines of black and stone colour.

rCLMonseigneur? That?rCY

rCLOutside the blinds. Open the blinds.rCY

It was done.

rCLWell?rCY

rCLMonseigneur, it is nothing. The trees and the night are all that are here.rCY

The servant who spoke, had thrown the blinds wide, had looked out into
the vacant darkness, and stood with that blank behind him, looking round
for instructions.

rCLGood,rCY said the imperturbable master. rCLClose them again.rCY

That was done too, and the Marquis went on with his supper. He was half
way through it, when he again stopped with his glass in his hand, hearing
the sound of wheels. It came on briskly, and came up to the front of the chateau.

rCLAsk who is arrived.rCY

It was the nephew of Monseigneur. He had been some few leagues behind Monseigneur, early in the afternoon. He had diminished the distance
rapidly, but not so rapidly as to come up with Monseigneur on the road.
He had heard of Monseigneur, at the posting-houses, as being before him.

He was to be told (said Monseigneur) that supper awaited him then and
there, and that he was prayed to come to it. In a little while he came.
He had been known in England as Charles Darnay.

Monseigneur received him in a courtly manner, but they did not shake
hands.

rCLYou left Paris yesterday, sir?rCY he said to Monseigneur, as he took his seat at table.

rCLYesterday. And you?rCY

rCLI come direct.rCY

rCLFrom London?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLYou have been a long time coming,rCY said the Marquis, with a smile.

rCLOn the contrary; I come direct.rCY

rCLPardon me! I mean, not a long time on the journey; a long time intending the journey.rCY

rCLI have been detained byrCYrCothe nephew stopped a moment in his answer rCorCLvarious business.rCY

rCLWithout doubt,rCY said the polished uncle.

So long as a servant was present, no other words passed between them.
When coffee had been served and they were alone together, the nephew,
looking at the uncle and meeting the eyes of the face that was like a
fine mask, opened a conversation.

rCLI have come back, sir, as you anticipate, pursuing the object that took
me away. It carried me into great and unexpected peril; but it is a
sacred object, and if it had carried me to death I hope it would have sustained me.rCY

rCLNot to death,rCY said the uncle; rCLit is not necessary to say, to death.rCY

rCLI doubt, sir,rCY returned the nephew, rCLwhether, if it had carried me to the utmost brink of death, you would have cared to stop me there.rCY

The deepened marks in the nose, and the lengthening of the fine straight
lines in the cruel face, looked ominous as to that; the uncle made a
graceful gesture of protest, which was so clearly a slight form of good breeding that it was not reassuring.

rCLIndeed, sir,rCY pursued the nephew, rCLfor anything I know, you may have expressly worked to give a more suspicious appearance to the suspicious circumstances that surrounded me.rCY

rCLNo, no, no,rCY said the uncle, pleasantly.

rCLBut, however that may be,rCY resumed the nephew, glancing at him with deep distrust, rCLI know that your diplomacy would stop me by any means, and
would know no scruple as to means.rCY

rCLMy friend, I told you so,rCY said the uncle, with a fine pulsation in the two marks. rCLDo me the favour to recall that I told you so, long ago.rCY

rCLI recall it.rCY

rCLThank you,rCY said the MarquisrCovery sweetly indeed.

His tone lingered in the air, almost like the tone of a musical
instrument.

rCLIn effect, sir,rCY pursued the nephew, rCLI believe it to be at once your bad fortune, and my good fortune, that has kept me out of a prison in
France here.rCY

rCLI do not quite understand,rCY returned the uncle, sipping his coffee. rCLDare I ask you to explain?rCY

rCLI believe that if you were not in disgrace with the Court, and had not
been overshadowed by that cloud for years past, a letter de cachet would
have sent me to some fortress indefinitely.rCY

rCLIt is possible,rCY said the uncle, with great calmness. rCLFor the honour of
the family, I could even resolve to incommode you to that extent. Pray
excuse me!rCY

rCLI perceive that, happily for me, the Reception of the day before
yesterday was, as usual, a cold one,rCY observed the nephew.

rCLI would not say happily, my friend,rCY returned the uncle, with refined politeness; rCLI would not be sure of that. A good opportunity for consideration, surrounded by the advantages of solitude, might influence
your destiny to far greater advantage than you influence it for yourself.
But it is useless to discuss the question. I am, as you say, at a disadvantage. These little instruments of correction, these gentle aids
to the power and honour of families, these slight favours that might so incommode you, are only to be obtained now by interest and importunity.
They are sought by so many, and they are granted (comparatively) to so
few! It used not to be so, but France in all such things is changed for
the worse. Our not remote ancestors held the right of life and death over
the surrounding vulgar. From this room, many such dogs have been taken
out to be hanged; in the next room (my bedroom), one fellow, to our
knowledge, was poniarded on the spot for professing some insolent
delicacy respecting his daughterrCohis daughter? We have lost many
privileges; a new philosophy has become the mode; and the assertion of
our station, in these days, might (I do not go so far as to say would,
but might) cause us real inconvenience. All very bad, very bad!rCY

The Marquis took a gentle little pinch of snuff, and shook his head; as elegantly despondent as he could becomingly be of a country still
containing himself, that great means of regeneration.

rCLWe have so asserted our station, both in the old time and in the modern time also,rCY said the nephew, gloomily, rCLthat I believe our name to be
more detested than any name in France.rCY

rCLLet us hope so,rCY said the uncle. rCLDetestation of the high is the involuntary homage of the low.rCY

rCLThere is not,rCY pursued the nephew, in his former tone, rCLa face I can look at, in all this country round about us, which looks at me with any deference on it but the dark deference of fear and slavery.rCY

rCLA compliment,rCY said the Marquis, rCLto the grandeur of the family, merited
by the manner in which the family has sustained its grandeur. Hah!rCY And
he took another gentle little pinch of snuff, and lightly crossed his
legs.

But, when his nephew, leaning an elbow on the table, covered his eyes thoughtfully and dejectedly with his hand, the fine mask looked at him sideways with a stronger concentration of keenness, closeness, and
dislike, than was comportable with its wearerrCOs assumption of
indifference.

rCLRepression is the only lasting philosophy. The dark deference of fear
and slavery, my friend,rCY observed the Marquis, rCLwill keep the dogs obedient to the whip, as long as this roof,rCY looking up to it, rCLshuts out the sky.rCY

That might not be so long as the Marquis supposed. If a picture of the
chateau as it was to be a very few years hence, and of fifty like it as
they too were to be a very few years hence, could have been shown to him
that night, he might have been at a loss to claim his own from the
ghastly, fire-charred, plunder-wrecked rains. As for the roof he vaunted,
he might have found that shutting out the sky in a new wayrCoto wit, for
ever, from the eyes of the bodies into which its lead was fired, out of
the barrels of a hundred thousand muskets.

rCLMeanwhile,rCY said the Marquis, rCLI will preserve the honour and repose of the family, if you will not. But you must be fatigued. Shall we terminate
our conference for the night?rCY

rCLA moment more.rCY

rCLAn hour, if you please.rCY

rCLSir,rCY said the nephew, rCLwe have done wrong, and are reaping the fruits of wrong.rCY

rCLWe have done wrong?rCY repeated the Marquis, with an inquiring smile, and delicately pointing, first to his nephew, then to himself.

rCLOur family; our honourable family, whose honour is of so much account to both of us, in such different ways. Even in my fatherrCOs time, we did a
world of wrong, injuring every human creature who came between us and our pleasure, whatever it was. Why need I speak of my fatherrCOs time, when it
is equally yours? Can I separate my fatherrCOs twin-brother, joint
inheritor, and next successor, from himself?rCY

rCLDeath has done that!rCY said the Marquis.

rCLAnd has left me,rCY answered the nephew, rCLbound to a system that is frightful to me, responsible for it, but powerless in it; seeking to
execute the last request of my dear motherrCOs lips, and obey the last look
of my dear motherrCOs eyes, which implored me to have mercy and to redress; and tortured by seeking assistance and power in vain.rCY

rCLSeeking them from me, my nephew,rCY said the Marquis, touching him on the breast with his forefingerrCothey were now standing by the hearthrCorCLyou will
for ever seek them in vain, be assured.rCY

Every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face, was cruelly, craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood looking quietly at his nephew, with his snuff-box in his hand. Once again he touched him on the breast, as though his finger were the fine point of a small sword, with
which, in delicate finesse, he ran him through the body, and said,

rCLMy friend, I will die, perpetuating the system under which I have
lived.rCY

When he had said it, he took a culminating pinch of snuff, and put his
box in his pocket.

rCLBetter to be a rational creature,rCY he added then, after ringing a small bell on the table, rCLand accept your natural destiny. But you are lost, Monsieur Charles, I see.rCY

rCLThis property and France are lost to me,rCY said the nephew, sadly; rCLI renounce them.rCY

rCLAre they both yours to renounce? France may be, but is the property? It
is scarcely worth mentioning; but, is it yet?rCY

rCLI had no intention, in the words I used, to claim it yet. If it passed
to me from you, to-morrowrCorCY

rCLWhich I have the vanity to hope is not probable.rCY

rCLrCoor twenty years hencerCorCY

rCLYou do me too much honour,rCY said the Marquis; rCLstill, I prefer that supposition.rCY

rCLrCoI would abandon it, and live otherwise and elsewhere. It is little to relinquish. What is it but a wilderness of misery and ruin!rCY

rCLHah!rCY said the Marquis, glancing round the luxurious room.

rCLTo the eye it is fair enough, here; but seen in its integrity, under the sky, and by the daylight, it is a crumbling tower of waste,
mismanagement, extortion, debt, mortgage, oppression, hunger, nakedness,
and suffering.rCY

rCLHah!rCY said the Marquis again, in a well-satisfied manner.

rCLIf it ever becomes mine, it shall be put into some hands better
qualified to free it slowly (if such a thing is possible) from the weight
that drags it down, so that the miserable people who cannot leave it and
who have been long wrung to the last point of endurance, may, in another generation, suffer less; but it is not for me. There is a curse on it,
and on all this land.rCY

rCLAnd you?rCY said the uncle. rCLForgive my curiosity; do you, under your new philosophy, graciously intend to live?rCY

rCLI must do, to live, what others of my countrymen, even with nobility at their backs, may have to do some dayrCowork.rCY

rCLIn England, for example?rCY

rCLYes. The family honour, sir, is safe from me in this country. The family name can suffer from me in no other, for I bear it in no other.rCY

The ringing of the bell had caused the adjoining bed-chamber to be
lighted. It now shone brightly, through the door of communication. The
Marquis looked that way, and listened for the retreating step of his
valet.

rCLEngland is very attractive to you, seeing how indifferently you have prospered there,rCY he observed then, turning his calm face to his nephew
with a smile.

rCLI have already said, that for my prospering there, I am sensible I may
be indebted to you, sir. For the rest, it is my Refuge.rCY

rCLThey say, those boastful English, that it is the Refuge of many. You
know a compatriot who has found a Refuge there? A Doctor?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLWith a daughter?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLYes,rCY said the Marquis. rCLYou are fatigued. Good night!rCY

As he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was a secrecy in
his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery to those words, which struck the eyes and ears of his nephew forcibly. At the same time, the
thin straight lines of the setting of the eyes, and the thin straight
lips, and the markings in the nose, curved with a sarcasm that looked handsomely diabolic.

rCLYes,rCY repeated the Marquis. rCLA Doctor with a daughter. Yes. So commences
the new philosophy! You are fatigued. Good night!rCY

It would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stone face outside
the chateau as to interrogate that face of his. The nephew looked at him,
in vain, in passing on to the door.

rCLGood night!rCY said the uncle. rCLI look to the pleasure of seeing you again
in the morning. Good repose! Light Monsieur my nephew to his chamber there!rCoAnd burn Monsieur my nephew in his bed, if you will,rCY he added to himself, before he rang his little bell again, and summoned his valet to
his own bedroom.

The valet come and gone, Monsieur the Marquis walked to and fro in his
loose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep, that hot still
night. Rustling about the room, his softly-slippered feet making no noise
on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger:rColooked like some enchanted marquis of the impenitently wicked sort, in story, whose periodical
change into tiger form was either just going off, or just coming on.

He moved from end to end of his voluptuous bedroom, looking again at the scraps of the dayrCOs journey that came unbidden into his mind; the slow
toil up the hill at sunset, the setting sun, the descent, the mill, the
prison on the crag, the little village in the hollow, the peasants at the fountain, and the mender of roads with his blue cap pointing out the
chain under the carriage. That fountain suggested the Paris fountain, the little bundle lying on the step, the women bending over it, and the tall
man with his arms up, crying, rCLDead!rCY

rCLI am cool now,rCY said Monsieur the Marquis, rCLand may go to bed.rCY

So, leaving only one light burning on the large hearth, he let his thin
gauze curtains fall around him, and heard the night break its silence
with a long sigh as he composed himself to sleep.

The stone faces on the outer walls stared blindly at the black night for
three heavy hours; for three heavy hours, the horses in the stables
rattled at their racks, the dogs barked, and the owl made a noise with
very little resemblance in it to the noise conventionally assigned to the
owl by men-poets. But it is the obstinate custom of such creatures hardly
ever to say what is set down for them.

For three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chateau, lion and human,
stared blindly at the night. Dead darkness lay on all the landscape, dead darkness added its own hush to the hushing dust on all the roads. The burial-place had got to the pass that its little heaps of poor grass were undistinguishable from one another; the figure on the Cross might have
come down, for anything that could be seen of it. In the village, taxers
and taxed were fast asleep. Dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the
starved usually do, and of ease and rest, as the driven slave and the
yoked ox may, its lean inhabitants slept soundly, and were fed and freed.

The fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the fountain
at the chateau dropped unseen and unheardrCoboth melting away, like the minutes that were falling from the spring of TimerCothrough three dark
hours. Then, the grey water of both began to be ghostly in the light, and
the eyes of the stone faces of the chateau were opened.

Lighter and lighter, until at last the sun touched the tops of the still trees, and poured its radiance over the hill. In the glow, the water of
the chateau fountain seemed to turn to blood, and the stone faces
crimsoned. The carol of the birds was loud and high, and, on the weather- beaten sill of the great window of the bed-chamber of Monsieur the
Marquis, one little bird sang its sweetest song with all its might. At
this, the nearest stone face seemed to stare amazed, and, with open mouth
and dropped under-jaw, looked awe-stricken.

Now, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village. Casement
windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and people came forth shiveringrCochilled, as yet, by the new sweet air. Then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among the village population. Some, to the
fountain; some, to the fields; men and women here, to dig and delve; men
and women there, to see to the poor live stock, and lead the bony cows
out, to such pasture as could be found by the roadside. In the church and
at the Cross, a kneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter prayers,
the led cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot.

The chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke gradually and surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives of the chase had been reddened as of old; then, had gleamed trenchant in the morning sunshine;
now, doors and windows were thrown open, horses in their stables looked
round over their shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at
doorways, leaves sparkled and rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled
hard at their chains, and reared impatient to be loosed.

All these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life, and the
return of morning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great bell of the chateau, nor the running up and down the stairs; nor the hurried figures
on the terrace; nor the booting and tramping here and there and
everywhere, nor the quick saddling of horses and riding away?

What winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender of roads, already
at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with his dayrCOs dinner (not
much to carry) lying in a bundle that it was worth no crowrCOs while to
peck at, on a heap of stones? Had the birds, carrying some grains of it
to a distance, dropped one over him as they sow chance seeds? Whether or
no, the mender of roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life,
down the hill, knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the fountain.

All the people of the village were at the fountain, standing about in
their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing no other emotions
than grim curiosity and surprise. The led cows, hastily brought in and tethered to anything that would hold them, were looking stupidly on, or
lying down chewing the cud of nothing particularly repaying their
trouble, which they had picked up in their interrupted saunter. Some of
the people of the chateau, and some of those of the posting-house, and
all the taxing authorities, were armed more or less, and were crowded on
the other side of the little street in a purposeless way, that was highly fraught with nothing. Already, the mender of roads had penetrated into
the midst of a group of fifty particular friends, and was smiting himself
in the breast with his blue cap. What did all this portend, and what
portended the swift hoisting-up of Monsieur Gabelle behind a servant on horseback, and the conveying away of the said Gabelle (double-laden
though the horse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the German
ballad of Leonora?

It portended that there was one stone face too many, up at the chateau.

The Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, and had added
the one stone face wanting; the stone face for which it had waited
through about two hundred years.

It lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. It was like a fine
mask, suddenly startled, made angry, and petrified. Driven home into the
heart of the stone figure attached to it, was a knife. Round its hilt was
a frill of paper, on which was scrawled:

rCLDrive him fast to his tomb. This, from Jacques.rCY

CHAPTER X.
Two Promises
More months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and Mr. Charles Darnay was established in England as a higher teacher of the French
language who was conversant with French literature. In this age, he would
have been a Professor; in that age, he was a Tutor. He read with young
men who could find any leisure and interest for the study of a living
tongue spoken all over the world, and he cultivated a taste for its
stores of knowledge and fancy. He could write of them, besides, in sound English, and render them into sound English. Such masters were not at
that time easily found; Princes that had been, and Kings that were to be,
were not yet of the Teacher class, and no ruined nobility had dropped out
of TellsonrCOs ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. As a tutor, whose attainments made the studentrCOs way unusually pleasant and profitable, and
as an elegant translator who brought something to his work besides mere dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon became known and encouraged.
He was well acquainted, more-over, with the circumstances of his country,
and those were of ever-growing interest. So, with great perseverance and untiring industry, he prospered.

In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements of gold, nor to
lie on beds of roses; if he had had any such exalted expectation, he
would not have prospered. He had expected labour, and he found it, and
did it and made the best of it. In this, his prosperity consisted.

A certain portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, where he read with undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a contraband
trade in European languages, instead of conveying Greek and Latin through
the Custom-house. The rest of his time he passed in London.

Now, from the days when it was always summer in Eden, to these days when
it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a man has
invariably gone one wayrCoCharles DarnayrCOs wayrCothe way of the love of a woman.

He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of his danger. He had never
heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound of her compassionate voice;
he had never seen a face so tenderly beautiful, as hers when it was
confronted with his own on the edge of the grave that had been dug for
him. But, he had not yet spoken to her on the subject; the assassination
at the deserted chateau far away beyond the heaving water and the long,
long, dusty roadsrCothe solid stone chateau which had itself become the
mere mist of a dreamrCohad been done a year, and he had never yet, by so
much as a single spoken word, disclosed to her the state of his heart.

That he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. It was again a
summer day when, lately arrived in London from his college occupation, he turned into the quiet corner in Soho, bent on seeking an opportunity of opening his mind to Doctor Manette. It was the close of the summer day,
and he knew Lucie to be out with Miss Pross.

He found the Doctor reading in his arm-chair at a window. The energy
which had at once supported him under his old sufferings and aggravated
their sharpness, had been gradually restored to him. He was now a very energetic man indeed, with great firmness of purpose, strength of
resolution, and vigour of action. In his recovered energy he was
sometimes a little fitful and sudden, as he had at first been in the
exercise of his other recovered faculties; but, this had never been
frequently observable, and had grown more and more rare.

He studied much, slept little, sustained a great deal of fatigue with
ease, and was equably cheerful. To him, now entered Charles Darnay, at
sight of whom he laid aside his book and held out his hand.

rCLCharles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We have been counting on your
return these three or four days past. Mr. Stryver and Sydney Carton were
both here yesterday, and both made you out to be more than due.rCY

rCLI am obliged to them for their interest in the matter,rCY he answered, a little coldly as to them, though very warmly as to the Doctor. rCLMiss ManetterCorCY

rCLIs well,rCY said the Doctor, as he stopped short, rCLand your return will delight us all. She has gone out on some household matters, but will soon
be home.rCY

rCLDoctor Manette, I knew she was from home. I took the opportunity of her being from home, to beg to speak to you.rCY

There was a blank silence.

rCLYes?rCY said the Doctor, with evident constraint. rCLBring your chair here, and speak on.rCY

He complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the speaking on less
easy.

rCLI have had the happiness, Doctor Manette, of being so intimate here,rCY so he at length began, rCLfor some year and a half, that I hope the topic on which I am about to touch may notrCorCY

He was stayed by the DoctorrCOs putting out his hand to stop him. When he
had kept it so a little while, he said, drawing it back:

rCLIs Lucie the topic?rCY

rCLShe is.rCY

rCLIt is hard for me to speak of her at any time. It is very hard for me to hear her spoken of in that tone of yours, Charles Darnay.rCY

rCLIt is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love, Doctor Manette!rCY he said deferentially.

There was another blank silence before her father rejoined:

rCLI believe it. I do you justice; I believe it.rCY

His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that it originated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that Charles
Darnay hesitated.

rCLShall I go on, sir?rCY

Another blank.

rCLYes, go on.rCY

rCLYou anticipate what I would say, though you cannot know how earnestly I
say it, how earnestly I feel it, without knowing my secret heart, and the hopes and fears and anxieties with which it has long been laden. Dear
Doctor Manette, I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disinterestedly, devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her. You have
loved yourself; let your old love speak for me!rCY

The Doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes bent on the
ground. At the last words, he stretched out his hand again, hurriedly,
and cried:

rCLNot that, sir! Let that be! I adjure you, do not recall that!rCY

His cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in Charles
DarnayrCOs ears long after he had ceased. He motioned with the hand he had extended, and it seemed to be an appeal to Darnay to pause. The latter so received it, and remained silent.

rCLI ask your pardon,rCY said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, after some moments. rCLI do not doubt your loving Lucie; you may be satisfied of it.rCY

He turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him, or raise his eyes. His chin dropped upon his hand, and his white hair overshadowed his face:

rCLHave you spoken to Lucie?rCY

rCLNo.rCY

rCLNor written?rCY

rCLNever.rCY

rCLIt would be ungenerous to affect not to know that your self-denial is to
be referred to your consideration for her father. Her father thanks you.rCY

He offered his hand; but his eyes did not go with it.

rCLI know,rCY said Darnay, respectfully, rCLhow can I fail to know, Doctor Manette, I who have seen you together from day to day, that between you
and Miss Manette there is an affection so unusual, so touching, so
belonging to the circumstances in which it has been nurtured, that it can
have few parallels, even in the tenderness between a father and child. I
know, Doctor ManetterCohow can I fail to knowrCothat, mingled with the affection and duty of a daughter who has become a woman, there is, in her heart, towards you, all the love and reliance of infancy itself. I know
that, as in her childhood she had no parent, so she is now devoted to you
with all the constancy and fervour of her present years and character,
united to the trustfulness and attachment of the early days in which you
were lost to her. I know perfectly well that if you had been restored to
her from the world beyond this life, you could hardly be invested, in her sight, with a more sacred character than that in which you are always
with her. I know that when she is clinging to you, the hands of baby,
girl, and woman, all in one, are round your neck. I know that in loving
you she sees and loves her mother at her own age, sees and loves you at
my age, loves her mother broken-hearted, loves you through your dreadful
trial and in your blessed restoration. I have known this, night and day,
since I have known you in your home.rCY

Her father sat silent, with his face bent down. His breathing was a
little quickened; but he repressed all other signs of agitation.

rCLDear Doctor Manette, always knowing this, always seeing her and you with this hallowed light about you, I have forborne, and forborne, as long as
it was in the nature of man to do it. I have felt, and do even now feel,
that to bring my loverCoeven minerCobetween you, is to touch your history
with something not quite so good as itself. But I love her. Heaven is my witness that I love her!rCY

rCLI believe it,rCY answered her father, mournfully. rCLI have thought so before now. I believe it.rCY

rCLBut, do not believe,rCY said Darnay, upon whose ear the mournful voice struck with a reproachful sound, rCLthat if my fortune were so cast as
that, being one day so happy as to make her my wife, I must at any time
put any separation between her and you, I could or would breathe a word
of what I now say. Besides that I should know it to be hopeless, I should
know it to be a baseness. If I had any such possibility, even at a remote distance of years, harboured in my thoughts, and hidden in my heartrCoif it ever had been thererCoif it ever could be thererCoI could not now touch this honoured hand.rCY

He laid his own upon it as he spoke.

rCLNo, dear Doctor Manette. Like you, a voluntary exile from France; like
you, driven from it by its distractions, oppressions, and miseries; like
you, striving to live away from it by my own exertions, and trusting in a happier future; I look only to sharing your fortunes, sharing your life
and home, and being faithful to you to the death. Not to divide with
Lucie her privilege as your child, companion, and friend; but to come in
aid of it, and bind her closer to you, if such a thing can be.rCY

His touch still lingered on her fatherrCOs hand. Answering the touch for a moment, but not coldly, her father rested his hands upon the arms of his chair, and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the
conference. A struggle was evidently in his face; a struggle with that occasional look which had a tendency in it to dark doubt and dread.

rCLYou speak so feelingly and so manfully, Charles Darnay, that I thank you with all my heart, and will open all my heartrCoor nearly so. Have you any reason to believe that Lucie loves you?rCY

rCLNone. As yet, none.rCY

rCLIs it the immediate object of this confidence, that you may at once ascertain that, with my knowledge?rCY

rCLNot even so. I might not have the hopefulness to do it for weeks; I
might (mistaken or not mistaken) have that hopefulness to-morrow.rCY

rCLDo you seek any guidance from me?rCY

rCLI ask none, sir. But I have thought it possible that you might have it
in your power, if you should deem it right, to give me some.rCY

rCLDo you seek any promise from me?rCY

rCLI do seek that.rCY

rCLWhat is it?rCY

rCLI well understand that, without you, I could have no hope. I well understand that, even if Miss Manette held me at this moment in her
innocent heartrCodo not think I have the presumption to assume so muchrCoI could retain no place in it against her love for her father.rCY

rCLIf that be so, do you see what, on the other hand, is involved in it?rCY

rCLI understand equally well, that a word from her father in any suitorrCOs favour, would outweigh herself and all the world. For which reason,
Doctor Manette,rCY said Darnay, modestly but firmly, rCLI would not ask that word, to save my life.rCY

rCLI am sure of it. Charles Darnay, mysteries arise out of close love, as
well as out of wide division; in the former case, they are subtle and delicate, and difficult to penetrate. My daughter Lucie is, in this one respect, such a mystery to me; I can make no guess at the state of her heart.rCY

rCLMay I ask, sir, if you think she isrCorCY As he hesitated, her father supplied the rest.

rCLIs sought by any other suitor?rCY

rCLIt is what I meant to say.rCY

Her father considered a little before he answered:

rCLYou have seen Mr. Carton here, yourself. Mr. Stryver is here too, occasionally. If it be at all, it can only be by one of these.rCY

rCLOr both,rCY said Darnay.

rCLI had not thought of both; I should not think either, likely. You want a promise from me. Tell me what it is.rCY

rCLIt is, that if Miss Manette should bring to you at any time, on her own part, such a confidence as I have ventured to lay before you, you will
bear testimony to what I have said, and to your belief in it. I hope you
may be able to think so well of me, as to urge no influence against me. I
say nothing more of my stake in this; this is what I ask. The condition
on which I ask it, and which you have an undoubted right to require, I
will observe immediately.rCY

rCLI give the promise,rCY said the Doctor, rCLwithout any condition. I believe your object to be, purely and truthfully, as you have stated it. I
believe your intention is to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties
between me and my other and far dearer self. If she should ever tell me
that you are essential to her perfect happiness, I will give her to you.
If there wererCoCharles Darnay, if there wererCorCY

The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their hands were joined as
the Doctor spoke:

rCLrCoany fancies, any reasons, any apprehensions, anything whatsoever, new
or old, against the man she really lovedrCothe direct responsibility
thereof not lying on his headrCothey should all be obliterated for her
sake. She is everything to me; more to me than suffering, more to me than wrong, more to merCoWell! This is idle talk.rCY

So strange was the way in which he faded into silence, and so strange his fixed look when he had ceased to speak, that Darnay felt his own hand
turn cold in the hand that slowly released and dropped it.

rCLYou said something to me,rCY said Doctor Manette, breaking into a smile. rCLWhat was it you said to me?rCY

He was at a loss how to answer, until he remembered having spoken of a condition. Relieved as his mind reverted to that, he answered:

rCLYour confidence in me ought to be returned with full confidence on my
part. My present name, though but slightly changed from my motherrCOs, is
not, as you will remember, my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and
why I am in England.rCY

rCLStop!rCY said the Doctor of Beauvais.

rCLI wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence, and have no secret from you.rCY

rCLStop!rCY

For an instant, the Doctor even had his two hands at his ears; for
another instant, even had his two hands laid on DarnayrCOs lips.

rCLTell me when I ask you, not now. If your suit should prosper, if Lucie should love you, you shall tell me on your marriage morning. Do you promise?rCY

rCLWillingly.

rCLGive me your hand. She will be home directly, and it is better she
should not see us together to-night. Go! God bless you!rCY

It was dark when Charles Darnay left him, and it was an hour later and
darker when Lucie came home; she hurried into the room alonerCofor Miss
Pross had gone straight up-stairsrCoand was surprised to find his reading- chair empty.

rCLMy father!rCY she called to him. rCLFather dear!rCY

Nothing was said in answer, but she heard a low hammering sound in his bedroom. Passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in at
his door and came running back frightened, crying to herself, with her
blood all chilled, rCLWhat shall I do! What shall I do!rCY

Her uncertainty lasted but a moment; she hurried back, and tapped at his
door, and softly called to him. The noise ceased at the sound of her
voice, and he presently came out to her, and they walked up and down
together for a long time.

She came down from her bed, to look at him in his sleep that night. He
slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking tools, and his old unfinished
work, were all as usual.

CHAPTER XI.
A Companion Picture
Sydney,rCY said Mr. Stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his jackal; rCLmix another bowl of punch; I have something to say to you.rCY

Sydney had been working double tides that night, and the night before,
and the night before that, and a good many nights in succession, making a grand clearance among Mr. StryverrCOs papers before the setting in of the
long vacation. The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver arrears
were handsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until November
should come with its fogs atmospheric, and fogs legal, and bring grist to
the mill again.

Sydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for so much
application. It had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him
through the night; a correspondingly extra quantity of wine had preceded
the towelling; and he was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled
his turban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped it at intervals for the last six hours.

rCLAre you mixing that other bowl of punch?rCY said Stryver the portly, with his hands in his waistband, glancing round from the sofa where he lay on
his back.

rCLI am.rCY

rCLNow, look here! I am going to tell you something that will rather
surprise you, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as shrewd
as you usually do think me. I intend to marry.rCY

rCLDo you?rCY

rCLYes. And not for money. What do you say now?rCY

rCLI donrCOt feel disposed to say much. Who is she?rCY

rCLGuess.rCY

rCLDo I know her?rCY

rCLGuess.rCY

rCLI am not going to guess, at five orCOclock in the morning, with my brains frying and sputtering in my head. If you want me to guess, you must ask
me to dinner.rCY

rCLWell then, IrCOll tell you,rCY said Stryver, coming slowly into a sitting posture. rCLSydney, I rather despair of making myself intelligible to you, because you are such an insensible dog.rCY

rCLAnd you,rCY returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, rCLare such a sensitive and poetical spiritrCorCY

rCLCome!rCY rejoined Stryver, laughing boastfully, rCLthough I donrCOt prefer any
claim to being the soul of Romance (for I hope I know better), still I am
a tenderer sort of fellow than you.rCY

rCLYou are a luckier, if you mean that.rCY

rCLI donrCOt mean that. I mean I am a man of morerComorerCorCY

rCLSay gallantry, while you are about it,rCY suggested Carton.

rCLWell! IrCOll say gallantry. My meaning is that I am a man,rCY said Stryver, inflating himself at his friend as he made the punch, rCLwho cares more to
be agreeable, who takes more pains to be agreeable, who knows better how
to be agreeable, in a womanrCOs society, than you do.rCY

rCLGo on,rCY said Sydney Carton.

rCLNo; but before I go on,rCY said Stryver, shaking his head in his bullying way, rCLIrCOll have this out with you. YourCOve been at Doctor ManetterCOs house
as much as I have, or more than I have. Why, I have been ashamed of your moroseness there! Your manners have been of that silent and sullen and
hangdog kind, that, upon my life and soul, I have been ashamed of you, Sydney!rCY

rCLIt should be very beneficial to a man in your practice at the bar, to be ashamed of anything,rCY returned Sydney; rCLyou ought to be much obliged to me.rCY

rCLYou shall not get off in that way,rCY rejoined Stryver, shouldering the rejoinder at him; rCLno, Sydney, itrCOs my duty to tell yourCoand I tell you to
your face to do you goodrCothat you are a devilish ill-conditioned fellow
in that sort of society. You are a disagreeable fellow.rCY

Sydney drank a bumper of the punch he had made, and laughed.

rCLLook at me!rCY said Stryver, squaring himself; rCLI have less need to make myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in circumstances.
Why do I do it?rCY

rCLI never saw you do it yet,rCY muttered Carton.

rCLI do it because itrCOs politic; I do it on principle. And look at me! I
get on.rCY

rCLYou donrCOt get on with your account of your matrimonial intentions,rCY answered Carton, with a careless air; rCLI wish you would keep to that. As
to merCowill you never understand that I am incorrigible?rCY

He asked the question with some appearance of scorn.

rCLYou have no business to be incorrigible,rCY was his friendrCOs answer, delivered in no very soothing tone.

rCLI have no business to be, at all, that I know of,rCY said Sydney Carton. rCLWho is the lady?rCY

rCLNow, donrCOt let my announcement of the name make you uncomfortable, Sydney,rCY said Mr. Stryver, preparing him with ostentatious friendliness
for the disclosure he was about to make, rCLbecause I know you donrCOt mean half you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. I
make this little preface, because you once mentioned the young lady to me
in slighting terms.rCY

rCLI did?rCY

rCLCertainly; and in these chambers.rCY

Sydney Carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent friend;
drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend.

rCLYou made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. The young
lady is Miss Manette. If you had been a fellow of any sensitiveness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, Sydney, I might have been a
little resentful of your employing such a designation; but you are not.
You want that sense altogether; therefore I am no more annoyed when I
think of the expression, than I should be annoyed by a manrCOs opinion of a picture of mine, who had no eye for pictures: or of a piece of music of
mine, who had no ear for music.rCY

Sydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers,
looking at his friend.

rCLNow you know all about it, Syd,rCY said Mr. Stryver. rCLI donrCOt care about
fortune: she is a charming creature, and I have made up my mind to please myself: on the whole, I think I can afford to please myself. She will
have in me a man already pretty well off, and a rapidly rising man, and a
man of some distinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but she
is worthy of good fortune. Are you astonished?rCY

Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, rCLWhy should I be astonished?rCY

rCLYou approve?rCY

Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, rCLWhy should I not approve?rCY

rCLWell!rCY said his friend Stryver, rCLyou take it more easily than I fancied you would, and are less mercenary on my behalf than I thought you would
be; though, to be sure, you know well enough by this time that your
ancient chum is a man of a pretty strong will. Yes, Sydney, I have had
enough of this style of life, with no other as a change from it; I feel
that it is a pleasant thing for a man to have a home when he feels
inclined to go to it (when he doesnrCOt, he can stay away), and I feel that Miss Manette will tell well in any station, and will always do me credit.
So I have made up my mind. And now, Sydney, old boy, I want to say a word
to you about your prospects. You are in a bad way, you know; you really
are in a bad way. You donrCOt know the value of money, you live hard,
yourCOll knock up one of these days, and be ill and poor; you really ought
to think about a nurse.rCY

The prosperous patronage with which he said it, made him look twice as
big as he was, and four times as offensive.

rCLNow, let me recommend you,rCY pursued Stryver, rCLto look it in the face. I have looked it in the face, in my different way; look it in the face,
you, in your different way. Marry. Provide somebody to take care of you.
Never mind your having no enjoyment of womenrCOs society, nor understanding
of it, nor tact for it. Find out somebody. Find out some respectable
woman with a little propertyrCosomebody in the landlady way, or lodging- letting wayrCoand marry her, against a rainy day. ThatrCOs the kind of thing for you. Now think of it, Sydney.rCY

rCLIrCOll think of it,rCY said Sydney.

CHAPTER XII.
The Fellow of Delicacy
Mr. Stryver having made up his mind to that magnanimous bestowal of good fortune on the DoctorrCOs daughter, resolved to make her happiness known to her before he left town for the Long Vacation. After some mental debating
of the point, he came to the conclusion that it would be as well to get
all the preliminaries done with, and they could then arrange at their
leisure whether he should give her his hand a week or two before
Michaelmas Term, or in the little Christmas vacation between it and
Hilary.

As to the strength of his case, he had not a doubt about it, but clearly
saw his way to the verdict. Argued with the jury on substantial worldly groundsrCothe only grounds ever worth taking into accountrCoit was a plain case, and had not a weak spot in it. He called himself for the plaintiff, there was no getting over his evidence, the counsel for the defendant
threw up his brief, and the jury did not even turn to consider. After
trying it, Stryver, C. J., was satisfied that no plainer case could be.

Accordingly, Mr. Stryver inaugurated the Long Vacation with a formal
proposal to take Miss Manette to Vauxhall Gardens; that failing, to
Ranelagh; that unaccountably failing too, it behoved him to present
himself in Soho, and there declare his noble mind.

Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way from the Temple,
while the bloom of the Long VacationrCOs infancy was still upon it. Anybody who had seen him projecting himself into Soho while he was yet on Saint DunstanrCOs side of Temple Bar, bursting in his full-blown way along the pavement, to the jostlement of all weaker people, might have seen how
safe and strong he was.

His way taking him past TellsonrCOs, and he both banking at TellsonrCOs and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the Manettes, it entered Mr. StryverrCOs mind to enter the bank, and reveal to Mr. Lorry the brightness
of the Soho horizon. So, he pushed open the door with the weak rattle in
its throat, stumbled down the two steps, got past the two ancient
cashiers, and shouldered himself into the musty back closet where Mr.
Lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars
to his window as if that were ruled for figures too, and everything under
the clouds were a sum.

rCLHalloa!rCY said Mr. Stryver. rCLHow do you do? I hope you are well!rCY

It was StryverrCOs grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big for any place, or space. He was so much too big for TellsonrCOs, that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he
squeezed them against the wall. The House itself, magnificently reading
the paper quite in the far-off perspective, lowered displeased, as if the Stryver head had been butted into its responsible waistcoat.

The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he would
recommend under the circumstances, rCLHow do you do, Mr. Stryver? How do
you do, sir?rCY and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in his manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at TellsonrCOs who shook
hands with a customer when the House pervaded the air. He shook in a self-abnegating way, as one who shook for Tellson and Co.

rCLCan I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?rCY asked Mr. Lorry, in his
business character.

rCLWhy, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I
have come for a private word.rCY

rCLOh indeed!rCY said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye strayed to the House afar off.

rCLI am going,rCY said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to be
not half desk enough for him: rCLI am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry.rCY

rCLOh dear me!rCY cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously.

rCLOh dear me, sir?rCY repeated Stryver, drawing back. rCLOh dear you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?rCY

rCLMy meaning,rCY answered the man of business, rCLis, of course, friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, andrCoin short, my meaning is everything you could desire. ButrCoreally, you know, Mr. Stryver rCorCY Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as
if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, rCLyou know there really is so much too much of you!rCY

rCLWell!rCY said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand,
opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, rCLif I understand you,
Mr. Lorry, IrCOll be hanged!rCY

Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards that
end, and bit the feather of a pen.

rCLDrCon it all, sir!rCY said Stryver, staring at him, rCLam I not eligible?rCY

rCLOh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, yourCOre eligible!rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLIf you say
eligible, you are eligible.rCY

0524m
Original
rCLAm I not prosperous?rCY asked Stryver.

rCLOh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous,rCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLAnd advancing?rCY

rCLIf you come to advancing you know,rCY said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be able to make another admission, rCLnobody can doubt that.rCY

rCLThen what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?rCY demanded Stryver, perceptibly crestfallen.

rCLWell! IrCoWere you going there now?rCY asked Mr. Lorry.

rCLStraight!rCY said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk.

rCLThen I think I wouldnrCOt, if I was you.rCY

rCLWhy?rCY said Stryver. rCLNow, IrCOll put you in a corner,rCY forensically shaking a forefinger at him. rCLYou are a man of business and bound to have
a reason. State your reason. Why wouldnrCOt you go?rCY

rCLBecause,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLI wouldnrCOt go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed.rCY

rCLDrCon me!rCY cried Stryver, rCLbut this beats everything.rCY

Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry Stryver.

rCLHererCOs a man of businessrCoa man of yearsrCoa man of experiencerCoin a Bank,rCY
said Stryver; rCLand having summed up three leading reasons for complete success, he says thererCOs no reason at all! Says it with his head on!rCY Mr. Stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would have been infinitely
less remarkable if he had said it with his head off.

rCLWhen I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and
when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak of
causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. The young
lady, my good sir,rCY said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver arm, rCLthe young lady. The young lady goes before all.rCY

rCLThen you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry,rCY said Stryver, squaring his elbows, rCLthat it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in question is a mincing Fool?rCY

rCLNot exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver,rCY said Mr. Lorry, reddening, rCLthat I will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady
from any lips; and that if I knew any manrCowhich I hope I do notrCowhose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could
not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at
this desk, not even TellsonrCOs should prevent my giving him a piece of my mind.rCY

The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. StryverrCOs blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry;
Mr. LorryrCOs veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, were in
no better state now it was his turn.

rCLThat is what I mean to tell you, sir,rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLPray let there be no mistake about it.rCY

Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which probably gave him the toothache. He broke the awkward silence by saying:

rCLThis is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You deliberately advise me not
to go up to Soho and offer myselfrComyself, Stryver of the KingrCOs Bench bar?rCY

rCLDo you ask me for my advice, Mr. Stryver?rCY

rCLYes, I do.rCY

rCLVery good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it correctly.rCY

rCLAnd all I can say of it is,rCY laughed Stryver with a vexed laugh, rCLthat thisrCoha, ha!rCobeats everything past, present, and to come.rCY

rCLNow understand me,rCY pursued Mr. Lorry. rCLAs a man of business, I am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man of
business, I know nothing of it. But, as an old fellow, who has carried
Miss Manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and
of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I have
spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. Now, you think I
may not be right?rCY

rCLNot I!rCY said Stryver, whistling. rCLI canrCOt undertake to find third parties in common sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose sense
in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. ItrCOs
new to me, but you are right, I dare say.rCY

rCLWhat I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myselfrCoAnd understand me, sir,rCY said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again, rCLI will notrCo not even at TellsonrCOsrCohave it characterised for me by any gentleman breathing.rCY

rCLThere! I beg your pardon!rCY said Stryver.

rCLGranted. Thank you. Well, Mr. Stryver, I was about to say:rCoit might be painful to you to find yourself mistaken, it might be painful to Doctor Manette to have the task of being explicit with you, it might be very
painful to Miss Manette to have the task of being explicit with you. You
know the terms upon which I have the honour and happiness to stand with
the family. If you please, committing you in no way, representing you in
no way, I will undertake to correct my advice by the exercise of a little
new observation and judgment expressly brought to bear upon it. If you
should then be dissatisfied with it, you can but test its soundness for yourself; if, on the other hand, you should be satisfied with it, and it should be what it now is, it may spare all sides what is best spared.
What do you say?rCY

rCLHow long would you keep me in town?rCY

rCLOh! It is only a question of a few hours. I could go to Soho in the evening, and come to your chambers afterwards.rCY

rCLThen I say yes,rCY said Stryver: rCLI wonrCOt go up there now, I am not so hot
upon it as that comes to; I say yes, and I shall expect you to look in to-night. Good morning.rCY

Then Mr. Stryver turned and burst out of the Bank, causing such a
concussion of air on his passage through, that to stand up against it
bowing behind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength of
the two ancient clerks. Those venerable and feeble persons were always
seen by the public in the act of bowing, and were popularly believed,
when they had bowed a customer out, still to keep on bowing in the empty office until they bowed another customer in.

The barrister was keen enough to divine that the banker would not have
gone so far in his expression of opinion on any less solid ground than
moral certainty. Unprepared as he was for the large pill he had to
swallow, he got it down. rCLAnd now,rCY said Mr. Stryver, shaking his
forensic forefinger at the Temple in general, when it was down, rCLmy way
out of this, is, to put you all in the wrong.rCY

It was a bit of the art of an Old Bailey tactician, in which he found
great relief. rCLYou shall not put me in the wrong, young lady,rCY said Mr. Stryver; rCLIrCOll do that for you.rCY

Accordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night as late as ten orCOclock, Mr. Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for the
purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his mind than the subject of the morning. He even showed surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry, and was
altogether in an absent and preoccupied state.

rCLWell!rCY said that good-natured emissary, after a full half-hour of bootless attempts to bring him round to the question. rCLI have been to Soho.rCY

rCLTo Soho?rCY repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. rCLOh, to be sure! What am I thinking of!rCY

rCLAnd I have no doubt,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLthat I was right in the conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice.rCY

rCLI assure you,rCY returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, rCLthat I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor fatherrCOs
account. I know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let
us say no more about it.rCY

rCLI donrCOt understand you,rCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLI dare say not,rCY rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing and final way; rCLno matter, no matter.rCY

rCLBut it does matter,rCY Mr. Lorry urged.

rCLNo it doesnrCOt; I assure you it doesnrCOt. Having supposed that there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not
a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done.
Young women have committed similar follies often before, and have
repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an unselfish
aspect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it would have been
a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am
glad that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing
for me in a worldly point of viewrCoit is hardly necessary to say I could
have gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not
proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no means
certain, on reflection, that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and
giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you
will always be disappointed. Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you,
I regret it on account of others, but I am satisfied on my own account.
And I am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you,
and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better than I do;
you were right, it never would have done.rCY

Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at Mr.
Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head. rCLMake the best
of it, my dear sir,rCY said Stryver; rCLsay no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good night!rCY

Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was. Mr. Stryver
was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling.

CHAPTER XIII.
The Fellow of No Delicacy
If Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in the
house of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole year,
and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. When he
cared to talk, he talked well; but, the cloud of caring for nothing,
which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely
pierced by the light within him.

And yet he did care something for the streets that environed that house,
and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. Many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered there, when wine had brought no transitory gladness to him; many a dreary daybreak revealed his solitary figure
lingering there, and still lingering there when the first beams of the
sun brought into strong relief, removed beauties of architecture in
spires of churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet time brought
some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattainable, into his
mind. Of late, the neglected bed in the Temple Court had known him more scantily than ever; and often when he had thrown himself upon it no
longer than a few minutes, he had got up again, and haunted that neighbourhood.

On a day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after notifying to his jackal that
rCLhe had thought better of that marrying matterrCY) had carried his delicacy into Devonshire, and when the sight and scent of flowers in the City
streets had some waifs of goodness in them for the worst, of health for
the sickliest, and of youth for the oldest, SydneyrCOs feet still trod
those stones. From being irresolute and purposeless, his feet became
animated by an intention, and, in the working out of that intention, they
took him to the DoctorrCOs door.

He was shown up-stairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She had never
been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. But, looking up at his
face in the interchange of the first few common-places, she observed a
change in it.

rCLI fear you are not well, Mr. Carton!rCY

rCLNo. But the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive to health. What
is to be expected of, or by, such profligates?rCY

rCLIs it notrCoforgive me; I have begun the question on my lipsrCoa pity to live no better life?rCY

rCLGod knows it is a shame!rCY

rCLThen why not change it?rCY

Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that
there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he answered:

rCLIt is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, and be worse.rCY

He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. The
table trembled in the silence that followed.

She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to
be so, without looking at her, and said:

rCLPray forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the knowledge of what
I want to say to you. Will you hear me?rCY

rCLIf it will do you any good, Mr. Carton, if it would make you happier, it would make me very glad!rCY

rCLGod bless you for your sweet compassion!rCY

He unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily.

rCLDonrCOt be afraid to hear me. DonrCOt shrink from anything I say. I am like one who died young. All my life might have been.rCY

rCLNo, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be; I am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself.rCY

rCLSay of you, Miss Manette, and although I know betterrCoalthough in the mystery of my own wretched heart I know betterrCoI shall never forget it!rCY

She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed despair of himself which made the interview unlike any other that could have been
holden.

rCLIf it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before yourselfrCoflung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to berCohe would have been conscious
this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you,
pull you down with him. I know very well that you can have no tenderness
for me; I ask for none; I am even thankful that it cannot be.rCY

rCLWithout it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton? Can I not recall yourCoforgive me again!rCoto a better course? Can I in no way repay your confidence? I
know this is a confidence,rCY she modestly said, after a little hesitation, and in earnest tears, rCLI know you would say this to no one else. Can I
turn it to no good account for yourself, Mr. Carton?rCY

He shook his head.

rCLTo none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through a very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to know that
you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not
been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of this
home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I thought had
died out of me. Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that
I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent for ever. I have
had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth
and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, all a
dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down,
but I wish you to know that you inspired it.rCY

rCLWill nothing of it remain? O Mr. Carton, think again! Try again!rCY

rCLNo, Miss Manette; all through it, I have known myself to be quite undeserving. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the
weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me,
heap of ashes that I am, into firerCoa fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no
service, idly burning away.rCY

rCLSince it is my misfortune, Mr. Carton, to have made you more unhappy
than you were before you knew merCorCY

rCLDonrCOt say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if anything could. You will not be the cause of my becoming worse.rCY

rCLSince the state of your mind that you describe, is, at all events, attributable to some influence of minerCothis is what I mean, if I can make
it plainrCocan I use no influence to serve you? Have I no power for good,
with you, at all?rCY

rCLThe utmost good that I am capable of now, Miss Manette, I have come here
to realise. Let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life, the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the world; and
that there was something left in me at this time which you could deplore
and pity.rCY

rCLWhich I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, with
all my heart, was capable of better things, Mr. Carton!rCY

rCLEntreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved myself,
and I know better. I distress you; I draw fast to an end. Will you let me believe, when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone,
and will be shared by no one?rCY

rCLIf that will be a consolation to you, yes.rCY

rCLNot even by the dearest one ever to be known to you?rCY

rCLMr. Carton,rCY she answered, after an agitated pause, rCLthe secret is yours, not mine; and I promise to respect it.rCY

rCLThank you. And again, God bless you.rCY

He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door.

rCLBe under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. I will never refer to it
again. If I were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In
the hour of my death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrancerCoand
shall thank and bless you for itrCothat my last avowal of myself was made
to you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in
your heart. May it otherwise be light and happy!rCY

He was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so sad
to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every day kept down
and perverted, that Lucie Manette wept mournfully for him as he stood
looking back at her.

rCLBe comforted!rCY he said, rCLI am not worth such feeling, Miss Manette. An hour or two hence, and the low companions and low habits that I scorn but yield to, will render me less worth such tears as those, than any wretch
who creeps along the streets. Be comforted! But, within myself, I shall
always be, towards you, what I am now, though outwardly I shall be what
you have heretofore seen me. The last supplication but one I make to you,
is, that you will believe this of me.rCY

rCLI will, Mr. Carton.rCY

rCLMy last supplication of all, is this; and with it, I will relieve you of
a visitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between
whom and you there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I
know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I
would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was
any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any
sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind,
at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time
will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be
formed about yourCoties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly
to the home you so adornrCothe dearest ties that will ever grace and
gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy fatherrCOs face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up
anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give
his life, to keep a life you love beside you!rCY

He said, rCLFarewell!rCY said a last rCLGod bless you!rCY and left her.

CHAPTER XIV.
The Honest Tradesman
To the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool in Fleet-
street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of
objects in movement were every day presented. Who could sit upon anything
in Fleet-street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tending westward with the
sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to
the plains beyond the range of red and purple where the sun goes down!

With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two streams,
like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on duty
watching one streamrCosaving that Jerry had no expectation of their ever running dry. Nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful kind,
since a small part of his income was derived from the pilotage of timid
women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle term of life) from TellsonrCOs side of the tides to the opposite shore. Brief as such companionship was in every separate instance, Mr. Cruncher never failed
to become so interested in the lady as to express a strong desire to have
the honour of drinking her very good health. And it was from the gifts bestowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that
he recruited his finances, as just now observed.

Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in
the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a public place, but
not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him.

It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were few,
and belated women few, and when his affairs in general were so
unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that Mrs.
Cruncher must have been rCLfloppingrCY in some pointed manner, when an
unusual concourse pouring down Fleet-street westward, attracted his
attention. Looking that way, Mr. Cruncher made out that some kind of
funeral was coming along, and that there was popular objection to this funeral, which engendered uproar.

rCLYoung Jerry,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring, rCLitrCOs a buryinrCO.rCY

rCLHooroar, father!rCY cried Young Jerry.

The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious
significance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched
his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on the ear.

rCLWhat drCOye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want to conwey
to your own father, you young Rip? This boy is a getting too many for
me!rCY said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. rCLHim and his hooroars! DonrCOt let me hear no more of you, or you shall feel some more of me. DrCOye hear?rCY

rCLI warnrCOt doing no harm,rCY Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek.

rCLDrop it then,rCY said Mr. Cruncher; rCLI wonrCOt have none of your no harms.
Get a top of that there seat, and look at the crowd.rCY

His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and hissing
round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in which mourning coach
there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trappings that were considered essential to the dignity of the position. The position
appeared by no means to please him, however, with an increasing rabble surrounding the coach, deriding him, making grimaces at him, and
incessantly groaning and calling out: rCLYah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! Spies!rCY
with many compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat.

Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr. Cruncher; he
always pricked up his senses, and became excited, when a funeral passed TellsonrCOs. Naturally, therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendance excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran against him:

rCLWhat is it, brother? WhatrCOs it about?rCY

rCLI donrCOt know,rCY said the man. rCLSpies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!rCY

He asked another man. rCLWho is it?rCY

rCLI donrCOt know,rCY returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising heat and with the greatest ardour, rCLSpies! Yaha! Tst, tst! SpirCoies!rCY

At length, a person better informed on the merits of the case, tumbled
against him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was the
funeral of one Roger Cly.

rCLWas he a spy?rCY asked Mr. Cruncher.

rCLOld Bailey spy,rCY returned his informant. rCLYaha! Tst! Yah! Old Bailey Spi rCoirCoies!rCY

rCLWhy, to be sure!rCY exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at which he had assisted. rCLIrCOve seen him. Dead, is he?rCY

rCLDead as mutton,rCY returned the other, rCLand canrCOt be too dead. Have rCOem
out, there! Spies! Pull rCOem out, there! Spies!rCY

The idea was so acceptable in the prevalent absence of any idea, that the crowd caught it up with eagerness, and loudly repeating the suggestion to
have rCOem out, and to pull rCOem out, mobbed the two vehicles so closely
that they came to a stop. On the crowdrCOs opening the coach doors, the one mourner scuffled out by himself and was in their hands for a moment; but
he was so alert, and made such good use of his time, that in another
moment he was scouring away up a bye-street, after shedding his cloak,
hat, long hatband, white pocket-handkerchief, and other symbolical tears.

These, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide with great enjoyment, while the tradesmen hurriedly shut up their shops; for a crowd
in those times stopped at nothing, and was a monster much dreaded. They
had already got the length of opening the hearse to take the coffin out,
when some brighter genius proposed instead, its being escorted to its destination amidst general rejoicing. Practical suggestions being much
needed, this suggestion, too, was received with acclamation, and the
coach was immediately filled with eight inside and a dozen out, while as
many people got on the roof of the hearse as could by any exercise of ingenuity stick upon it. Among the first of these volunteers was Jerry Cruncher himself, who modestly concealed his spiky head from the
observation of TellsonrCOs, in the further corner of the mourning coach.

The officiating undertakers made some protest against these changes in
the ceremonies; but, the river being alarmingly near, and several voices remarking on the efficacy of cold immersion in bringing refractory
members of the profession to reason, the protest was faint and brief. The remodelled procession started, with a chimney-sweep driving the hearserCo advised by the regular driver, who was perched beside him, under close inspection, for the purposerCoand with a pieman, also attended by his
cabinet minister, driving the mourning coach. A bear-leader, a popular
street character of the time, was impressed as an additional ornament,
before the cavalcade had gone far down the Strand; and his bear, who was
black and very mangy, gave quite an Undertaking air to that part of the procession in which he walked.

0535m
Original
Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, and infinite caricaturing of woe, the disorderly procession went its way, recruiting
at every step, and all the shops shutting up before it. Its destination
was the old church of Saint Pancras, far off in the fields. It got there
in course of time; insisted on pouring into the burial-ground; finally, accomplished the interment of the deceased Roger Cly in its own way, and highly to its own satisfaction.

The dead man disposed of, and the crowd being under the necessity of
providing some other entertainment for itself, another brighter genius
(or perhaps the same) conceived the humour of impeaching casual passers-
by, as Old Bailey spies, and wreaking vengeance on them. Chase was given
to some scores of inoffensive persons who had never been near the Old
Bailey in their lives, in the realisation of this fancy, and they were
roughly hustled and maltreated. The transition to the sport of window- breaking, and thence to the plundering of public-houses, was easy and
natural. At last, after several hours, when sundry summer-houses had been pulled down, and some area-railings had been torn up, to arm the more belligerent spirits, a rumour got about that the Guards were coming.
Before this rumour, the crowd gradually melted away, and perhaps the
Guards came, and perhaps they never came, and this was the usual progress
of a mob.

Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing sports, but had remained
behind in the churchyard, to confer and condole with the undertakers. The place had a soothing influence on him. He procured a pipe from a
neighbouring public-house, and smoked it, looking in at the railings and maturely considering the spot.

rCLJerry,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, apostrophising himself in his usual way, rCLyou
see that there Cly that day, and you see with your own eyes that he was a young rCOun and a straight made rCOun.rCY

Having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a little longer, he turned
himself about, that he might appear, before the hour of closing, on his station at TellsonrCOs. Whether his meditations on mortality had touched
his liver, or whether his general health had been previously at all
amiss, or whether he desired to show a little attention to an eminent
man, is not so much to the purpose, as that he made a short call upon his medical adviserrCoa distinguished surgeonrCoon his way back.

Young Jerry relieved his father with dutiful interest, and reported No
job in his absence. The bank closed, the ancient clerks came out, the
usual watch was set, and Mr. Cruncher and his son went home to tea.

rCLNow, I tell you where it is!rCY said Mr. Cruncher to his wife, on
entering. rCLIf, as a honest tradesman, my wenturs goes wrong to-night, I shall make sure that yourCOve been praying again me, and I shall work you
for it just the same as if I seen you do it.rCY

The dejected Mrs. Cruncher shook her head.

rCLWhy, yourCOre at it afore my face!rCY said Mr. Cruncher, with signs of angry
apprehension.

rCLI am saying nothing.rCY

rCLWell, then; donrCOt meditate nothing. You might as well flop as meditate. You may as well go again me one way as another. Drop it altogether.rCY

rCLYes, Jerry.rCY

rCLYes, Jerry,rCY repeated Mr. Cruncher sitting down to tea. rCLAh! It is yes, Jerry. ThatrCOs about it. You may say yes, Jerry.rCY

Mr. Cruncher had no particular meaning in these sulky corroborations, but
made use of them, as people not unfrequently do, to express general
ironical dissatisfaction.

rCLYou and your yes, Jerry,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, taking a bite out of his bread-and-butter, and seeming to help it down with a large invisible
oyster out of his saucer. rCLAh! I think so. I believe you.rCY

rCLYou are going out to-night?rCY asked his decent wife, when he took another bite.

rCLYes, I am.rCY

rCLMay I go with you, father?rCY asked his son, briskly.

rCLNo, you maynrCOt. IrCOm a goingrCoas your mother knowsrCoa fishing. ThatrCOs where
IrCOm going to. Going a fishing.rCY

rCLYour fishing-rod gets rayther rusty; donrCOt it, father?rCY

rCLNever you mind.rCY

rCLShall you bring any fish home, father?rCY

rCLIf I donrCOt, yourCOll have short commons, to-morrow,rCY returned that gentleman, shaking his head; rCLthatrCOs questions enough for you; I ainrCOt a going out, till yourCOve been long abed.rCY

He devoted himself during the remainder of the evening to keeping a most vigilant watch on Mrs. Cruncher, and sullenly holding her in conversation
that she might be prevented from meditating any petitions to his
disadvantage. With this view, he urged his son to hold her in
conversation also, and led the unfortunate woman a hard life by dwelling
on any causes of complaint he could bring against her, rather than he
would leave her for a moment to her own reflections. The devoutest person could have rendered no greater homage to the efficacy of an honest prayer
than he did in this distrust of his wife. It was as if a professed
unbeliever in ghosts should be frightened by a ghost story.

rCLAnd mind you!rCY said Mr. Cruncher. rCLNo games to-morrow! If I, as a honest
tradesman, succeed in providing a jinte of meat or two, none of your not touching of it, and sticking to bread. If I, as a honest tradesman, am
able to provide a little beer, none of your declaring on water. When you
go to Rome, do as Rome does. Rome will be a ugly customer to you, if you donrCOt. IrCOm your Rome, you know.rCY

Then he began grumbling again:

rCLWith your flying into the face of your own wittles and drink! I donrCOt know how scarce you maynrCOt make the wittles and drink here, by your
flopping tricks and your unfeeling conduct. Look at your boy: he is
yourrCOn, ainrCOt he? HerCOs as thin as a lath. Do you call yourself a mother, and not know that a motherrCOs first duty is to blow her boy out?rCY

This touched Young Jerry on a tender place; who adjured his mother to
perform her first duty, and, whatever else she did or neglected, above
all things to lay especial stress on the discharge of that maternal
function so affectingly and delicately indicated by his other parent.

Thus the evening wore away with the Cruncher family, until Young Jerry
was ordered to bed, and his mother, laid under similar injunctions,
obeyed them. Mr. Cruncher beguiled the earlier watches of the night with solitary pipes, and did not start upon his excursion until nearly one orCOclock. Towards that small and ghostly hour, he rose up from his chair, took a key out of his pocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought forth
a sack, a crowbar of convenient size, a rope and chain, and other fishing tackle of that nature. Disposing these articles about him in skilful
manner, he bestowed a parting defiance on Mrs. Cruncher, extinguished the light, and went out.

Young Jerry, who had only made a feint of undressing when he went to bed,
was not long after his father. Under cover of the darkness he followed
out of the room, followed down the stairs, followed down the court,
followed out into the streets. He was in no uneasiness concerning his
getting into the house again, for it was full of lodgers, and the door
stood ajar all night.

Impelled by a laudable ambition to study the art and mystery of his
fatherrCOs honest calling, Young Jerry, keeping as close to house fronts, walls, and doorways, as his eyes were close to one another, held his
honoured parent in view. The honoured parent steering Northward, had not
gone far, when he was joined by another disciple of Izaak Walton, and the
two trudged on together.

Within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyond the winking lamps, and the more than winking watchmen, and were out upon a lonely
road. Another fisherman was picked up hererCoand that so silently, that if Young Jerry had been superstitious, he might have supposed the second
follower of the gentle craft to have, all of a sudden, split himself into
two.

The three went on, and Young Jerry went on, until the three stopped under
a bank overhanging the road. Upon the top of the bank was a low brick
wall, surmounted by an iron railing. In the shadow of bank and wall the
three turned out of the road, and up a blind lane, of which the wallrCo
there, risen to some eight or ten feet highrCoformed one side. Crouching
down in a corner, peeping up the lane, the next object that Young Jerry
saw, was the form of his honoured parent, pretty well defined against a
watery and clouded moon, nimbly scaling an iron gate. He was soon over,
and then the second fisherman got over, and then the third. They all
dropped softly on the ground within the gate, and lay there a littlerCo listening perhaps. Then, they moved away on their hands and knees.

It was now Young JerryrCOs turn to approach the gate: which he did, holding his breath. Crouching down again in a corner there, and looking in, he
made out the three fishermen creeping through some rank grass! and all
the gravestones in the churchyardrCoit was a large churchyard that they
were inrColooking on like ghosts in white, while the church tower itself looked on like the ghost of a monstrous giant. They did not creep far,
before they stopped and stood upright. And then they began to fish.

They fished with a spade, at first. Presently the honoured parent
appeared to be adjusting some instrument like a great corkscrew. Whatever tools they worked with, they worked hard, until the awful striking of the church clock so terrified Young Jerry, that he made off, with his hair as stiff as his fatherrCOs.

But, his long-cherished desire to know more about these matters, not only stopped him in his running away, but lured him back again. They were
still fishing perseveringly, when he peeped in at the gate for the second time; but, now they seemed to have got a bite. There was a screwing and complaining sound down below, and their bent figures were strained, as if
by a weight. By slow degrees the weight broke away the earth upon it, and
came to the surface. Young Jerry very well knew what it would be; but,
when he saw it, and saw his honoured parent about to wrench it open, he
was so frightened, being new to the sight, that he made off again, and
never stopped until he had run a mile or more.

He would not have stopped then, for anything less necessary than breath,
it being a spectral sort of race that he ran, and one highly desirable to
get to the end of. He had a strong idea that the coffin he had seen was running after him; and, pictured as hopping on behind him, bolt upright,
upon its narrow end, always on the point of overtaking him and hopping on
at his siderCoperhaps taking his armrCoit was a pursuer to shun. It was an inconsistent and ubiquitous fiend too, for, while it was making the whole night behind him dreadful, he darted out into the roadway to avoid dark alleys, fearful of its coming hopping out of them like a dropsical boyrCOs kite without tail and wings. It hid in doorways too, rubbing its horrible shoulders against doors, and drawing them up to its ears, as if it were laughing. It got into shadows on the road, and lay cunningly on its back
to trip him up. All this time it was incessantly hopping on behind and
gaining on him, so that when the boy got to his own door he had reason
for being half dead. And even then it would not leave him, but followed
him upstairs with a bump on every stair, scrambled into bed with him, and bumped down, dead and heavy, on his breast when he fell asleep.

From his oppressed slumber, Young Jerry in his closet was awakened after daybreak and before sunrise, by the presence of his father in the family
room. Something had gone wrong with him; at least, so Young Jerry
inferred, from the circumstance of his holding Mrs. Cruncher by the ears,
and knocking the back of her head against the head-board of the bed.

rCLI told you I would,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, rCLand I did.rCY

rCLJerry, Jerry, Jerry!rCY his wife implored.

rCLYou oppose yourself to the profit of the business,rCY said Jerry, rCLand me and my partners suffer. You was to honour and obey; why the devil donrCOt you?rCY

rCLI try to be a good wife, Jerry,rCY the poor woman protested, with tears.

rCLIs it being a good wife to oppose your husbandrCOs business? Is it honouring your husband to dishonour his business? Is it obeying your
husband to disobey him on the wital subject of his business?rCY

rCLYou hadnrCOt taken to the dreadful business then, Jerry.rCY

rCLItrCOs enough for you,rCY retorted Mr. Cruncher, rCLto be the wife of a honest
tradesman, and not to occupy your female mind with calculations when he
took to his trade or when he didnrCOt. A honouring and obeying wife would
let his trade alone altogether. Call yourself a religious woman? If
yourCOre a religious woman, give me a irreligious one! You have no more natrCOral sense of duty than the bed of this here Thames river has of a
pile, and similarly it must be knocked into you.rCY

The altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice, and terminated in
the honest tradesmanrCOs kicking off his clay-soiled boots, and lying down
at his length on the floor. After taking a timid peep at him lying on his back, with his rusty hands under his head for a pillow, his son lay down
too, and fell asleep again.

There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else. Mr.
Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept an iron pot-lid
by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs. Cruncher, in case he
should observe any symptoms of her saying Grace. He was brushed and
washed at the usual hour, and set off with his son to pursue his
ostensible calling.

Young Jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at his fatherrCOs side
along sunny and crowded Fleet-street, was a very different Young Jerry
from him of the previous night, running home through darkness and
solitude from his grim pursuer. His cunning was fresh with the day, and
his qualms were gone with the nightrCoin which particulars it is not improbable that he had compeers in Fleet-street and the City of London,
that fine morning.

rCLFather,rCY said Young Jerry, as they walked along: taking care to keep at armrCOs length and to have the stool well between them: rCLwhatrCOs a Resurrection-Man?rCY

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he answered, rCLHow
should I know?rCY

rCLI thought you knowed everything, father,rCY said the artless boy.

rCLHem! Well,rCY returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, and lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play, rCLherCOs a tradesman.rCY

rCLWhatrCOs his goods, father?rCY asked the brisk Young Jerry.

rCLHis goods,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, rCLis a branch of Scientific goods.rCY

rCLPersonsrCO bodies, ainrCOt it, father?rCY asked the lively boy.

rCLI believe it is something of that sort,rCY said Mr. Cruncher.

rCLOh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection-Man when IrCOm quite growed up!rCY

Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and moral way.
rCLIt depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Be careful to dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you can help to nobody, and
thererCOs no telling at the present time what you may not come to be fit for.rCY As Young Jerry, thus encouraged, went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself: rCLJerry, you honest tradesman, thererCOs hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to you for his mother!rCY

CHAPTER XV.
Knitting
There had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. As early as six orCOclock in the morning, sallow faces peeping through its barred windows had descried other faces within, bending over measures of wine. Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wine at the best of
times, but it would seem to have been an unusually thin wine that he sold
at this time. A sour wine, moreover, or a souring, for its influence on
the mood of those who drank it was to make them gloomy. No vivacious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grape of Monsieur Defarge:
but, a smouldering fire that burnt in the dark, lay hidden in the dregs
of it.

This had been the third morning in succession, on which there had been
early drinking at the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. It had begun on
Monday, and here was Wednesday come. There had been more of early
brooding than drinking; for, many men had listened and whispered and
slunk about there from the time of the opening of the door, who could not
have laid a piece of money on the counter to save their souls. These were
to the full as interested in the place, however, as if they could have commanded whole barrels of wine; and they glided from seat to seat, and
from corner to corner, swallowing talk in lieu of drink, with greedy
looks.

Notwithstanding an unusual flow of company, the master of the wine-shop
was not visible. He was not missed; for, nobody who crossed the threshold looked for him, nobody asked for him, nobody wondered to see only Madame Defarge in her seat, presiding over the distribution of wine, with a bowl
of battered small coins before her, as much defaced and beaten out of
their original impress as the small coinage of humanity from whose ragged pockets they had come.

A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind, were perhaps
observed by the spies who looked in at the wine-shop, as they looked in
at every place, high and low, from the kingrCOs palace to the criminalrCOs gaol. Games at cards languished, players at dominoes musingly built
towers with them, drinkers drew figures on the tables with spilt drops of wine, Madame Defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleeve with
her toothpick, and saw and heard something inaudible and invisible a long
way off.

Thus, Saint Antoine in this vinous feature of his, until midday. It was
high noontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets and under
his swinging lamps: of whom, one was Monsieur Defarge: the other a mender
of roads in a blue cap. All adust and athirst, the two entered the wine-
shop. Their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breast of Saint
Antoine, fast spreading as they came along, which stirred and flickered
in flames of faces at most doors and windows. Yet, no one had followed
them, and no man spoke when they entered the wine-shop, though the eyes
of every man there were turned upon them.

0544m
Original
rCLGood day, gentlemen!rCY said Monsieur Defarge.

It may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue. It elicited
an answering chorus of rCLGood day!rCY

rCLIt is bad weather, gentlemen,rCY said Defarge, shaking his head.

Upon which, every man looked at his neighbour, and then all cast down
their eyes and sat silent. Except one man, who got up and went out.

rCLMy wife,rCY said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame Defarge: rCLI have travelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads, called Jacques.
I met himrCoby accidentrCoa day and halfrCOs journey out of Paris. He is a good
child, this mender of roads, called Jacques. Give him to drink, my wife!rCY

A second man got up and went out. Madame Defarge set wine before the
mender of roads called Jacques, who doffed his blue cap to the company,
and drank. In the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse dark bread;
he ate of this between whiles, and sat munching and drinking near Madame DefargerCOs counter. A third man got up and went out.

Defarge refreshed himself with a draught of winerCobut, he took less than
was given to the stranger, as being himself a man to whom it was no rarityrCoand stood waiting until the countryman had made his breakfast. He looked at no one present, and no one now looked at him; not even Madame Defarge, who had taken up her knitting, and was at work.

rCLHave you finished your repast, friend?rCY he asked, in due season.

rCLYes, thank you.rCY

rCLCome, then! You shall see the apartment that I told you you could
occupy. It will suit you to a marvel.rCY

Out of the wine-shop into the street, out of the street into a courtyard,
out of the courtyard up a steep staircase, out of the staircase into a garretrCoformerly the garret where a white-haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making shoes.

No white-haired man was there now; but, the three men were there who had
gone out of the wine-shop singly. And between them and the white-haired
man afar off, was the one small link, that they had once looked in at him through the chinks in the wall.

Defarge closed the door carefully, and spoke in a subdued voice:

rCLJacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three! This is the witness encountered
by appointment, by me, Jacques Four. He will tell you all. Speak, Jacques Five!rCY

The mender of roads, blue cap in hand, wiped his swarthy forehead with
it, and said, rCLWhere shall I commence, monsieur?rCY

rCLCommence,rCY was Monsieur DefargerCOs not unreasonable reply, rCLat the commencement.rCY

rCLI saw him then, messieurs,rCY began the mender of roads, rCLa year ago this running summer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging by the
chain. Behold the manner of it. I leaving my work on the road, the sun
going to bed, the carriage of the Marquis slowly ascending the hill, he hanging by the chainrColike this.rCY

Again the mender of roads went through the whole performance; in which he ought to have been perfect by that time, seeing that it had been the infallible resource and indispensable entertainment of his village during
a whole year.

Jacques One struck in, and asked if he had ever seen the man before?

rCLNever,rCY answered the mender of roads, recovering his perpendicular.

Jacques Three demanded how he afterwards recognised him then?

rCLBy his tall figure,rCY said the mender of roads, softly, and with his finger at his nose. rCLWhen Monsieur the Marquis demands that evening,
rCySay, what is he like?rCO I make response, rCyTall as a spectre.rCOrCY

rCLYou should have said, short as a dwarf,rCY returned Jacques Two.

rCLBut what did I know? The deed was not then accomplished, neither did he confide in me. Observe! Under those circumstances even, I do not offer my testimony. Monsieur the Marquis indicates me with his finger, standing
near our little fountain, and says, rCyTo me! Bring that rascal!rCO My faith, messieurs, I offer nothing.rCY

rCLHe is right there, Jacques,rCY murmured Defarge, to him who had interrupted. rCLGo on!rCY

rCLGood!rCY said the mender of roads, with an air of mystery. rCLThe tall man is lost, and he is soughtrCohow many months? Nine, ten, eleven?rCY

rCLNo matter, the number,rCY said Defarge. rCLHe is well hidden, but at last he
is unluckily found. Go on!rCY

rCLI am again at work upon the hill-side, and the sun is again about to go
to bed. I am collecting my tools to descend to my cottage down in the
village below, where it is already dark, when I raise my eyes, and see
coming over the hill six soldiers. In the midst of them is a tall man
with his arms boundrCotied to his sidesrColike this!rCY

With the aid of his indispensable cap, he represented a man with his
elbows bound fast at his hips, with cords that were knotted behind him.

rCLI stand aside, messieurs, by my heap of stones, to see the soldiers and their prisoner pass (for it is a solitary road, that, where any spectacle
is well worth looking at), and at first, as they approach, I see no more
than that they are six soldiers with a tall man bound, and that they are almost black to my sightrCoexcept on the side of the sun going to bed,
where they have a red edge, messieurs. Also, I see that their long
shadows are on the hollow ridge on the opposite side of the road, and are
on the hill above it, and are like the shadows of giants. Also, I see
that they are covered with dust, and that the dust moves with them as
they come, tramp, tramp! But when they advance quite near to me, I
recognise the tall man, and he recognises me. Ah, but he would be well
content to precipitate himself over the hill-side once again, as on the evening when he and I first encountered, close to the same spot!rCY

He described it as if he were there, and it was evident that he saw it vividly; perhaps he had not seen much in his life.

rCLI do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he does not
show the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know it, with
our eyes. rCyCome on!rCO says the chief of that company, pointing to the village, rCybring him fast to his tomb!rCO and they bring him faster. I follow. His arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, his wooden
shoes are large and clumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame, and consequently slow, they drive him with their gunsrColike this!rCY

He imitated the action of a manrCOs being impelled forward by the butt-ends
of muskets.

rCLAs they descend the hill like madmen running a race, he falls. They
laugh and pick him up again. His face is bleeding and covered with dust,
but he cannot touch it; thereupon they laugh again. They bring him into
the village; all the village runs to look; they take him past the mill,
and up to the prison; all the village sees the prison gate open in the darkness of the night, and swallow himrColike this!rCY

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and shut it with a sounding snap
of his teeth. Observant of his unwillingness to mar the effect by opening
it again, Defarge said, rCLGo on, Jacques.rCY

rCLAll the village,rCY pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a low voice, rCLwithdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all the
village sleeps; all the village dreams of that unhappy one, within the
locks and bars of the prison on the crag, and never to come out of it,
except to perish. In the morning, with my tools upon my shoulder, eating
my morsel of black bread as I go, I make a circuit by the prison, on my
way to my work. There I see him, high up, behind the bars of a lofty iron cage, bloody and dusty as last night, looking through. He has no hand
free, to wave to me; I dare not call to him; he regards me like a dead
man.rCY

Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The looks of all of
them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened to the countrymanrCOs story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret, was authoritative too. They had the air of a rough tribunal; Jacques One and
Two sitting on the old pallet-bed, each with his chin resting on his
hand, and his eyes intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three, equally
intent, on one knee behind them, with his agitated hand always gliding
over the network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose; Defarge
standing between them and the narrator, whom he had stationed in the
light of the window, by turns looking from him to them, and from them to
him.

rCLGo on, Jacques,rCY said Defarge.

rCLHe remains up there in his iron cage some days. The village looks at him
by stealth, for it is afraid. But it always looks up, from a distance, at
the prison on the crag; and in the evening, when the work of the day is achieved and it assembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces are turned towards the prison. Formerly, they were turned towards the posting-house;
now, they are turned towards the prison. They whisper at the fountain,
that although condemned to death he will not be executed; they say that petitions have been presented in Paris, showing that he was enraged and
made mad by the death of his child; they say that a petition has been presented to the King himself. What do I know? It is possible. Perhaps
yes, perhaps no.rCY

rCLListen then, Jacques,rCY Number One of that name sternly interposed. rCLKnow
that a petition was presented to the King and Queen. All here, yourself excepted, saw the King take it, in his carriage in the street, sitting
beside the Queen. It is Defarge whom you see here, who, at the hazard of
his life, darted out before the horses, with the petition in his hand.rCY

rCLAnd once again listen, Jacques!rCY said the kneeling Number Three: his fingers ever wandering over and over those fine nerves, with a strikingly greedy air, as if he hungered for somethingrCothat was neither food nor
drink; rCLthe guard, horse and foot, surrounded the petitioner, and struck
him blows. You hear?rCY

rCLI hear, messieurs.rCY

rCLGo on then,rCY said Defarge.

rCLAgain; on the other hand, they whisper at the fountain,rCY resumed the countryman, rCLthat he is brought down into our country to be executed on
the spot, and that he will very certainly be executed. They even whisper
that because he has slain Monseigneur, and because Monseigneur was the
father of his tenantsrCoserfsrCowhat you willrCohe will be executed as a parricide. One old man says at the fountain, that his right hand, armed
with the knife, will be burnt off before his face; that, into wounds
which will be made in his arms, his breast, and his legs, there will be
poured boiling oil, melted lead, hot resin, wax, and sulphur; finally,
that he will be torn limb from limb by four strong horses. That old man
says, all this was actually done to a prisoner who made an attempt on the
life of the late King, Louis Fifteen. But how do I know if he lies? I am
not a scholar.rCY

rCLListen once again then, Jacques!rCY said the man with the restless hand
and the craving air. rCLThe name of that prisoner was Damiens, and it was
all done in open day, in the open streets of this city of Paris; and
nothing was more noticed in the vast concourse that saw it done, than the crowd of ladies of quality and fashion, who were full of eager attention
to the lastrCoto the last, Jacques, prolonged until nightfall, when he had lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed! And it was donerCowhy, how
old are you?rCY

rCLThirty-five,rCY said the mender of roads, who looked sixty.

rCLIt was done when you were more than ten years old; you might have seen it.rCY

rCLEnough!rCY said Defarge, with grim impatience. rCLLong live the Devil! Go on.rCY

rCLWell! Some whisper this, some whisper that; they speak of nothing else; even the fountain appears to fall to that tune. At length, on Sunday
night when all the village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down from
the prison, and their guns ring on the stones of the little street.
Workmen dig, workmen hammer, soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, by
the fountain, there is raised a gallows forty feet high, poisoning the water.rCY

The mender of roads looked through rather than at the low ceiling, and
pointed as if he saw the gallows somewhere in the sky.

rCLAll work is stopped, all assemble there, nobody leads the cows out, the cows are there with the rest. At midday, the roll of drums. Soldiers have marched into the prison in the night, and he is in the midst of many
soldiers. He is bound as before, and in his mouth there is a gagrCotied so, with a tight string, making him look almost as if he laughed.rCY He
suggested it, by creasing his face with his two thumbs, from the corners
of his mouth to his ears. rCLOn the top of the gallows is fixed the knife, blade upwards, with its point in the air. He is hanged there forty feet highrCoand is left hanging, poisoning the water.rCY

They looked at one another, as he used his blue cap to wipe his face, on
which the perspiration had started afresh while he recalled the
spectacle.

rCLIt is frightful, messieurs. How can the women and the children draw
water! Who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow! Under it, have I
said? When I left the village, Monday evening as the sun was going to
bed, and looked back from the hill, the shadow struck across the church, across the mill, across the prisonrCoseemed to strike across the earth, messieurs, to where the sky rests upon it!rCY

The hungry man gnawed one of his fingers as he looked at the other three,
and his finger quivered with the craving that was on him.

rCLThatrCOs all, messieurs. I left at sunset (as I had been warned to do),
and I walked on, that night and half next day, until I met (as I was
warned I should) this comrade. With him, I came on, now riding and now walking, through the rest of yesterday and through last night. And here
you see me!rCY

After a gloomy silence, the first Jacques said, rCLGood! You have acted and recounted faithfully. Will you wait for us a little, outside the door?rCY

rCLVery willingly,rCY said the mender of roads. Whom Defarge escorted to the top of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned.

The three had risen, and their heads were together when he came back to
the garret.

rCLHow say you, Jacques?rCY demanded Number One. rCLTo be registered?rCY

rCLTo be registered, as doomed to destruction,rCY returned Defarge.

rCLMagnificent!rCY croaked the man with the craving.

rCLThe chateau, and all the race?rCY inquired the first.

rCLThe chateau and all the race,rCY returned Defarge. rCLExtermination.rCY

The hungry man repeated, in a rapturous croak, rCLMagnificent!rCY and began gnawing another finger.

rCLAre you sure,rCY asked Jacques Two, of Defarge, rCLthat no embarrassment can
arise from our manner of keeping the register? Without doubt it is safe,
for no one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall we always be able
to decipher itrCoor, I ought to say, will she?rCY

rCLJacques,rCY returned Defarge, drawing himself up, rCLif madame my wife undertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not lose a
word of itrConot a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches and her own symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. Confide in Madame Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives, to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name or crimes
from the knitted register of Madame Defarge.rCY

There was a murmur of confidence and approval, and then the man who
hungered, asked: rCLIs this rustic to be sent back soon? I hope so. He is
very simple; is he not a little dangerous?rCY

rCLHe knows nothing,rCY said Defarge; rCLat least nothing more than would easily elevate himself to a gallows of the same height. I charge myself
with him; let him remain with me; I will take care of him, and set him on
his road. He wishes to see the fine worldrCothe King, the Queen, and Court; let him see them on Sunday.rCY

rCLWhat?rCY exclaimed the hungry man, staring. rCLIs it a good sign, that he wishes to see Royalty and Nobility?rCY

rCLJacques,rCY said Defarge; rCLjudiciously show a cat milk, if you wish her to
thirst for it. Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wish him
to bring it down one day.rCY

Nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being found already
dozing on the topmost stair, was advised to lay himself down on the
pallet-bed and take some rest. He needed no persuasion, and was soon
asleep.

Worse quarters than DefargerCOs wine-shop, could easily have been found in Paris for a provincial slave of that degree. Saving for a mysterious
dread of madame by which he was constantly haunted, his life was very new
and agreeable. But, madame sat all day at her counter, so expressly unconscious of him, and so particularly determined not to perceive that
his being there had any connection with anything below the surface, that
he shook in his wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her. For, he contended with himself that it was impossible to foresee what that lady
might pretend next; and he felt assured that if she should take it into
her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seen him do a murder
and afterwards flay the victim, she would infallibly go through with it
until the play was played out.

Therefore, when Sunday came, the mender of roads was not enchanted
(though he said he was) to find that madame was to accompany monsieur and himself to Versailles. It was additionally disconcerting to have madame knitting all the way there, in a public conveyance; it was additionally disconcerting yet, to have madame in the crowd in the afternoon, still
with her knitting in her hands as the crowd waited to see the carriage of
the King and Queen.

rCLYou work hard, madame,rCY said a man near her.

rCLYes,rCY answered Madame Defarge; rCLI have a good deal to do.rCY

rCLWhat do you make, madame?rCY

rCLMany things.rCY

rCLFor instancerCorCY

rCLFor instance,rCY returned Madame Defarge, composedly, rCLshrouds.rCY

The man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, and the mender
of roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightily close and oppressive. If he needed a King and Queen to restore him, he was
fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the large-faced King
and the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, attended by the
shining BullrCOs Eye of their Court, a glittering multitude of laughing
ladies and fine lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendour
and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful faces of both
sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so much to his temporary intoxication, that he cried Long live the King, Long live the Queen, Long
live everybody and everything! as if he had never heard of ubiquitous
Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens, courtyards, terraces, fountains, green banks, more King and Queen, more BullrCOs Eye, more lords
and ladies, more Long live they all! until he absolutely wept with
sentiment. During the whole of this scene, which lasted some three hours,
he had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental company, and
throughout Defarge held him by the collar, as if to restrain him from
flying at the objects of his brief devotion and tearing them to pieces.

rCLBravo!rCY said Defarge, clapping him on the back when it was over, like a patron; rCLyou are a good boy!rCY

The mender of roads was now coming to himself, and was mistrustful of
having made a mistake in his late demonstrations; but no.

rCLYou are the fellow we want,rCY said Defarge, in his ear; rCLyou make these fools believe that it will last for ever. Then, they are the more
insolent, and it is the nearer ended.rCY

rCLHey!rCY cried the mender of roads, reflectively; rCLthatrCOs true.rCY

rCLThese fools know nothing. While they despise your breath, and would stop
it for ever and ever, in you or in a hundred like you rather than in one
of their own horses or dogs, they only know what your breath tells them.
Let it deceive them, then, a little longer; it cannot deceive them too much.rCY

Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded in confirmation.

rCLAs to you,rCY said she, rCLyou would shout and shed tears for anything, if it made a show and a noise. Say! Would you not?rCY

rCLTruly, madame, I think so. For the moment.rCY

rCLIf you were shown a great heap of dolls, and were set upon them to pluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you would pick
out the richest and gayest. Say! Would you not?rCY

rCLTruly yes, madame.rCY

rCLYes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers for your own advantage, you
would set upon the birds of the finest feathers; would you not?rCY

rCLIt is true, madame.rCY

rCLYou have seen both dolls and birds to-day,rCY said Madame Defarge, with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been apparent;
rCLnow, go home!rCY

CHAPTER XVI.
Still Knitting
Madame Defarge and monsieur her husband returned amicably to the bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the darkness,
and through the dust, and down the weary miles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point of the compass where the chateau of
Monsieur the Marquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees.
Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening to the trees
and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrows who, in their quest
for herbs to eat and fragments of dead stick to burn, strayed within
sight of the great stone courtyard and terrace staircase, had it borne in
upon their starved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. A rumour just lived in the villagerCohad a faint and bare existence there, as its people hadrCothat when the knife struck home, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of anger and pain; also, that when that dangling figure was hauled up forty feet above the fountain, they changed again,
and bore a cruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bear
for ever. In the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber
where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointed out in the
sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, and which nobody had seen of
old; and on the scarce occasions when two or three ragged peasants
emerged from the crowd to take a hurried peep at Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinny finger would not have pointed to it for a minute,
before they all started away among the moss and leaves, like the more fortunate hares who could find a living there.

Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the
stone floor, and the pure water in the village wellrCothousands of acres of landrCoa whole province of FrancerCoall France itselfrColay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hair-breadth line. So does a whole world,
with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And
as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner
of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble
shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and
virtue, of every responsible creature on it.

The Defarges, husband and wife, came lumbering under the starlight, in
their public vehicle, to that gate of Paris whereunto their journey
naturally tended. There was the usual stoppage at the barrier guardhouse,
and the usual lanterns came glancing forth for the usual examination and inquiry. Monsieur Defarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldiery
there, and one of the police. The latter he was intimate with, and affectionately embraced.

When Saint Antoine had again enfolded the Defarges in his dusky wings,
and they, having finally alighted near the SaintrCOs boundaries, were
picking their way on foot through the black mud and offal of his streets, Madame Defarge spoke to her husband:

rCLSay then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tell thee?rCY

rCLVery little to-night, but all he knows. There is another spy
commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for all that he can
say, but he knows of one.rCY

rCLEh well!rCY said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool business air. rCLIt is necessary to register him. How do they call that man?rCY

rCLHe is English.rCY

rCLSo much the better. His name?rCY

rCLBarsad,rCY said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness.

rCLBarsad,rCY repeated madame. rCLGood. Christian name?rCY

rCLJohn.rCY

rCLJohn Barsad,rCY repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself. rCLGood. His appearance; is it known?rCY

rCLAge, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek; expression, therefore, sinister.rCY

rCLEh my faith. It is a portrait!rCY said madame, laughing. rCLHe shall be registered to-morrow.rCY

They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it was midnight),
and where Madame Defarge immediately took her post at her desk, counted
the small moneys that had been taken during her absence, examined the
stock, went through the entries in the book, made other entries of her
own, checked the serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissed
him to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the bowl of money for the second time, and began knotting them up in her handkerchief, in a chain
of separate knots, for safe keeping through the night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, but never interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to the business and his domestic affairs, he walked up and down through life.

The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded by so foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur DefargerCOs olfactory sense was
by no means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger than it
ever tasted, and so did the stock of rum and brandy and aniseed. He
whiffed the compound of scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe.

rCLYou are fatigued,rCY said madame, raising her glance as she knotted the money. rCLThere are only the usual odours.rCY

rCLI am a little tired,rCY her husband acknowledged.

rCLYou are a little depressed, too,rCY said madame, whose quick eyes had
never been so intent on the accounts, but they had had a ray or two for
him. rCLOh, the men, the men!rCY

rCLBut my dear!rCY began Defarge.

rCLBut my dear!rCY repeated madame, nodding firmly; rCLbut my dear! You are faint of heart to-night, my dear!rCY

rCLWell, then,rCY said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung out of his breast, rCLit is a long time.rCY

rCLIt is a long time,rCY repeated his wife; rCLand when is it not a long time? Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule.rCY

rCLIt does not take a long time to strike a man with Lightning,rCY said Defarge.

rCLHow long,rCY demanded madame, composedly, rCLdoes it take to make and store the lightning? Tell me.rCY

Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there were something in that
too.

rCLIt does not take a long time,rCY said madame, rCLfor an earthquake to swallow a town. Eh well! Tell me how long it takes to prepare the earthquake?rCY

rCLA long time, I suppose,rCY said Defarge.

rCLBut when it is ready, it takes place, and grinds to pieces everything before it. In the meantime, it is always preparing, though it is not seen
or heard. That is your consolation. Keep it.rCY

She tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe.

rCLI tell thee,rCY said madame, extending her right hand, for emphasis, rCLthat
although it is a long time on the road, it is on the road and coming. I
tell thee it never retreats, and never stops. I tell thee it is always advancing. Look around and consider the lives of all the world that we
know, consider the faces of all the world that we know, consider the rage
and discontent to which the Jacquerie addresses itself with more and more
of certainty every hour. Can such things last? Bah! I mock you.rCY

rCLMy brave wife,rCY returned Defarge, standing before her with his head a little bent, and his hands clasped at his back, like a docile and
attentive pupil before his catechist, rCLI do not question all this. But it has lasted a long time, and it is possiblerCoyou know well, my wife, it is possiblerCothat it may not come, during our lives.rCY

rCLEh well! How then?rCY demanded madame, tying another knot, as if there
were another enemy strangled.

rCLWell!rCY said Defarge, with a half complaining and half apologetic shrug. rCLWe shall not see the triumph.rCY

rCLWe shall have helped it,rCY returned madame, with her extended hand in strong action. rCLNothing that we do, is done in vain. I believe, with all
my soul, that we shall see the triumph. But even if not, even if I knew certainly not, show me the neck of an aristocrat and tyrant, and still I wouldrCorCY

Then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible knot indeed.

rCLHold!rCY cried Defarge, reddening a little as if he felt charged with cowardice; rCLI too, my dear, will stop at nothing.rCY

rCLYes! But it is your weakness that you sometimes need to see your victim
and your opportunity, to sustain you. Sustain yourself without that. When
the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil; but wait for the time with
the tiger and the devil chainedrConot shownrCoyet always ready.rCY

Madame enforced the conclusion of this piece of advice by striking her
little counter with her chain of money as if she knocked its brains out,
and then gathering the heavy handkerchief under her arm in a serene
manner, and observing that it was time to go to bed.

Next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual place in the wine-
shop, knitting away assiduously. A rose lay beside her, and if she now
and then glanced at the flower, it was with no infraction of her usual preoccupied air. There were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated, sprinkled about. The day was very hot, and heaps of
flies, who were extending their inquisitive and adventurous perquisitions
into all the glutinous little glasses near madame, fell dead at the
bottom. Their decease made no impression on the other flies out
promenading, who looked at them in the coolest manner (as if they
themselves were elephants, or something as far removed), until they met
the same fate. Curious to consider how heedless flies are!rCoperhaps they thought as much at Court that sunny summer day.

A figure entering at the door threw a shadow on Madame Defarge which she
felt to be a new one. She laid down her knitting, and began to pin her
rose in her head-dress, before she looked at the figure.

It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose, the customers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop out of the wine-shop.

rCLGood day, madame,rCY said the new-comer.

rCLGood day, monsieur.rCY

She said it aloud, but added to herself, as she resumed her knitting:
rCLHah! Good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black hair, generally rather handsome visage, complexion dark, eyes dark, thin, long
and sallow face, aquiline nose but not straight, having a peculiar
inclination towards the left cheek which imparts a sinister expression!
Good day, one and all!rCY

rCLHave the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac, and a
mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.rCY

Madame complied with a polite air.

rCLMarvellous cognac this, madame!rCY

It was the first time it had ever been so complimented, and Madame
Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better. She said, however,
that the cognac was flattered, and took up her knitting. The visitor
watched her fingers for a few moments, and took the opportunity of
observing the place in general.

rCLYou knit with great skill, madame.rCY

rCLI am accustomed to it.rCY

rCLA pretty pattern too!rCY

rCLYou think so?rCY said madame, looking at him with a smile.

rCLDecidedly. May one ask what it is for?rCY

rCLPastime,rCY said madame, still looking at him with a smile while her fingers moved nimbly.

rCLNot for use?rCY

rCLThat depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I dorCoWell,rCY said madame, drawing a breath and nodding her head with a stern kind of
coquetry, rCLIrCOll use it!rCY

It was remarkable; but, the taste of Saint Antoine seemed to be decidedly opposed to a rose on the head-dress of Madame Defarge. Two men had
entered separately, and had been about to order drink, when, catching
sight of that novelty, they faltered, made a pretence of looking about as
if for some friend who was not there, and went away. Nor, of those who
had been there when this visitor entered, was there one left. They had
all dropped off. The spy had kept his eyes open, but had been able to
detect no sign. They had lounged away in a poverty-stricken, purposeless, accidental manner, quite natural and unimpeachable.

rCLJohn,rCY thought madame, checking off her work as her fingers knitted, and her eyes looked at the stranger. rCLStay long enough, and I shall knit rCybarsadrCO before you go.rCY

rCLYou have a husband, madame?rCY

rCLI have.rCY

rCLChildren?rCY

rCLNo children.rCY

rCLBusiness seems bad?rCY

rCLBusiness is very bad; the people are so poor.rCY

rCLAh, the unfortunate, miserable people! So oppressed, toorCoas you say.rCY

rCLAs you say,rCY madame retorted, correcting him, and deftly knitting an extra something into his name that boded him no good.

rCLPardon me; certainly it was I who said so, but you naturally think so.
Of course.rCY

rCLI think?rCY returned madame, in a high voice. rCLI and my husband have enough to do to keep this wine-shop open, without thinking. All we think, here, is how to live. That is the subject we think of, and it gives us,
from morning to night, enough to think about, without embarrassing our
heads concerning others. I think for others? No, no.rCY

The spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could find or make, did
not allow his baffled state to express itself in his sinister face; but,
stood with an air of gossiping gallantry, leaning his elbow on Madame DefargerCOs little counter, and occasionally sipping his cognac.

rCLA bad business this, madame, of GaspardrCOs execution. Ah! the poor Gaspard!rCY With a sigh of great compassion.

rCLMy faith!rCY returned madame, coolly and lightly, rCLif people use knives for such purposes, they have to pay for it. He knew beforehand what the
price of his luxury was; he has paid the price.rCY

rCLI believe,rCY said the spy, dropping his soft voice to a tone that invited confidence, and expressing an injured revolutionary susceptibility in
every muscle of his wicked face: rCLI believe there is much compassion and anger in this neighbourhood, touching the poor fellow? Between
ourselves.rCY

rCLIs there?rCY asked madame, vacantly.

rCLIs there not?rCY

rCLrCoHere is my husband!rCY said Madame Defarge.

As the keeper of the wine-shop entered at the door, the spy saluted him
by touching his hat, and saying, with an engaging smile, rCLGood day, Jacques!rCY Defarge stopped short, and stared at him.

rCLGood day, Jacques!rCY the spy repeated; with not quite so much confidence, or quite so easy a smile under the stare.

rCLYou deceive yourself, monsieur,rCY returned the keeper of the wine-shop. rCLYou mistake me for another. That is not my name. I am Ernest Defarge.rCY

rCLIt is all the same,rCY said the spy, airily, but discomfited too: rCLgood day!rCY

rCLGood day!rCY answered Defarge, drily.

rCLI was saying to madame, with whom I had the pleasure of chatting when
you entered, that they tell me there isrCoand no wonder!rComuch sympathy and anger in Saint Antoine, touching the unhappy fate of poor Gaspard.rCY

rCLNo one has told me so,rCY said Defarge, shaking his head. rCLI know nothing of it.rCY

Having said it, he passed behind the little counter, and stood with his
hand on the back of his wiferCOs chair, looking over that barrier at the person to whom they were both opposed, and whom either of them would have
shot with the greatest satisfaction.

The spy, well used to his business, did not change his unconscious
attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac, took a sip of fresh
water, and asked for another glass of cognac. Madame Defarge poured it
out for him, took to her knitting again, and hummed a little song over
it.

rCLYou seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than I do?rCY observed Defarge.

rCLNot at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so profoundly interested
in its miserable inhabitants.rCY

rCLHah!rCY muttered Defarge.

rCLThe pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur Defarge, recalls to me,rCY pursued the spy, rCLthat I have the honour of cherishing some interesting associations with your name.rCY

rCLIndeed!rCY said Defarge, with much indifference.

rCLYes, indeed. When Doctor Manette was released, you, his old domestic,
had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered to you. You see I am
informed of the circumstances?rCY

rCLSuch is the fact, certainly,rCY said Defarge. He had had it conveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wiferCOs elbow as she knitted and
warbled, that he would do best to answer, but always with brevity.

rCLIt was to you,rCY said the spy, rCLthat his daughter came; and it was from your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a neat brown
monsieur; how is he called?rCoin a little wigrCoLorryrCoof the bank of Tellson and CompanyrCoover to England.rCY

rCLSuch is the fact,rCY repeated Defarge.

rCLVery interesting remembrances!rCY said the spy. rCLI have known Doctor Manette and his daughter, in England.rCY

rCLYes?rCY said Defarge.

rCLYou donrCOt hear much about them now?rCY said the spy.

rCLNo,rCY said Defarge.

rCLIn effect,rCY madame struck in, looking up from her work and her little song, rCLwe never hear about them. We received the news of their safe
arrival, and perhaps another letter, or perhaps two; but, since then,
they have gradually taken their road in liferCowe, oursrCoand we have held no correspondence.rCY

rCLPerfectly so, madame,rCY replied the spy. rCLShe is going to be married.rCY

rCLGoing?rCY echoed madame. rCLShe was pretty enough to have been married long ago. You English are cold, it seems to me.rCY

rCLOh! You know I am English.rCY

rCLI perceive your tongue is,rCY returned madame; rCLand what the tongue is, I suppose the man is.rCY

He did not take the identification as a compliment; but he made the best
of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After sipping his cognac to the
end, he added:

rCLYes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to an Englishman; to
one who, like herself, is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah,
poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!), it is a curious thing that she is
going to marry the nephew of Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the present
Marquis. But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he is
Mr. Charles Darnay. DrCOAulnais is the name of his motherrCOs family.rCY

Madame Defarge knitted steadily, but the intelligence had a palpable
effect upon her husband. Do what he would, behind the little counter, as
to the striking of a light and the lighting of his pipe, he was troubled,
and his hand was not trustworthy. The spy would have been no spy if he
had failed to see it, or to record it in his mind.

Having made, at least, this one hit, whatever it might prove to be worth,
and no customers coming in to help him to any other, Mr. Barsad paid for
what he had drunk, and took his leave: taking occasion to say, in a
genteel manner, before he departed, that he looked forward to the
pleasure of seeing Monsieur and Madame Defarge again. For some minutes
after he had emerged into the outer presence of Saint Antoine, the
husband and wife remained exactly as he had left them, lest he should
come back.

rCLCan it be true,rCY said Defarge, in a low voice, looking down at his wife as he stood smoking with his hand on the back of her chair: rCLwhat he has said of MarCOamselle Manette?rCY

rCLAs he has said it,rCY returned madame, lifting her eyebrows a little, rCLit is probably false. But it may be true.rCY

rCLIf it isrCorCY Defarge began, and stopped.

rCLIf it is?rCY repeated his wife.

rCLrCoAnd if it does come, while we live to see it triumphrCoI hope, for her sake, Destiny will keep her husband out of France.rCY

rCLHer husbandrCOs destiny,rCY said Madame Defarge, with her usual composure, rCLwill take him where he is to go, and will lead him to the end that is to end him. That is all I know.rCY

rCLBut it is very strangerConow, at least, is it not very strangerCYrCosaid Defarge, rather pleading with his wife to induce her to admit it, rCLthat, after all our sympathy for Monsieur her father, and herself, her
husbandrCOs name should be proscribed under your hand at this moment, by
the side of that infernal dogrCOs who has just left us?rCY

rCLStranger things than that will happen when it does come,rCY answered madame. rCLI have them both here, of a certainty; and they are both here
for their merits; that is enough.rCY

She rolled up her knitting when she had said those words, and presently
took the rose out of the handkerchief that was wound about her head.
Either Saint Antoine had an instinctive sense that the objectionable decoration was gone, or Saint Antoine was on the watch for its
disappearance; howbeit, the Saint took courage to lounge in, very shortly afterwards, and the wine-shop recovered its habitual aspect.

In the evening, at which season of all others Saint Antoine turned
himself inside out, and sat on door-steps and window-ledges, and came to
the corners of vile streets and courts, for a breath of air, Madame
Defarge with her work in her hand was accustomed to pass from place to
place and from group to group: a MissionaryrCothere were many like herrCosuch as the world will do well never to breed again. All the women knitted.
They knitted worthless things; but, the mechanical work was a mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; the hands moved for the jaws and the digestive apparatus: if the bony fingers had been still, the stomachs
would have been more famine-pinched.

But, as the fingers went, the eyes went, and the thoughts. And as Madame Defarge moved on from group to group, all three went quicker and fiercer
among every little knot of women that she had spoken with, and left
behind.

Her husband smoked at his door, looking after her with admiration. rCLA
great woman,rCY said he, rCLa strong woman, a grand woman, a frightfully
grand woman!rCY

Darkness closed around, and then came the ringing of church bells and the distant beating of the military drums in the Palace Courtyard, as the
women sat knitting, knitting. Darkness encompassed them. Another darkness
was closing in as surely, when the church bells, then ringing pleasantly
in many an airy steeple over France, should be melted into thundering
cannon; when the military drums should be beating to drown a wretched
voice, that night all potent as the voice of Power and Plenty, Freedom
and Life. So much was closing in about the women who sat knitting,
knitting, that they their very selves were closing in around a structure
yet unbuilt, where they were to sit knitting, knitting, counting dropping heads.

CHAPTER XVII.
One Night
Never did the sun go down with a brighter glory on the quiet corner in
Soho, than one memorable evening when the Doctor and his daughter sat
under the plane-tree together. Never did the moon rise with a milder
radiance over great London, than on that night when it found them still
seated under the tree, and shone upon their faces through its leaves.

Lucie was to be married to-morrow. She had reserved this last evening for
her father, and they sat alone under the plane-tree.

rCLYou are happy, my dear father?rCY

rCLQuite, my child.rCY

They had said little, though they had been there a long time. When it was
yet light enough to work and read, she had neither engaged herself in her usual work, nor had she read to him. She had employed herself in both
ways, at his side under the tree, many and many a time; but, this time
was not quite like any other, and nothing could make it so.

rCLAnd I am very happy to-night, dear father. I am deeply happy in the love that Heaven has so blessedrComy love for Charles, and CharlesrCOs love for
me. But, if my life were not to be still consecrated to you, or if my
marriage were so arranged as that it would part us, even by the length of
a few of these streets, I should be more unhappy and self-reproachful now
than I can tell you. Even as it isrCorCY

Even as it was, she could not command her voice.

In the sad moonlight, she clasped him by the neck, and laid her face upon
his breast. In the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the sun itself isrCoas the light called human life isrCoat its coming and its going.

rCLDearest dear! Can you tell me, this last time, that you feel quite,
quite sure, no new affections of mine, and no new duties of mine, will
ever interpose between us? I know it well, but do you know it? In your
own heart, do you feel quite certain?rCY

Her father answered, with a cheerful firmness of conviction he could
scarcely have assumed, rCLQuite sure, my darling! More than that,rCY he
added, as he tenderly kissed her: rCLmy future is far brighter, Lucie, seen through your marriage, than it could have beenrConay, than it ever wasrCo without it.rCY

rCLIf I could hope that, my father!rCorCY

rCLBelieve it, love! Indeed it is so. Consider how natural and how plain it is, my dear, that it should be so. You, devoted and young, cannot fully appreciate the anxiety I have felt that your life should not be wastedrCorCY

She moved her hand towards his lips, but he took it in his, and repeated
the word.

rCLrCowasted, my childrCoshould not be wasted, struck aside from the natural order of thingsrCofor my sake. Your unselfishness cannot entirely
comprehend how much my mind has gone on this; but, only ask yourself, how could my happiness be perfect, while yours was incomplete?rCY

rCLIf I had never seen Charles, my father, I should have been quite happy
with you.rCY

He smiled at her unconscious admission that she would have been unhappy without Charles, having seen him; and replied:

rCLMy child, you did see him, and it is Charles. If it had not been
Charles, it would have been another. Or, if it had been no other, I
should have been the cause, and then the dark part of my life would have
cast its shadow beyond myself, and would have fallen on you.rCY

It was the first time, except at the trial, of her ever hearing him refer
to the period of his suffering. It gave her a strange and new sensation
while his words were in her ears; and she remembered it long afterwards.

rCLSee!rCY said the Doctor of Beauvais, raising his hand towards the moon. rCLI
have looked at her from my prison-window, when I could not bear her
light. I have looked at her when it has been such torture to me to think
of her shining upon what I had lost, that I have beaten my head against
my prison-walls. I have looked at her, in a state so dull and lethargic,
that I have thought of nothing but the number of horizontal lines I could
draw across her at the full, and the number of perpendicular lines with
which I could intersect them.rCY He added in his inward and pondering
manner, as he looked at the moon, rCLIt was twenty either way, I remember,
and the twentieth was difficult to squeeze in.rCY

The strange thrill with which she heard him go back to that time,
deepened as he dwelt upon it; but, there was nothing to shock her in the manner of his reference. He only seemed to contrast his present
cheerfulness and felicity with the dire endurance that was over.

rCLI have looked at her, speculating thousands of times upon the unborn
child from whom I had been rent. Whether it was alive. Whether it had
been born alive, or the poor motherrCOs shock had killed it. Whether it was
a son who would some day avenge his father. (There was a time in my imprisonment, when my desire for vengeance was unbearable.) Whether it
was a son who would never know his fatherrCOs story; who might even live to weigh the possibility of his fatherrCOs having disappeared of his own will
and act. Whether it was a daughter who would grow to be a woman.rCY

She drew closer to him, and kissed his cheek and his hand.

rCLI have pictured my daughter, to myself, as perfectly forgetful of merCo rather, altogether ignorant of me, and unconscious of me. I have cast up
the years of her age, year after year. I have seen her married to a man
who knew nothing of my fate. I have altogether perished from the
remembrance of the living, and in the next generation my place was a
blank.rCY

rCLMy father! Even to hear that you had such thoughts of a daughter who
never existed, strikes to my heart as if I had been that child.rCY

rCLYou, Lucie? It is out of the Consolation and restoration you have
brought to me, that these remembrances arise, and pass between us and the
moon on this last night.rCoWhat did I say just now?rCY

rCLShe knew nothing of you. She cared nothing for you.rCY

rCLSo! But on other moonlight nights, when the sadness and the silence have touched me in a different wayrCohave affected me with something as like a sorrowful sense of peace, as any emotion that had pain for its
foundations couldrCoI have imagined her as coming to me in my cell, and leading me out into the freedom beyond the fortress. I have seen her
image in the moonlight often, as I now see you; except that I never held
her in my arms; it stood between the little grated window and the door.
But, you understand that that was not the child I am speaking of?rCY

rCLThe figure was not; therCotherCoimage; the fancy?rCY

rCLNo. That was another thing. It stood before my disturbed sense of sight, but it never moved. The phantom that my mind pursued, was another and
more real child. Of her outward appearance I know no more than that she
was like her mother. The other had that likeness toorCoas you haverCobut was not the same. Can you follow me, Lucie? Hardly, I think? I doubt you must
have been a solitary prisoner to understand these perplexed
distinctions.rCY

His collected and calm manner could not prevent her blood from running
cold, as he thus tried to anatomise his old condition.

rCLIn that more peaceful state, I have imagined her, in the moonlight,
coming to me and taking me out to show me that the home of her married
life was full of her loving remembrance of her lost father. My picture
was in her room, and I was in her prayers. Her life was active, cheerful, useful; but my poor history pervaded it all.rCY

rCLI was that child, my father, I was not half so good, but in my love that was I.rCY

rCLAnd she showed me her children,rCY said the Doctor of Beauvais, rCLand they had heard of me, and had been taught to pity me. When they passed a
prison of the State, they kept far from its frowning walls, and looked up
at its bars, and spoke in whispers. She could never deliver me; I
imagined that she always brought me back after showing me such things.
But then, blessed with the relief of tears, I fell upon my knees, and
blessed her.rCY

rCLI am that child, I hope, my father. O my dear, my dear, will you bless
me as fervently to-morrow?rCY

rCLLucie, I recall these old troubles in the reason that I have to-night
for loving you better than words can tell, and thanking God for my great happiness. My thoughts, when they were wildest, never rose near the
happiness that I have known with you, and that we have before us.rCY

He embraced her, solemnly commended her to Heaven, and humbly thanked
Heaven for having bestowed her on him. By-and-bye, they went into the
house.

There was no one bidden to the marriage but Mr. Lorry; there was even to
be no bridesmaid but the gaunt Miss Pross. The marriage was to make no
change in their place of residence; they had been able to extend it, by
taking to themselves the upper rooms formerly belonging to the apocryphal invisible lodger, and they desired nothing more.

Doctor Manette was very cheerful at the little supper. They were only
three at table, and Miss Pross made the third. He regretted that Charles
was not there; was more than half disposed to object to the loving little
plot that kept him away; and drank to him affectionately.

So, the time came for him to bid Lucie good night, and they separated.
But, in the stillness of the third hour of the morning, Lucie came
downstairs again, and stole into his room; not free from unshaped fears, beforehand.

All things, however, were in their places; all was quiet; and he lay
asleep, his white hair picturesque on the untroubled pillow, and his
hands lying quiet on the coverlet. She put her needless candle in the
shadow at a distance, crept up to his bed, and put her lips to his; then, leaned over him, and looked at him.

Into his handsome face, the bitter waters of captivity had worn; but, he covered up their tracks with a determination so strong, that he held the mastery of them even in his sleep. A more remarkable face in its quiet, resolute, and guarded struggle with an unseen assailant, was not to be
beheld in all the wide dominions of sleep, that night.

She timidly laid her hand on his dear breast, and put up a prayer that
she might ever be as true to him as her love aspired to be, and as his
sorrows deserved. Then, she withdrew her hand, and kissed his lips once
more, and went away. So, the sunrise came, and the shadows of the leaves
of the plane-tree moved upon his face, as softly as her lips had moved in praying for him.

CHAPTER XVIII.
Nine Days
The marriage-day was shining brightly, and they were ready outside the
closed door of the DoctorrCOs room, where he was speaking with Charles
Darnay. They were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, Mr. Lorry,
and Miss ProssrCoto whom the event, through a gradual process of
reconcilement to the inevitable, would have been one of absolute bliss,
but for the yet lingering consideration that her brother Solomon should
have been the bridegroom.

rCLAnd so,rCY said Mr. Lorry, who could not sufficiently admire the bride,
and who had been moving round her to take in every point of her quiet,
pretty dress; rCLand so it was for this, my sweet Lucie, that I brought you across the Channel, such a baby! Lord bless me! How little I thought what
I was doing! How lightly I valued the obligation I was conferring on my
friend Mr. Charles!rCY

rCLYou didnrCOt mean it,rCY remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross, rCLand therefore how could you know it? Nonsense!rCY

rCLReally? Well; but donrCOt cry,rCY said the gentle Mr. Lorry.

rCLI am not crying,rCY said Miss Pross; rCLyou are.rCY

rCLI, my Pross?rCY (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be pleasant with her, on occasion.)

rCLYou were, just now; I saw you do it, and I donrCOt wonder at it. Such a present of plate as you have made rCOem, is enough to bring tears into anybodyrCOs eyes. ThererCOs not a fork or a spoon in the collection,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLthat I didnrCOt cry over, last night after the box came, till
I couldnrCOt see it.rCY

rCLI am highly gratified,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLthough, upon my honour, I had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remembrance
invisible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion that makes a man
speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To think that there might
have been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty years almost!rCY

rCLNot at all!rCY From Miss Pross.

rCLYou think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?rCY asked the gentleman of that name.

rCLPooh!rCY rejoined Miss Pross; rCLyou were a bachelor in your cradle.rCY

rCLWell!rCY observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting his little wig, rCLthat seems probable, too.rCY

rCLAnd you were cut out for a bachelor,rCY pursued Miss Pross, rCLbefore you were put in your cradle.rCY

rCLThen, I think,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLthat I was very unhandsomely dealt with, and that I ought to have had a voice in the selection of my
pattern. Enough! Now, my dear Lucie,rCY drawing his arm soothingly round
her waist, rCLI hear them moving in the next room, and Miss Pross and I, as two formal folks of business, are anxious not to lose the final
opportunity of saying something to you that you wish to hear. You leave
your good father, my dear, in hands as earnest and as loving as your own;
he shall be taken every conceivable care of; during the next fortnight,
while you are in Warwickshire and thereabouts, even TellsonrCOs shall go to the wall (comparatively speaking) before him. And when, at the
fortnightrCOs end, he comes to join you and your beloved husband, on your other fortnightrCOs trip in Wales, you shall say that we have sent him to
you in the best health and in the happiest frame. Now, I hear SomebodyrCOs step coming to the door. Let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned bachelor blessing, before Somebody comes to claim his own.rCY

For a moment, he held the fair face from him to look at the well-
remembered expression on the forehead, and then laid the bright golden
hair against his little brown wig, with a genuine tenderness and delicacy which, if such things be old-fashioned, were as old as Adam.

The door of the DoctorrCOs room opened, and he came out with Charles
Darnay. He was so deadly palerCowhich had not been the case when they went
in togetherrCothat no vestige of colour was to be seen in his face. But, in the composure of his manner he was unaltered, except that to the shrewd
glance of Mr. Lorry it disclosed some shadowy indication that the old air
of avoidance and dread had lately passed over him, like a cold wind.

He gave his arm to his daughter, and took her down-stairs to the chariot
which Mr. Lorry had hired in honour of the day. The rest followed in
another carriage, and soon, in a neighbouring church, where no strange
eyes looked on, Charles Darnay and Lucie Manette were happily married.

Besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles of the little
group when it was done, some diamonds, very bright and sparkling, glanced
on the briderCOs hand, which were newly released from the dark obscurity of one of Mr. LorryrCOs pockets. They returned home to breakfast, and all went well, and in due course the golden hair that had mingled with the poor shoemakerrCOs white locks in the Paris garret, were mingled with them again
in the morning sunlight, on the threshold of the door at parting.

It was a hard parting, though it was not for long. But her father cheered
her, and said at last, gently disengaging himself from her enfolding
arms, rCLTake her, Charles! She is yours!rCY

And her agitated hand waved to them from a chaise window, and she was
gone.

The corner being out of the way of the idle and curious, and the
preparations having been very simple and few, the Doctor, Mr. Lorry, and
Miss Pross, were left quite alone. It was when they turned into the
welcome shade of the cool old hall, that Mr. Lorry observed a great
change to have come over the Doctor; as if the golden arm uplifted there,
had struck him a poisoned blow.

He had naturally repressed much, and some revulsion might have been
expected in him when the occasion for repression was gone. But, it was
the old scared lost look that troubled Mr. Lorry; and through his absent manner of clasping his head and drearily wandering away into his own room
when they got up-stairs, Mr. Lorry was reminded of Defarge the wine-shop keeper, and the starlight ride.

rCLI think,rCY he whispered to Miss Pross, after anxious consideration, rCLI think we had best not speak to him just now, or at all disturb him. I
must look in at TellsonrCOs; so I will go there at once and come back presently. Then, we will take him a ride into the country, and dine
there, and all will be well.rCY

It was easier for Mr. Lorry to look in at TellsonrCOs, than to look out of TellsonrCOs. He was detained two hours. When he came back, he ascended the
old staircase alone, having asked no question of the servant; going thus
into the DoctorrCOs rooms, he was stopped by a low sound of knocking.

rCLGood God!rCY he said, with a start. rCLWhatrCOs that?rCY

Miss Pross, with a terrified face, was at his ear. rCLO me, O me! All is lost!rCY cried she, wringing her hands. rCLWhat is to be told to Ladybird? He doesnrCOt know me, and is making shoes!rCY

Mr. Lorry said what he could to calm her, and went himself into the
DoctorrCOs room. The bench was turned towards the light, as it had been
when he had seen the shoemaker at his work before, and his head was bent
down, and he was very busy.

rCLDoctor Manette. My dear friend, Doctor Manette!rCY

The Doctor looked at him for a momentrCohalf inquiringly, half as if he
were angry at being spoken torCoand bent over his work again.

He had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was open at the
throat, as it used to be when he did that work; and even the old haggard, faded surface of face had come back to him. He worked hardrCoimpatientlyrCoas if in some sense of having been interrupted.

Mr. Lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed that it was a
shoe of the old size and shape. He took up another that was lying by him,
and asked what it was.

rCLA young ladyrCOs walking shoe,rCY he muttered, without looking up. rCLIt ought
to have been finished long ago. Let it be.rCY

rCLBut, Doctor Manette. Look at me!rCY

He obeyed, in the old mechanically submissive manner, without pausing in
his work.

rCLYou know me, my dear friend? Think again. This is not your proper occupation. Think, dear friend!rCY

Nothing would induce him to speak more. He looked up, for an instant at a time, when he was requested to do so; but, no persuasion would extract a
word from him. He worked, and worked, and worked, in silence, and words
fell on him as they would have fallen on an echoless wall, or on the air.
The only ray of hope that Mr. Lorry could discover, was, that he
sometimes furtively looked up without being asked. In that, there seemed
a faint expression of curiosity or perplexityrCoas though he were trying to reconcile some doubts in his mind.

Two things at once impressed themselves on Mr. Lorry, as important above
all others; the first, that this must be kept secret from Lucie; the
second, that it must be kept secret from all who knew him. In conjunction
with Miss Pross, he took immediate steps towards the latter precaution,
by giving out that the Doctor was not well, and required a few days of complete rest. In aid of the kind deception to be practised on his
daughter, Miss Pross was to write, describing his having been called away professionally, and referring to an imaginary letter of two or three
hurried lines in his own hand, represented to have been addressed to her
by the same post.

These measures, advisable to be taken in any case, Mr. Lorry took in the
hope of his coming to himself. If that should happen soon, he kept
another course in reserve; which was, to have a certain opinion that he thought the best, on the DoctorrCOs case.

In the hope of his recovery, and of resort to this third course being
thereby rendered practicable, Mr. Lorry resolved to watch him
attentively, with as little appearance as possible of doing so. He
therefore made arrangements to absent himself from TellsonrCOs for the
first time in his life, and took his post by the window in the same room.

He was not long in discovering that it was worse than useless to speak to
him, since, on being pressed, he became worried. He abandoned that
attempt on the first day, and resolved merely to keep himself always
before him, as a silent protest against the delusion into which he had
fallen, or was falling. He remained, therefore, in his seat near the
window, reading and writing, and expressing in as many pleasant and
natural ways as he could think of, that it was a free place.

Doctor Manette took what was given him to eat and drink, and worked on,
that first day, until it was too dark to seerCoworked on, half an hour
after Mr. Lorry could not have seen, for his life, to read or write. When
he put his tools aside as useless, until morning, Mr. Lorry rose and said
to him:

rCLWill you go out?rCY

He looked down at the floor on either side of him in the old manner,
looked up in the old manner, and repeated in the old low voice:

rCLOut?rCY

rCLYes; for a walk with me. Why not?rCY

He made no effort to say why not, and said not a word more. But, Mr.
Lorry thought he saw, as he leaned forward on his bench in the dusk, with
his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, that he was in some
misty way asking himself, rCLWhy not?rCY The sagacity of the man of business perceived an advantage here, and determined to hold it.

Miss Pross and he divided the night into two watches, and observed him at intervals from the adjoining room. He paced up and down for a long time
before he lay down; but, when he did finally lay himself down, he fell
asleep. In the morning, he was up betimes, and went straight to his bench
and to work.

On this second day, Mr. Lorry saluted him cheerfully by his name, and
spoke to him on topics that had been of late familiar to them. He
returned no reply, but it was evident that he heard what was said, and
that he thought about it, however confusedly. This encouraged Mr. Lorry
to have Miss Pross in with her work, several times during the day; at
those times, they quietly spoke of Lucie, and of her father then present, precisely in the usual manner, and as if there were nothing amiss. This
was done without any demonstrative accompaniment, not long enough, or
often enough to harass him; and it lightened Mr. LorryrCOs friendly heart
to believe that he looked up oftener, and that he appeared to be stirred
by some perception of inconsistencies surrounding him.

When it fell dark again, Mr. Lorry asked him as before:

rCLDear Doctor, will you go out?rCY

As before, he repeated, rCLOut?rCY

rCLYes; for a walk with me. Why not?rCY

This time, Mr. Lorry feigned to go out when he could extract no answer
from him, and, after remaining absent for an hour, returned. In the
meanwhile, the Doctor had removed to the seat in the window, and had sat
there looking down at the plane-tree; but, on Mr. LorryrCOs return, he
slipped away to his bench.

The time went very slowly on, and Mr. LorryrCOs hope darkened, and his
heart grew heavier again, and grew yet heavier and heavier every day. The third day came and went, the fourth, the fifth. Five days, six days,
seven days, eight days, nine days.

With a hope ever darkening, and with a heart always growing heavier and heavier, Mr. Lorry passed through this anxious time. The secret was well
kept, and Lucie was unconscious and happy; but he could not fail to
observe that the shoemaker, whose hand had been a little out at first,
was growing dreadfully skilful, and that he had never been so intent on
his work, and that his hands had never been so nimble and expert, as in
the dusk of the ninth evening.

CHAPTER XIX.
An Opinion
Worn out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry fell asleep at his post. On the
tenth morning of his suspense, he was startled by the shining of the sun
into the room where a heavy slumber had overtaken him when it was dark
night.

He rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when he had done
so, whether he was not still asleep. For, going to the door of the
DoctorrCOs room and looking in, he perceived that the shoemakerrCOs bench and tools were put aside again, and that the Doctor himself sat reading at
the window. He was in his usual morning dress, and his face (which Mr.
Lorry could distinctly see), though still very pale, was calmly studious
and attentive.

Even when he had satisfied himself that he was awake, Mr. Lorry felt
giddily uncertain for some few moments whether the late shoemaking might
not be a disturbed dream of his own; for, did not his eyes show him his
friend before him in his accustomed clothing and aspect, and employed as usual; and was there any sign within their range, that the change of
which he had so strong an impression had actually happened?

It was but the inquiry of his first confusion and astonishment, the
answer being obvious. If the impression were not produced by a real corresponding and sufficient cause, how came he, Jarvis Lorry, there? How
came he to have fallen asleep, in his clothes, on the sofa in Doctor ManetterCOs consulting-room, and to be debating these points outside the DoctorrCOs bedroom door in the early morning?

Within a few minutes, Miss Pross stood whispering at his side. If he had
had any particle of doubt left, her talk would of necessity have resolved
it; but he was by that time clear-headed, and had none. He advised that
they should let the time go by until the regular breakfast-hour, and
should then meet the Doctor as if nothing unusual had occurred. If he
appeared to be in his customary state of mind, Mr. Lorry would then
cautiously proceed to seek direction and guidance from the opinion he had been, in his anxiety, so anxious to obtain.

Miss Pross, submitting herself to his judgment, the scheme was worked out
with care. Having abundance of time for his usual methodical toilette,
Mr. Lorry presented himself at the breakfast-hour in his usual white
linen, and with his usual neat leg. The Doctor was summoned in the usual
way, and came to breakfast.

So far as it was possible to comprehend him without overstepping those delicate and gradual approaches which Mr. Lorry felt to be the only safe advance, he at first supposed that his daughterrCOs marriage had taken
place yesterday. An incidental allusion, purposely thrown out, to the day
of the week, and the day of the month, set him thinking and counting, and evidently made him uneasy. In all other respects, however, he was so composedly himself, that Mr. Lorry determined to have the aid he sought.
And that aid was his own.

Therefore, when the breakfast was done and cleared away, and he and the
Doctor were left together, Mr. Lorry said, feelingly:

rCLMy dear Manette, I am anxious to have your opinion, in confidence, on a very curious case in which I am deeply interested; that is to say, it is
very curious to me; perhaps, to your better information it may be less
so.rCY

Glancing at his hands, which were discoloured by his late work, the
Doctor looked troubled, and listened attentively. He had already glanced
at his hands more than once.

rCLDoctor Manette,rCY said Mr. Lorry, touching him affectionately on the arm, rCLthe case is the case of a particularly dear friend of mine. Pray give
your mind to it, and advise me well for his sakerCoand above all, for his daughterrCOsrCohis daughterrCOs, my dear Manette.rCY

rCLIf I understand,rCY said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, rCLsome mental shock rCo?rCY

rCLYes!rCY

rCLBe explicit,rCY said the Doctor. rCLSpare no detail.rCY

Mr. Lorry saw that they understood one another, and proceeded.

rCLMy dear Manette, it is the case of an old and a prolonged shock, of
great acuteness and severity to the affections, the feelings, therCotherCoas you express itrCothe mind. The mind. It is the case of a shock under which
the sufferer was borne down, one cannot say for how long, because I
believe he cannot calculate the time himself, and there are no other
means of getting at it. It is the case of a shock from which the sufferer recovered, by a process that he cannot trace himselfrCoas I once heard him publicly relate in a striking manner. It is the case of a shock from
which he has recovered, so completely, as to be a highly intelligent man, capable of close application of mind, and great exertion of body, and of constantly making fresh additions to his stock of knowledge, which was
already very large. But, unfortunately, there has been,rCY he paused and
took a deep breathrCorCLa slight relapse.rCY

The Doctor, in a low voice, asked, rCLOf how long duration?rCY

rCLNine days and nights.rCY

rCLHow did it show itself? I infer,rCY glancing at his hands again, rCLin the resumption of some old pursuit connected with the shock?rCY

rCLThat is the fact.rCY

rCLNow, did you ever see him,rCY asked the Doctor, distinctly and
collectedly, though in the same low voice, rCLengaged in that pursuit originally?rCY

rCLOnce.rCY

rCLAnd when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respectsrCoor in all respectsrCoas he was then?rCY

rCLI think in all respects.rCY

rCLYou spoke of his daughter. Does his daughter know of the relapse?rCY

rCLNo. It has been kept from her, and I hope will always be kept from her.
It is known only to myself, and to one other who may be trusted.rCY

The Doctor grasped his hand, and murmured, rCLThat was very kind. That was very thoughtful!rCY Mr. Lorry grasped his hand in return, and neither of
the two spoke for a little while.

rCLNow, my dear Manette,rCY said Mr. Lorry, at length, in his most
considerate and most affectionate way, rCLI am a mere man of business, and unfit to cope with such intricate and difficult matters. I do not possess
the kind of information necessary; I do not possess the kind of
intelligence; I want guiding. There is no man in this world on whom I
could so rely for right guidance, as on you. Tell me, how does this
relapse come about? Is there danger of another? Could a repetition of it
be prevented? How should a repetition of it be treated? How does it come
about at all? What can I do for my friend? No man ever can have been more desirous in his heart to serve a friend, than I am to serve mine, if I
knew how.

rCLBut I donrCOt know how to originate, in such a case. If your sagacity, knowledge, and experience, could put me on the right track, I might be
able to do so much; unenlightened and undirected, I can do so little.
Pray discuss it with me; pray enable me to see it a little more clearly,
and teach me how to be a little more useful.rCY

Doctor Manette sat meditating after these earnest words were spoken, and
Mr. Lorry did not press him.

rCLI think it probable,rCY said the Doctor, breaking silence with an effort, rCLthat the relapse you have described, my dear friend, was not quite unforeseen by its subject.rCY

rCLWas it dreaded by him?rCY Mr. Lorry ventured to ask.

rCLVery much.rCY He said it with an involuntary shudder.

rCLYou have no idea how such an apprehension weighs on the suffererrCOs mind, and how difficultrCohow almost impossiblerCoit is, for him to force himself
to utter a word upon the topic that oppresses him.rCY

rCLWould he,rCY asked Mr. Lorry, rCLbe sensibly relieved if he could prevail upon himself to impart that secret brooding to any one, when it is on
him?rCY

rCLI think so. But it is, as I have told you, next to impossible. I even believe itrCoin some casesrCoto be quite impossible.rCY

rCLNow,rCY said Mr. Lorry, gently laying his hand on the DoctorrCOs arm again, after a short silence on both sides, rCLto what would you refer this attack?rCY

rCLI believe,rCY returned Doctor Manette, rCLthat there had been a strong and extraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance that was
the first cause of the malady. Some intense associations of a most
distressing nature were vividly recalled, I think. It is probable that
there had long been a dread lurking in his mind, that those associations
would be recalledrCosay, under certain circumstancesrCosay, on a particular occasion. He tried to prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to
prepare himself made him less able to bear it.rCY

rCLWould he remember what took place in the relapse?rCY asked Mr. Lorry, with natural hesitation.

The Doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head, and
answered, in a low voice, rCLNot at all.rCY

rCLNow, as to the future,rCY hinted Mr. Lorry.

rCLAs to the future,rCY said the Doctor, recovering firmness, rCLI should have great hope. As it pleased Heaven in its mercy to restore him so soon, I
should have great hope. He, yielding under the pressure of a complicated something, long dreaded and long vaguely foreseen and contended against,
and recovering after the cloud had burst and passed, I should hope that
the worst was over.rCY

rCLWell, well! ThatrCOs good comfort. I am thankful!rCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLI am thankful!rCY repeated the Doctor, bending his head with reverence.

rCLThere are two other points,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLon which I am anxious to be instructed. I may go on?rCY

rCLYou cannot do your friend a better service.rCY The Doctor gave him his hand.

rCLTo the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusually energetic;
he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition of professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to many things. Now, does he
do too much?rCY

rCLI think not. It may be the character of his mind, to be always in
singular need of occupation. That may be, in part, natural to it; in
part, the result of affliction. The less it was occupied with healthy
things, the more it would be in danger of turning in the unhealthy
direction. He may have observed himself, and made the discovery.rCY

rCLYou are sure that he is not under too great a strain?rCY

rCLI think I am quite sure of it.rCY

rCLMy dear Manette, if he were overworked nowrCorCY

rCLMy dear Lorry, I doubt if that could easily be. There has been a violent stress in one direction, and it needs a counterweight.rCY

rCLExcuse me, as a persistent man of business. Assuming for a moment, that
he was overworked; it would show itself in some renewal of this
disorder?rCY

rCLI do not think so. I do not think,rCY said Doctor Manette with the
firmness of self-conviction, rCLthat anything but the one train of
association would renew it. I think that, henceforth, nothing but some extraordinary jarring of that chord could renew it. After what has
happened, and after his recovery, I find it difficult to imagine any such violent sounding of that string again. I trust, and I almost believe,
that the circumstances likely to renew it are exhausted.rCY

He spoke with the diffidence of a man who knew how slight a thing would overset the delicate organisation of the mind, and yet with the
confidence of a man who had slowly won his assurance out of personal
endurance and distress. It was not for his friend to abate that
confidence. He professed himself more relieved and encouraged than he
really was, and approached his second and last point. He felt it to be
the most difficult of all; but, remembering his old Sunday morning conversation with Miss Pross, and remembering what he had seen in the
last nine days, he knew that he must face it.

rCLThe occupation resumed under the influence of this passing affliction so happily recovered from,rCY said Mr. Lorry, clearing his throat, rCLwe will callrCoBlacksmithrCOs work, BlacksmithrCOs work. We will say, to put a case and
for the sake of illustration, that he had been used, in his bad time, to
work at a little forge. We will say that he was unexpectedly found at his forge again. Is it not a pity that he should keep it by him?rCY

The Doctor shaded his forehead with his hand, and beat his foot nervously
on the ground.

rCLHe has always kept it by him,rCY said Mr. Lorry, with an anxious look at his friend. rCLNow, would it not be better that he should let it go?rCY

Still, the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beat his foot nervously on the ground.

rCLYou do not find it easy to advise me?rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLI quite understand it to be a nice question. And yet I thinkrCorCY And there he shook his head, and stopped.

rCLYou see,rCY said Doctor Manette, turning to him after an uneasy pause, rCLit
is very hard to explain, consistently, the innermost workings of this
poor manrCOs mind. He once yearned so frightfully for that occupation, and
it was so welcome when it came; no doubt it relieved his pain so much, by substituting the perplexity of the fingers for the perplexity of the
brain, and by substituting, as he became more practised, the ingenuity of
the hands, for the ingenuity of the mental torture; that he has never
been able to bear the thought of putting it quite out of his reach. Even
now, when I believe he is more hopeful of himself than he has ever been,
and even speaks of himself with a kind of confidence, the idea that he
might need that old employment, and not find it, gives him a sudden sense
of terror, like that which one may fancy strikes to the heart of a lost child.rCY

He looked like his illustration, as he raised his eyes to Mr. LorryrCOs
face.

rCLBut may notrComind! I ask for information, as a plodding man of business who only deals with such material objects as guineas, shillings, and bank-notesrComay not the retention of the thing involve the retention of
the idea? If the thing were gone, my dear Manette, might not the fear go
with it? In short, is it not a concession to the misgiving, to keep the forge?rCY

There was another silence.

rCLYou see, too,rCY said the Doctor, tremulously, rCLit is such an old companion.rCY

rCLI would not keep it,rCY said Mr. Lorry, shaking his head; for he gained in firmness as he saw the Doctor disquieted. rCLI would recommend him to sacrifice it. I only want your authority. I am sure it does no good.
Come! Give me your authority, like a dear good man. For his daughterrCOs
sake, my dear Manette!rCY

Very strange to see what a struggle there was within him!

rCLIn her name, then, let it be done; I sanction it. But, I would not take
it away while he was present. Let it be removed when he is not there; let
him miss his old companion after an absence.rCY

Mr. Lorry readily engaged for that, and the conference was ended. They
passed the day in the country, and the Doctor was quite restored. On the
three following days he remained perfectly well, and on the fourteenth
day he went away to join Lucie and her husband. The precaution that had
been taken to account for his silence, Mr. Lorry had previously explained
to him, and he had written to Lucie in accordance with it, and she had no suspicions.

On the night of the day on which he left the house, Mr. Lorry went into
his room with a chopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended by Miss Pross carrying a light. There, with closed doors, and in a mysterious and
guilty manner, Mr. Lorry hacked the shoemakerrCOs bench to pieces, while
Miss Pross held the candle as if she were assisting at a murderrCofor
which, indeed, in her grimness, she was no unsuitable figure. The burning
of the body (previously reduced to pieces convenient for the purpose) was commenced without delay in the kitchen fire; and the tools, shoes, and leather, were buried in the garden. So wicked do destruction and secrecy appear to honest minds, that Mr. Lorry and Miss Pross, while engaged in
the commission of their deed and in the removal of its traces, almost
felt, and almost looked, like accomplices in a horrible crime.

0576m
Original
CHAPTER XX.
A Plea
When the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to
offer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at home
many hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, or
in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity
about him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay.

He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and of speaking to him when no one overheard.

rCLMr. Darnay,rCY said Carton, rCLI wish we might be friends.rCY

rCLWe are already friends, I hope.rCY

rCLYou are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I donrCOt mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be friends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.rCY

Charles DarnayrCoas was naturalrCoasked him, in all good-humour and good- fellowship, what he did mean?

rCLUpon my life,rCY said Carton, smiling, rCLI find that easier to comprehend in my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. You
remember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk thanrCothan
usual?rCY

rCLI remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess that
you had been drinking.rCY

rCLI remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for I always remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day, when
all days are at an end for me! DonrCOt be alarmed; I am not going to preach.rCY

rCLI am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but alarming to me.rCY

rCLAh!rCY said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved that away. rCLOn the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, as you know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I wish
you would forget it.rCY

rCLI forgot it long ago.rCY

rCLFashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to me,
as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it, and a
light answer does not help me to forget it.rCY

rCLIf it was a light answer,rCY returned Darnay, rCLI beg your forgiveness for it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my
surprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on the
faith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good
Heaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to remember, in the great service you rendered me that day?rCY

rCLAs to the great service,rCY said Carton, rCLI am bound to avow to you, when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, I
donrCOt know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered it.rCoMind! I say when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.rCY

rCLYou make light of the obligation,rCY returned Darnay, rCLbut I will not quarrel with your light answer.rCY

rCLGenuine truth, Mr. Darnay, trust me! I have gone aside from my purpose;
I was speaking about our being friends. Now, you know me; you know I am incapable of all the higher and better flights of men. If you doubt it,
ask Stryver, and herCOll tell you so.rCY

rCLI prefer to form my own opinion, without the aid of his.rCY

rCLWell! At any rate you know me as a dissolute dog, who has never done any good, and never will.rCY

rCLI donrCOt know that you rCynever will.rCOrCY

rCLBut I do, and you must take my word for it. Well! If you could endure to have such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferent
reputation, coming and going at odd times, I should ask that I might be permitted to come and go as a privileged person here; that I might be
regarded as an useless (and I would add, if it were not for the
resemblance I detected between you and me, an unornamental) piece of furniture, tolerated for its old service, and taken no notice of. I doubt
if I should abuse the permission. It is a hundred to one if I should
avail myself of it four times in a year. It would satisfy me, I dare say,
to know that I had it.rCY

rCLWill you try?rCY

rCLThat is another way of saying that I am placed on the footing I have indicated. I thank you, Darnay. I may use that freedom with your name?rCY

rCLI think so, Carton, by this time.rCY

They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. Within a minute
afterwards, he was, to all outward appearance, as unsubstantial as ever.

When he was gone, and in the course of an evening passed with Miss Pross,
the Doctor, and Mr. Lorry, Charles Darnay made some mention of this conversation in general terms, and spoke of Sydney Carton as a problem of carelessness and recklessness. He spoke of him, in short, not bitterly or meaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybody might who saw him as he
showed himself.

He had no idea that this could dwell in the thoughts of his fair young
wife; but, when he afterwards joined her in their own rooms, he found her waiting for him with the old pretty lifting of the forehead strongly
marked.

rCLWe are thoughtful to-night!rCY said Darnay, drawing his arm about her.

rCLYes, dearest Charles,rCY with her hands on his breast, and the inquiring and attentive expression fixed upon him; rCLwe are rather thoughtful to-
night, for we have something on our mind to-night.rCY

rCLWhat is it, my Lucie?rCY

rCLWill you promise not to press one question on me, if I beg you not to
ask it?rCY

rCLWill I promise? What will I not promise to my Love?rCY

What, indeed, with his hand putting aside the golden hair from the cheek,
and his other hand against the heart that beat for him!

rCLI think, Charles, poor Mr. Carton deserves more consideration and
respect than you expressed for him to-night.rCY

rCLIndeed, my own? Why so?rCY

rCLThat is what you are not to ask me. But I thinkrCoI knowrCohe does.rCY

rCLIf you know it, it is enough. What would you have me do, my Life?rCY

rCLI would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and very lenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe that
he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep
wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding.rCY

rCLIt is a painful reflection to me,rCY said Charles Darnay, quite astounded, rCLthat I should have done him any wrong. I never thought this of him.rCY

rCLMy husband, it is so. I fear he is not to be reclaimed; there is
scarcely a hope that anything in his character or fortunes is reparable
now. But, I am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things,
even magnanimous things.rCY

She looked so beautiful in the purity of her faith in this lost man, that
her husband could have looked at her as she was for hours.

rCLAnd, O my dearest Love!rCY she urged, clinging nearer to him, laying her head upon his breast, and raising her eyes to his, rCLremember how strong
we are in our happiness, and how weak he is in his misery!rCY

The supplication touched him home. rCLI will always remember it, dear
Heart! I will remember it as long as I live.rCY

He bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, and folded
her in his arms. If one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets,
could have heard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the drops
of pity kissed away by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of
that husband, he might have cried to the nightrCoand the words would not
have parted from his lips for the first timerCo

rCLGod bless her for her sweet compassion!rCY

CHAPTER XXI.
Echoing Footsteps
Awonderful corner for echoes, it has been remarked, that corner where the Doctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden thread which bound her
husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress and
companion, in a life of quiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of
years.

At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife,
when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be
dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, something light,
afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much. Fluttering hopes and doubtsrCohopes, of a love as yet unknown to her:
doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delightrCodivided
her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of
footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would
be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her
eyes, and broke like waves.

That time passed, and her little Lucie lay on her bosom. Then, among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet and the sound of
her prattling words. Let greater echoes resound as they would, the young mother at the cradle side could always hear those coming. They came, and
the shady house was sunny with a childrCOs laugh, and the Divine friend of children, to whom in her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take
her child in his arms, as He took the child of old, and made it a sacred
joy to her.

Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together,
weaving the service of her happy influence through the tissue of all
their lives, and making it predominate nowhere, Lucie heard in the echoes
of years none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her husbandrCOs step was strong and prosperous among them; her fatherrCOs firm and equal. Lo, Miss Pross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly charger, whip-corrected, snorting and pawing the earth under the plane-tree in the garden!

Even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were not harsh
nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said, with a radiant smile, rCLDear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave you both, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I must go!rCY those were not tears all
of agony that wetted his young motherrCOs cheek, as the spirit departed
from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Suffer them and forbid
them not. They see my FatherrCOs face. O Father, blessed words!

Thus, the rustling of an AngelrCOs wings got blended with the other echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb were mingled with
them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed murmurrColike the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shorerCoas the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or dressing a doll at her motherrCOs footstool, chattered in the tongues of the Two Cities that were blended in her life.

The Echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of Sydney Carton. Some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of coming in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he had once
done often. He never came there heated with wine. And one other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been whispered by
all true echoes for ages and ages.

No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her
children had a strange sympathy with himrCoan instinctive delicacy of pity
for him. What fine hidden sensibilities are touched in such a case, no
echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. Carton was the first
stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept his
place with her as she grew. The little boy had spoken of him, almost at
the last. rCLPoor Carton! Kiss him for me!rCY

Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some great engine
forcing itself through turbid water, and dragged his useful friend in his wake, like a boat towed astern. As the boat so favoured is usually in a
rough plight, and mostly under water, so, Sydney had a swamped life of
it. But, easy and strong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger in
him than any stimulating sense of desert or disgrace, made it the life he
was to lead; and he no more thought of emerging from his state of lionrCOs jackal, than any real jackal may be supposed to think of rising to be a
lion. Stryver was rich; had married a florid widow with property and
three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about them but the
straight hair of their dumpling heads.

These three young gentlemen, Mr. Stryver, exuding patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore, had walked before him like three sheep
to the quiet corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to LucierCOs
husband: delicately saying rCLHalloa! here are three lumps of bread-and-
cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!rCY The polite rejection of
the three lumps of bread-and-cheese had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation, which he afterwards turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the pride of Beggars,
like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the habit of declaiming to Mrs. Stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put
in practice to rCLcatchrCY him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in himself, madam, which had rendered him rCLnot to be caught.rCY Some of his KingrCOs Bench familiars, who were occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie, excused him for the latter by saying that he had told
it so often, that he believed it himselfrCowhich is surely such an incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any
such offenderrCOs being carried off to some suitably retired spot, and
there hanged out of the way.

These were among the echoes to which Lucie, sometimes pensive, sometimes amused and laughing, listened in the echoing corner, until her little
daughter was six years old. How near to her heart the echoes of her
childrCOs tread came, and those of her own dear fatherrCOs, always active and self-possessed, and those of her dear husbandrCOs, need not be told. Nor,
how the lightest echo of their united home, directed by herself with such
a wise and elegant thrift that it was more abundant than any waste, was
music to her. Nor, how there were echoes all about her, sweet in her
ears, of the many times her father had told her that he found her more
devoted to him married (if that could be) than single, and of the many
times her husband had said to her that no cares and duties seemed to
divide her love for him or her help to him, and asked her rCLWhat is the
magic secret, my darling, of your being everything to all of us, as if
there were only one of us, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to have
too much to do?rCY

But, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled menacingly in
the corner all through this space of time. And it was now, about little LucierCOs sixth birthday, that they began to have an awful sound, as of a great storm in France with a dreadful sea rising.

On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, Mr.
Lorry came in late, from TellsonrCOs, and sat himself down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot, wild night, and they were all
three reminded of the old Sunday night when they had looked at the
lightning from the same place.

rCLI began to think,rCY said Mr. Lorry, pushing his brown wig back, rCLthat I should have to pass the night at TellsonrCOs. We have been so full of
business all day, that we have not known what to do first, or which way
to turn. There is such an uneasiness in Paris, that we have actually a
run of confidence upon us! Our customers over there, seem not to be able
to confide their property to us fast enough. There is positively a mania
among some of them for sending it to England.rCY

rCLThat has a bad look,rCY said DarnayrCo

rCLA bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we donrCOt know what reason there is in it. People are so unreasonable! Some of us at TellsonrCOs are getting old, and we really canrCOt be troubled out of the ordinary course without due occasion.rCY

rCLStill,rCY said Darnay, rCLyou know how gloomy and threatening the sky is.rCY

rCLI know that, to be sure,rCY assented Mr. Lorry, trying to persuade himself that his sweet temper was soured, and that he grumbled, rCLbut I am
determined to be peevish after my long dayrCOs botheration. Where is Manette?rCY

rCLHere he is,rCY said the Doctor, entering the dark room at the moment.

rCLI am quite glad you are at home; for these hurries and forebodings by
which I have been surrounded all day long, have made me nervous without reason. You are not going out, I hope?rCY

rCLNo; I am going to play backgammon with you, if you like,rCY said the Doctor.

rCLI donrCOt think I do like, if I may speak my mind. I am not fit to be pitted against you to-night. Is the teaboard still there, Lucie? I canrCOt see.rCY

rCLOf course, it has been kept for you.rCY

rCLThank ye, my dear. The precious child is safe in bed?rCY

rCLAnd sleeping soundly.rCY

rCLThatrCOs right; all safe and well! I donrCOt know why anything should be otherwise than safe and well here, thank God; but I have been so put out
all day, and I am not as young as I was! My tea, my dear! Thank ye. Now,
come and take your place in the circle, and let us sit quiet, and hear
the echoes about which you have your theory.rCY

rCLNot a theory; it was a fancy.rCY

rCLA fancy, then, my wise pet,rCY said Mr. Lorry, patting her hand. rCLThey are
very numerous and very loud, though, are they not? Only hear them!rCY

Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into anybodyrCOs life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the
footsteps raging in Saint Antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in
the dark London window.

Saint Antoine had been, that morning, a vast dusky mass of scarecrows
heaving to and fro, with frequent gleams of light above the billowy
heads, where steel blades and bayonets shone in the sun. A tremendous
roar arose from the throat of Saint Antoine, and a forest of naked arms struggled in the air like shrivelled branches of trees in a winter wind:
all the fingers convulsively clutching at every weapon or semblance of a weapon that was thrown up from the depths below, no matter how far off.

Who gave them out, whence they last came, where they began, through what agency they crookedly quivered and jerked, scores at a time, over the
heads of the crowd, like a kind of lightning, no eye in the throng could
have told; but, muskets were being distributedrCoso were cartridges,
powder, and ball, bars of iron and wood, knives, axes, pikes, every
weapon that distracted ingenuity could discover or devise. People who
could lay hold of nothing else, set themselves with bleeding hands to
force stones and bricks out of their places in walls. Every pulse and
heart in Saint Antoine was on high-fever strain and at high-fever heat.
Every living creature there held life as of no account, and was demented
with a passionate readiness to sacrifice it.

As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centre point, so, all this raging circled round DefargerCOs wine-shop, and every human drop in the caldron
had a tendency to be sucked towards the vortex where Defarge himself,
already begrimed with gunpowder and sweat, issued orders, issued arms,
thrust this man back, dragged this man forward, disarmed one to arm
another, laboured and strove in the thickest of the uproar.

rCLKeep near to me, Jacques Three,rCY cried Defarge; rCLand do you, Jacques One
and Two, separate and put yourselves at the head of as many of these
patriots as you can. Where is my wife?rCY

rCLEh, well! Here you see me!rCY said madame, composed as ever, but not knitting to-day. MadamerCOs resolute right hand was occupied with an axe,
in place of the usual softer implements, and in her girdle were a pistol
and a cruel knife.

rCLWhere do you go, my wife?rCY

rCLI go,rCY said madame, rCLwith you at present. You shall see me at the head of women, by-and-bye.rCY

rCLCome, then!rCY cried Defarge, in a resounding voice. rCLPatriots and friends, we are ready! The Bastille!rCY

With a roar that sounded as if all the breath in France had been shaped
into the detested word, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on
depth, and overflowed the city to that point. Alarm-bells ringing, drums beating, the sea raging and thundering on its new beach, the attack
began.

Deep ditches, double drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. Through the fire and through the smokerCo
in the fire and in the smoke, for the sea cast him up against a cannon,
and on the instant he became a cannonierrCoDefarge of the wine-shop worked like a manful soldier, Two fierce hours.

Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. One drawbridge down! rCLWork, comrades
all, work! Work, Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques One Thousand, Jacques
Two Thousand, Jacques Five-and-Twenty Thousand; in the name of all the
Angels or the DevilsrCowhich you preferrCowork!rCY Thus Defarge of the wine- shop, still at his gun, which had long grown hot.

rCLTo me, women!rCY cried madame his wife. rCLWhat! We can kill as well as the men when the place is taken!rCY And to her, with a shrill thirsty cry, trooping women variously armed, but all armed alike in hunger and
revenge.

Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, still the deep ditch, the single drawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers. Slight displacements of the raging sea, made by the falling wounded. Flashing weapons, blazing torches, smoking waggonloads of wet straw, hard work at neighbouring barricades in all directions, shrieks, volleys, execrations, bravery without stint, boom smash and rattle, and the furious sounding of
the living sea; but, still the deep ditch, and the single drawbridge, and
the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers, and still Defarge of
the wine-shop at his gun, grown doubly hot by the service of Four fierce hours.

A white flag from within the fortress, and a parleyrCothis dimly
perceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible in itrCosuddenly the
sea rose immeasurably wider and higher, and swept Defarge of the wine-
shop over the lowered drawbridge, past the massive stone outer walls, in
among the eight great towers surrendered!

So resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on, that even to
draw his breath or turn his head was as impracticable as if he had been struggling in the surf at the South Sea, until he was landed in the outer courtyard of the Bastille. There, against an angle of a wall, he made a struggle to look about him. Jacques Three was nearly at his side; Madame Defarge, still heading some of her women, was visible in the inner
distance, and her knife was in her hand. Everywhere was tumult,
exultation, deafening and maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet
furious dumb-show.

rCLThe Prisoners!rCY

rCLThe Records!rCY

rCLThe secret cells!rCY

rCLThe instruments of torture!rCY

rCLThe Prisoners!rCY

Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherences, rCLThe Prisoners!rCY was the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if there were an
eternity of people, as well as of time and space. When the foremost
billows rolled past, bearing the prison officers with them, and
threatening them all with instant death if any secret nook remained undisclosed, Defarge laid his strong hand on the breast of one of these menrCoa man with a grey head, who had a lighted torch in his handrCoseparated him from the rest, and got him between himself and the wall.

rCLShow me the North Tower!rCY said Defarge. rCLQuick!rCY

rCLI will faithfully,rCY replied the man, rCLif you will come with me. But there is no one there.rCY

rCLWhat is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North Tower?rCY asked
Defarge. rCLQuick!rCY

rCLThe meaning, monsieur?rCY

rCLDoes it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? Or do you mean that I shall strike you dead?rCY

rCLKill him!rCY croaked Jacques Three, who had come close up.

rCLMonsieur, it is a cell.rCY

rCLShow it me!rCY

rCLPass this way, then.rCY

Jacques Three, with his usual craving on him, and evidently disappointed
by the dialogue taking a turn that did not seem to promise bloodshed,
held by DefargerCOs arm as he held by the turnkeyrCOs. Their three heads had been close together during this brief discourse, and it had been as much
as they could do to hear one another, even then: so tremendous was the
noise of the living ocean, in its irruption into the Fortress, and its inundation of the courts and passages and staircases. All around outside,
too, it beat the walls with a deep, hoarse roar, from which,
occasionally, some partial shouts of tumult broke and leaped into the air
like spray.

Through gloomy vaults where the light of day had never shone, past
hideous doors of dark dens and cages, down cavernous flights of steps,
and again up steep rugged ascents of stone and brick, more like dry
waterfalls than staircases, Defarge, the turnkey, and Jacques Three,
linked hand and arm, went with all the speed they could make. Here and
there, especially at first, the inundation started on them and swept by;
but when they had done descending, and were winding and climbing up a
tower, they were alone. Hemmed in here by the massive thickness of walls
and arches, the storm within the fortress and without was only audible to
them in a dull, subdued way, as if the noise out of which they had come
had almost destroyed their sense of hearing.

The turnkey stopped at a low door, put a key in a clashing lock, swung
the door slowly open, and said, as they all bent their heads and passed
in:

rCLOne hundred and five, North Tower!rCY

There was a small, heavily-grated, unglazed window high in the wall, with
a stone screen before it, so that the sky could be only seen by stooping
low and looking up. There was a small chimney, heavily barred across, a
few feet within. There was a heap of old feathery wood-ashes on the
hearth. There was a stool, and table, and a straw bed. There were the
four blackened walls, and a rusted iron ring in one of them.

rCLPass that torch slowly along these walls, that I may see them,rCY said Defarge to the turnkey.

The man obeyed, and Defarge followed the light closely with his eyes.

rCLStop!rCoLook here, Jacques!rCY

rCLA. M.!rCY croaked Jacques Three, as he read greedily.

rCLAlexandre Manette,rCY said Defarge in his ear, following the letters with his swart forefinger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. rCLAnd here he wrote rCya poor physician.rCO And it was he, without doubt, who scratched a
calendar on this stone. What is that in your hand? A crowbar? Give it
me!rCY

He had still the linstock of his gun in his own hand. He made a sudden exchange of the two instruments, and turning on the worm-eaten stool and table, beat them to pieces in a few blows.

rCLHold the light higher!rCY he said, wrathfully, to the turnkey. rCLLook among
those fragments with care, Jacques. And see! Here is my knife,rCY throwing
it to him; rCLrip open that bed, and search the straw. Hold the light
higher, you!rCY

With a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon the hearth, and,
peering up the chimney, struck and prised at its sides with the crowbar,
and worked at the iron grating across it. In a few minutes, some mortar
and dust came dropping down, which he averted his face to avoid; and in
it, and in the old wood-ashes, and in a crevice in the chimney into which
his weapon had slipped or wrought itself, he groped with a cautious
touch.

rCLNothing in the wood, and nothing in the straw, Jacques?rCY

rCLNothing.rCY

rCLLet us collect them together, in the middle of the cell. So! Light them, you!rCY

The turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed high and hot. Stooping
again to come out at the low-arched door, they left it burning, and
retraced their way to the courtyard; seeming to recover their sense of
hearing as they came down, until they were in the raging flood once more.

They found it surging and tossing, in quest of Defarge himself. Saint
Antoine was clamorous to have its wine-shop keeper foremost in the guard
upon the governor who had defended the Bastille and shot the people. Otherwise, the governor would not be marched to the Hotel de Ville for judgment. Otherwise, the governor would escape, and the peoplerCOs blood (suddenly of some value, after many years of worthlessness) be unavenged.

In the howling universe of passion and contention that seemed to
encompass this grim old officer conspicuous in his grey coat and red decoration, there was but one quite steady figure, and that was a
womanrCOs. rCLSee, there is my husband!rCY she cried, pointing him out. rCLSee Defarge!rCY She stood immovable close to the grim old officer, and remained immovable close to him; remained immovable close to him through the
streets, as Defarge and the rest bore him along; remained immovable close
to him when he was got near his destination, and began to be struck at
from behind; remained immovable close to him when the long-gathering rain
of stabs and blows fell heavy; was so close to him when he dropped dead
under it, that, suddenly animated, she put her foot upon his neck, and
with her cruel kniferColong readyrCohewed off his head.

The hour was come, when Saint Antoine was to execute his horrible idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show what he could be and do. Saint
AntoinerCOs blood was up, and the blood of tyranny and domination by the
iron hand was downrCodown on the steps of the Hotel de Ville where the governorrCOs body layrCodown on the sole of the shoe of Madame Defarge where she had trodden on the body to steady it for mutilation. rCLLower the lamp yonder!rCY cried Saint Antoine, after glaring round for a new means of
death; rCLhere is one of his soldiers to be left on guard!rCY The swinging sentinel was posted, and the sea rushed on.

The sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive upheaving of
wave against wave, whose depths were yet unfathomed and whose forces were
yet unknown. The remorseless sea of turbulently swaying shapes, voices of vengeance, and faces hardened in the furnaces of suffering until the
touch of pity could make no mark on them.

But, in the ocean of faces where every fierce and furious expression was
in vivid life, there were two groups of facesrCoeach seven in numberrCoso fixedly contrasting with the rest, that never did sea roll which bore
more memorable wrecks with it. Seven faces of prisoners, suddenly
released by the storm that had burst their tomb, were carried high
overhead: all scared, all lost, all wondering and amazed, as if the Last
Day were come, and those who rejoiced around them were lost spirits.
Other seven faces there were, carried higher, seven dead faces, whose
drooping eyelids and half-seen eyes awaited the Last Day. Impassive
faces, yet with a suspendedrConot an abolishedrCoexpression on them; faces, rather, in a fearful pause, as having yet to raise the dropped lids of
the eyes, and bear witness with the bloodless lips, rCLThou Didst It!rCY

Seven prisoners released, seven gory heads on pikes, the keys of the
accursed fortress of the eight strong towers, some discovered letters and other memorials of prisoners of old time, long dead of broken hearts,rCo
such, and suchrColike, the loudly echoing footsteps of Saint Antoine escort through the Paris streets in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine. Now, Heaven defeat the fancy of Lucie Darnay, and keep these
feet far out of her life! For, they are headlong, mad, and dangerous; and
in the years so long after the breaking of the cask at DefargerCOs wine-
shop door, they are not easily purified when once stained red.

CHAPTER XXII.
The Sea Still Rises
Haggard Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften
his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with the relish of fraternal embraces and congratulations, when Madame Defarge sat
at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers. Madame Defarge
wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of Spies had become,
even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting themselves to the saintrCOs mercies. The lamps across his streets had a portentously elastic swing with them.

Madame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several
knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense
of power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: rCLI know how hard
it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but
do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy
life in you?rCY Every lean bare arm, that had been without work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike. The fingers of
the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that they could
tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine; the image
had been hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the last
finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.

Madame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was to
be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her
sisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had
already earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.

rCLHark!rCY said The Vengeance. rCLListen, then! Who comes?rCY

As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of Saint Antoine
Quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading murmur came rushing along.

rCLIt is Defarge,rCY said madame. rCLSilence, patriots!rCY

Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked
around him! rCLListen, everywhere!rCY said madame again. rCLListen to him!rCY Defarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open
mouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had
sprung to their feet.

rCLSay then, my husband. What is it?rCY

rCLNews from the other world!rCY

rCLHow, then?rCY cried madame, contemptuously. rCLThe other world?rCY

rCLDoes everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?rCY

rCLEverybody!rCY from all throats.

rCLThe news is of him. He is among us!rCY

rCLAmong us!rCY from the universal throat again. rCLAnd dead?rCY

rCLNot dead! He feared us so muchrCoand with reasonrCothat he caused himself to
be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they have found
him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. I have seen
him but now, on his way to the Hotel de Ville, a prisoner. I have said
that he had reason to fear us. Say all! Had he reason?rCY

Wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he had
never known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if he
could have heard the answering cry.

A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife looked
steadfastly at one another. The Vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drum
was heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter.

rCLPatriots!rCY said Defarge, in a determined voice, rCLare we ready?rCY

Instantly Madame DefargerCOs knife was in her girdle; the drum was beating
in the streets, as if it and a drummer had flown together by magic; and
The Vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks, and flinging her arms about her
head like all the forty Furies at once, was tearing from house to house, rousing the women.

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The men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with which they looked
from windows, caught up what arms they had, and came pouring down into
the streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the boldest. From such household occupations as their bare poverty yielded, from their children,
from their aged and their sick crouching on the bare ground famished and naked, they ran out with streaming hair, urging one another, and
themselves, to madness with the wildest cries and actions. Villain Foulon taken, my sister! Old Foulon taken, my mother! Miscreant Foulon taken, my daughter! Then, a score of others ran into the midst of these, beating
their breasts, tearing their hair, and screaming, Foulon alive! Foulon
who told the starving people they might eat grass! Foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when I had no bread to give him! Foulon
who told my baby it might suck grass, when these breasts were dry with
want! O mother of God, this Foulon! O Heaven our suffering! Hear me, my
dead baby and my withered father: I swear on my knees, on these stones,
to avenge you on Foulon! Husbands, and brothers, and young men, Give us
the blood of Foulon, Give us the head of Foulon, Give us the heart of
Foulon, Give us the body and soul of Foulon, Rend Foulon to pieces, and
dig him into the ground, that grass may grow from him! With these cries, numbers of the women, lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking
and tearing at their own friends until they dropped into a passionate
swoon, and were only saved by the men belonging to them from being
trampled under foot.

Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! This Foulon was at the Hotel de Ville, and might be loosed. Never, if Saint Antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs! Armed men and women flocked out of the Quarter so fast, and drew even these last dregs after them with such a
force of suction, that within a quarter of an hour there was not a human creature in Saint AntoinerCOs bosom but a few old crones and the wailing children.

No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of Examination where this
old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into the adjacent open
space and streets. The Defarges, husband and wife, The Vengeance, and
Jacques Three, were in the first press, and at no great distance from him
in the Hall.

rCLSee!rCY cried madame, pointing with her knife. rCLSee the old villain bound with ropes. That was well done to tie a bunch of grass upon his back. Ha,
ha! That was well done. Let him eat it now!rCY Madame put her knife under
her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play.

The people immediately behind Madame Defarge, explaining the cause of her satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explaining to others,
and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded with the clapping
of hands. Similarly, during two or three hours of drawl, and the
winnowing of many bushels of words, Madame DefargerCOs frequent expressions
of impatience were taken up, with marvellous quickness, at a distance:
the more readily, because certain men who had by some wonderful exercise
of agility climbed up the external architecture to look in from the
windows, knew Madame Defarge well, and acted as a telegraph between her
and the crowd outside the building.

At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope or protection, directly down upon the old prisonerrCOs head. The favour was
too much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had
stood surprisingly long, went to the winds, and Saint Antoine had got
him!

It was known directly, to the furthest confines of the crowd. Defarge had
but sprung over a railing and a table, and folded the miserable wretch in
a deadly embracerCoMadame Defarge had but followed and turned her hand in
one of the ropes with which he was tiedrCoThe Vengeance and Jacques Three
were not yet up with them, and the men at the windows had not yet swooped
into the Hall, like birds of prey from their high perchesrCowhen the cry seemed to go up, all over the city, rCLBring him out! Bring him to the lamp!rCY

Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the building; now, on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back; dragged, and struck at, and
stifled by the bunches of grass and straw that were thrust into his face
by hundreds of hands; torn, bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always
entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of vehement agony of
action, with a small clear space about him as the people drew one another
back that they might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a forest
of legs; he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the
fatal lamps swung, and there Madame Defarge let him gorCoas a cat might
have done to a mouserCoand silently and composedly looked at him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the women passionately screeching
at him all the time, and the men sternly calling out to have him killed
with grass in his mouth. Once, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and
they caught him shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and
they caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, and held him, and
his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in the mouth for all
Saint Antoine to dance at the sight of.

Nor was this the end of the dayrCOs bad work, for Saint Antoine so shouted
and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on hearing when the
day closed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the
peoplerCOs enemies and insulters, was coming into Paris under a guard five hundred strong, in cavalry alone. Saint Antoine wrote his crimes on
flaring sheets of paper, seized himrCowould have torn him out of the breast
of an army to bear Foulon companyrCoset his head and heart on pikes, and carried the three spoils of the day, in Wolf-procession through the
streets.

Not before dark night did the men and women come back to the children,
wailing and breadless. Then, the miserable bakersrCO shops were beset by
long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad bread; and while they
waited with stomachs faint and empty, they beguiled the time by embracing
one another on the triumphs of the day, and achieving them again in
gossip. Gradually, these strings of ragged people shortened and frayed
away; and then poor lights began to shine in high windows, and slender
fires were made in the streets, at which neighbours cooked in common, afterwards supping at their doors.

Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of most
other sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused some
nourishment into the flinty viands, and struck some sparks of
cheerfulness out of them. Fathers and mothers who had had their full
share in the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children;
and lovers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and
hoped.

It was almost morning, when DefargerCOs wine-shop parted with its last knot
of customers, and Monsieur Defarge said to madame his wife, in husky
tones, while fastening the door:

rCLAt last it is come, my dear!rCY

rCLEh well!rCY returned madame. rCLAlmost.rCY

Saint Antoine slept, the Defarges slept: even The Vengeance slept with
her starved grocer, and the drum was at rest. The drumrCOs was the only
voice in Saint Antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. The
Vengeance, as custodian of the drum, could have wakened him up and had
the same speech out of him as before the Bastille fell, or old Foulon was seized; not so with the hoarse tones of the men and women in Saint
AntoinerCOs bosom.

CHAPTER XXIII.
Fire Rises
There was a change on the village where the fountain fell, and where the mender of roads went forth daily to hammer out of the stones on the
highway such morsels of bread as might serve for patches to hold his poor ignorant soul and his poor reduced body together. The prison on the crag
was not so dominant as of yore; there were soldiers to guard it, but not
many; there were officers to guard the soldiers, but not one of them knew
what his men would dorCobeyond this: that it would probably not be what he
was ordered.

Far and wide lay a ruined country, yielding nothing but desolation. Every green leaf, every blade of grass and blade of grain, was as shrivelled
and poor as the miserable people. Everything was bowed down, dejected, oppressed, and broken. Habitations, fences, domesticated animals, men,
women, children, and the soil that bore themrCoall worn out.

Monseigneur (often a most worthy individual gentleman) was a national blessing, gave a chivalrous tone to things, was a polite example of
luxurious and shining life, and a great deal more to equal purpose; nevertheless, Monseigneur as a class had, somehow or other, brought
things to this. Strange that Creation, designed expressly for
Monseigneur, should be so soon wrung dry and squeezed out! There must be something short-sighted in the eternal arrangements, surely! Thus it was, however; and the last drop of blood having been extracted from the
flints, and the last screw of the rack having been turned so often that
its purchase crumbled, and it now turned and turned with nothing to bite, Monseigneur began to run away from a phenomenon so low and unaccountable.

But, this was not the change on the village, and on many a village like
it. For scores of years gone by, Monseigneur had squeezed it and wrung
it, and had seldom graced it with his presence except for the pleasures
of the chaserConow, found in hunting the people; now, found in hunting the beasts, for whose preservation Monseigneur made edifying spaces of
barbarous and barren wilderness. No. The change consisted in the
appearance of strange faces of low caste, rather than in the
disappearance of the high caste, chiselled, and otherwise beautified and beautifying features of Monseigneur.

For, in these times, as the mender of roads worked, solitary, in the
dust, not often troubling himself to reflect that dust he was and to dust
he must return, being for the most part too much occupied in thinking how little he had for supper and how much more he would eat if he had itrCoin these times, as he raised his eyes from his lonely labour, and viewed the prospect, he would see some rough figure approaching on foot, the like of which was once a rarity in those parts, but was now a frequent presence.
As it advanced, the mender of roads would discern without surprise, that
it was a shaggy-haired man, of almost barbarian aspect, tall, in wooden
shoes that were clumsy even to the eyes of a mender of roads, grim,
rough, swart, steeped in the mud and dust of many highways, dank with the marshy moisture of many low grounds, sprinkled with the thorns and leaves
and moss of many byways through woods.

Such a man came upon him, like a ghost, at noon in the July weather, as
he sat on his heap of stones under a bank, taking such shelter as he
could get from a shower of hail.

The man looked at him, looked at the village in the hollow, at the mill,
and at the prison on the crag. When he had identified these objects in
what benighted mind he had, he said, in a dialect that was just
intelligible:

rCLHow goes it, Jacques?rCY

rCLAll well, Jacques.rCY

rCLTouch then!rCY

They joined hands, and the man sat down on the heap of stones.

rCLNo dinner?rCY

rCLNothing but supper now,rCY said the mender of roads, with a hungry face.

rCLIt is the fashion,rCY growled the man. rCLI meet no dinner anywhere.rCY

He took out a blackened pipe, filled it, lighted it with flint and steel, pulled at it until it was in a bright glow: then, suddenly held it from
him and dropped something into it from between his finger and thumb, that blazed and went out in a puff of smoke.

rCLTouch then.rCY It was the turn of the mender of roads to say it this time, after observing these operations. They again joined hands.

rCLTo-night?rCY said the mender of roads.

rCLTo-night,rCY said the man, putting the pipe in his mouth.

rCLWhere?rCY

rCLHere.rCY

He and the mender of roads sat on the heap of stones looking silently at
one another, with the hail driving in between them like a pigmy charge of bayonets, until the sky began to clear over the village.

rCLShow me!rCY said the traveller then, moving to the brow of the hill.

rCLSee!rCY returned the mender of roads, with extended finger. rCLYou go down here, and straight through the street, and past the fountainrCorCY

rCLTo the Devil with all that!rCY interrupted the other, rolling his eye over the landscape. rCLI go through no streets and past no fountains. Well?rCY

rCLWell! About two leagues beyond the summit of that hill above the village.rCY

rCLGood. When do you cease to work?rCY

rCLAt sunset.rCY

rCLWill you wake me, before departing? I have walked two nights without resting. Let me finish my pipe, and I shall sleep like a child. Will you
wake me?rCY

rCLSurely.rCY

The wayfarer smoked his pipe out, put it in his breast, slipped off his
great wooden shoes, and lay down on his back on the heap of stones. He
was fast asleep directly.

As the road-mender plied his dusty labour, and the hail-clouds, rolling
away, revealed bright bars and streaks of sky which were responded to by silver gleams upon the landscape, the little man (who wore a red cap now,
in place of his blue one) seemed fascinated by the figure on the heap of stones. His eyes were so often turned towards it, that he used his tools mechanically, and, one would have said, to very poor account. The bronze
face, the shaggy black hair and beard, the coarse woollen red cap, the
rough medley dress of home-spun stuff and hairy skins of beasts, the
powerful frame attenuated by spare living, and the sullen and desperate compression of the lips in sleep, inspired the mender of roads with awe.
The traveller had travelled far, and his feet were footsore, and his
ankles chafed and bleeding; his great shoes, stuffed with leaves and
grass, had been heavy to drag over the many long leagues, and his clothes
were chafed into holes, as he himself was into sores. Stooping down
beside him, the road-mender tried to get a peep at secret weapons in his breast or where not; but, in vain, for he slept with his arms crossed
upon him, and set as resolutely as his lips. Fortified towns with their stockades, guard-houses, gates, trenches, and drawbridges, seemed to the mender of roads, to be so much air as against this figure. And when he
lifted his eyes from it to the horizon and looked around, he saw in his
small fancy similar figures, stopped by no obstacle, tending to centres
all over France.

The man slept on, indifferent to showers of hail and intervals of
brightness, to sunshine on his face and shadow, to the paltering lumps of
dull ice on his body and the diamonds into which the sun changed them,
until the sun was low in the west, and the sky was glowing. Then, the
mender of roads having got his tools together and all things ready to go
down into the village, roused him.

rCLGood!rCY said the sleeper, rising on his elbow. rCLTwo leagues beyond the summit of the hill?rCY

rCLAbout.rCY

rCLAbout. Good!rCY

The mender of roads went home, with the dust going on before him
according to the set of the wind, and was soon at the fountain, squeezing himself in among the lean kine brought there to drink, and appearing even
to whisper to them in his whispering to all the village. When the village
had taken its poor supper, it did not creep to bed, as it usually did,
but came out of doors again, and remained there. A curious contagion of whispering was upon it, and also, when it gathered together at the
fountain in the dark, another curious contagion of looking expectantly at
the sky in one direction only. Monsieur Gabelle, chief functionary of the place, became uneasy; went out on his house-top alone, and looked in that direction too; glanced down from behind his chimneys at the darkening
faces by the fountain below, and sent word to the sacristan who kept the
keys of the church, that there might be need to ring the tocsin by-and-
bye.

The night deepened. The trees environing the old chateau, keeping its
solitary state apart, moved in a rising wind, as though they threatened
the pile of building massive and dark in the gloom. Up the two terrace
flights of steps the rain ran wildly, and beat at the great door, like a
swift messenger rousing those within; uneasy rushes of wind went through
the hall, among the old spears and knives, and passed lamenting up the
stairs, and shook the curtains of the bed where the last Marquis had
slept. East, West, North, and South, through the woods, four heavy-
treading, unkempt figures crushed the high grass and cracked the
branches, striding on cautiously to come together in the courtyard. Four lights broke out there, and moved away in different directions, and all
was black again.

But, not for long. Presently, the chateau began to make itself strangely visible by some light of its own, as though it were growing luminous.
Then, a flickering streak played behind the architecture of the front,
picking out transparent places, and showing where balustrades, arches,
and windows were. Then it soared higher, and grew broader and brighter.
Soon, from a score of the great windows, flames burst forth, and the
stone faces awakened, stared out of fire.

A faint murmur arose about the house from the few people who were left
there, and there was a saddling of a horse and riding away. There was
spurring and splashing through the darkness, and bridle was drawn in the
space by the village fountain, and the horse in a foam stood at Monsieur GabellerCOs door. rCLHelp, Gabelle! Help, every one!rCY The tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if that were any) there was none. The mender
of roads, and two hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with folded
arms at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. rCLIt must
be forty feet high,rCY said they, grimly; and never moved.

The rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam, clattered away
through the village, and galloped up the stony steep, to the prison on
the crag. At the gate, a group of officers were looking at the fire;
removed from them, a group of soldiers. rCLHelp, gentlemenrCoofficers! The chateau is on fire; valuable objects may be saved from the flames by
timely aid! Help, help!rCY The officers looked towards the soldiers who
looked at the fire; gave no orders; and answered, with shrugs and biting
of lips, rCLIt must burn.rCY

As the rider rattled down the hill again and through the street, the
village was illuminating. The mender of roads, and the two hundred and
fifty particular friends, inspired as one man and woman by the idea of lighting up, had darted into their houses, and were putting candles in
every dull little pane of glass. The general scarcity of everything, occasioned candles to be borrowed in a rather peremptory manner of
Monsieur Gabelle; and in a moment of reluctance and hesitation on that functionaryrCOs part, the mender of roads, once so submissive to authority, had remarked that carriages were good to make bonfires with, and that post-horses would roast.

The chateau was left to itself to flame and burn. In the roaring and
raging of the conflagration, a red-hot wind, driving straight from the infernal regions, seemed to be blowing the edifice away. With the rising
and falling of the blaze, the stone faces showed as if they were in
torment. When great masses of stone and timber fell, the face with the
two dints in the nose became obscured: anon struggled out of the smoke
again, as if it were the face of the cruel Marquis, burning at the stake
and contending with the fire.

The chateau burned; the nearest trees, laid hold of by the fire, scorched
and shrivelled; trees at a distance, fired by the four fierce figures,
begirt the blazing edifice with a new forest of smoke. Molten lead and
iron boiled in the marble basin of the fountain; the water ran dry; the extinguisher tops of the towers vanished like ice before the heat, and trickled down into four rugged wells of flame. Great rents and splits
branched out in the solid walls, like crystallisation; stupefied birds
wheeled about and dropped into the furnace; four fierce figures trudged
away, East, West, North, and South, along the night-enshrouded roads,
guided by the beacon they had lighted, towards their next destination.
The illuminated village had seized hold of the tocsin, and, abolishing
the lawful ringer, rang for joy.

Not only that; but the village, light-headed with famine, fire, and bell- ringing, and bethinking itself that Monsieur Gabelle had to do with the collection of rent and taxesrCothough it was but a small instalment of
taxes, and no rent at all, that Gabelle had got in those latter daysrCo
became impatient for an interview with him, and, surrounding his house, summoned him to come forth for personal conference. Whereupon, Monsieur Gabelle did heavily bar his door, and retire to hold counsel with
himself. The result of that conference was, that Gabelle again withdrew himself to his housetop behind his stack of chimneys; this time resolved,
if his door were broken in (he was a small Southern man of retaliative temperament), to pitch himself head foremost over the parapet, and crush
a man or two below.

Probably, Monsieur Gabelle passed a long night up there, with the distant chateau for fire and candle, and the beating at his door, combined with
the joy-ringing, for music; not to mention his having an ill-omened lamp
slung across the road before his posting-house gate, which the village
showed a lively inclination to displace in his favour. A trying suspense,
to be passing a whole summer night on the brink of the black ocean, ready
to take that plunge into it upon which Monsieur Gabelle had resolved!
But, the friendly dawn appearing at last, and the rush-candles of the
village guttering out, the people happily dispersed, and Monsieur Gabelle
came down bringing his life with him for that while.

Within a hundred miles, and in the light of other fires, there were other functionaries less fortunate, that night and other nights, whom the
rising sun found hanging across once-peaceful streets, where they had
been born and bred; also, there were other villagers and townspeople less fortunate than the mender of roads and his fellows, upon whom the functionaries and soldiery turned with success, and whom they strung up
in their turn. But, the fierce figures were steadily wending East, West, North, and South, be that as it would; and whosoever hung, fire burned.
The altitude of the gallows that would turn to water and quench it, no functionary, by any stretch of mathematics, was able to calculate successfully.

CHAPTER XXIV.
Drawn to the Loadstone Rock
In such risings of fire and risings of searCothe firm earth shaken by the rushes of an angry ocean which had now no ebb, but was always on the
flow, higher and higher, to the terror and wonder of the beholders on the shorerCothree years of tempest were consumed. Three more birthdays of
little Lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peaceful tissue
of the life of her home.

Many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes in the corner, with hearts that failed them when they heard the thronging feet.
For, the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a
people, tumultuous under a red flag and with their country declared in
danger, changed into wild beasts, by terrible enchantment long persisted
in.

Monseigneur, as a class, had dissociated himself from the phenomenon of
his not being appreciated: of his being so little wanted in France, as to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it, and this
life together. Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devil with infinite pains, and was so terrified at the sight of him that he could ask the
Enemy no question, but immediately fled; so, Monseigneur, after boldly
reading the LordrCOs Prayer backwards for a great number of years, and performing many other potent spells for compelling the Evil One, no
sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels.

The shining BullrCOs Eye of the Court was gone, or it would have been the
mark for a hurricane of national bullets. It had never been a good eye to
see withrCohad long had the mote in it of LuciferrCOs pride, SardanapalusrCOs luxury, and a molerCOs blindnessrCobut it had dropped out and was gone. The Court, from that exclusive inner circle to its outermost rotten ring of intrigue, corruption, and dissimulation, was all gone together. Royalty
was gone; had been besieged in its Palace and rCLsuspended,rCY when the last tidings came over.

The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two was
come, and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.

As was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place of
Monseigneur, in London, was TellsonrCOs Bank. Spirits are supposed to haunt the places where their bodies most resorted, and Monseigneur without a
guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be. Moreover, it was
the spot to which such French intelligence as was most to be relied upon,
came quickest. Again: TellsonrCOs was a munificent house, and extended
great liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate. Again: those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time, and
anticipating plunder or confiscation, had made provident remittances to TellsonrCOs, were always to be heard of there by their needy brethren. To which it must be added that every new-comer from France reported himself
and his tidings at TellsonrCOs, almost as a matter of course. For such
variety of reasons, TellsonrCOs was at that time, as to French
intelligence, a kind of High Exchange; and this was so well known to the public, and the inquiries made there were in consequence so numerous,
that TellsonrCOs sometimes wrote the latest news out in a line or so and posted it in the Bank windows, for all who ran through Temple Bar to
read.

On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and Charles
Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. The
penitential den once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news-Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within half an hour
or so of the time of closing.

rCLBut, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,rCY said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, rCLI must still suggest to yourCorCY

rCLI understand. That I am too old?rCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLUnsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.rCY

rCLMy dear Charles,rCY said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, rCLyou touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. It is safe
enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard
upon fourscore when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our
House here to our House there, who knows the city and the business, of
old, and is in TellsonrCOs confidence. As to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to submit
myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of TellsonrCOs, after all these years, who ought to be?rCY

rCLI wish I were going myself,rCY said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud.

rCLIndeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!rCY exclaimed Mr. Lorry. rCLYou wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? You
are a wise counsellor.rCY

rCLMy dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that the thought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passed through my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had some sympathy for the
miserable people, and having abandoned something to them,rCY he spoke here
in his former thoughtful manner, rCLthat one might be listened to, and
might have the power to persuade to some restraint. Only last night,
after you had left us, when I was talking to LucierCorCY

rCLWhen you were talking to Lucie,rCY Mr. Lorry repeated. rCLYes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were going to
France at this time of day!rCY

rCLHowever, I am not going,rCY said Charles Darnay, with a smile. rCLIt is more
to the purpose that you say you are.rCY

rCLAnd I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles,rCY Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, rCLyou can have no conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and
of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. The
Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to numbers
of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; and they
might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Paris is not set
afire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selection from these
with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or otherwise
getting of them out of harmrCOs way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And shall I
hang back, when TellsonrCOs knows this and says thisrCoTellsonrCOs, whose bread
I have eaten these sixty yearsrCobecause I am a little stiff about the
joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!rCY

rCLHow I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. Lorry.rCY

rCLTut! Nonsense, sir!rCoAnd, my dear Charles,rCY said Mr. Lorry, glancing at the House again, rCLyou are to remember, that getting things out of Paris
at this present time, no matter what things, is next to an impossibility. Papers and precious matters were this very day brought to us here (I
speak in strict confidence; it is not business-like to whisper it, even
to you), by the strangest bearers you can imagine, every one of whom had
his head hanging on by a single hair as he passed the Barriers. At
another time, our parcels would come and go, as easily as in business-
like Old England; but now, everything is stopped.rCY

rCLAnd do you really go to-night?rCY

rCLI really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit of delay.rCY

rCLAnd do you take no one with you?rCY

rCLAll sorts of people have been proposed to me, but I will have nothing to say to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. Jerry has been my bodyguard
on Sunday nights for a long time past and I am used to him. Nobody will suspect Jerry of being anything but an English bull-dog, or of having any design in his head but to fly at anybody who touches his master.rCY

rCLI must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry and
youthfulness.rCY

rCLI must say again, nonsense, nonsense! When I have executed this little commission, I shall, perhaps, accept TellsonrCOs proposal to retire and
live at my ease. Time enough, then, to think about growing old.rCY

This dialogue had taken place at Mr. LorryrCOs usual desk, with Monseigneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do to
avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. It was too much the way
of Monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was much too much
the way of native British orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible Revolution
as if it were the only harvest ever known under the skies that had not
been sownrCoas if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be done, that
had led to itrCoas if observers of the wretched millions in France, and of
the misused and perverted resources that should have made them
prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, and had not
in plain words recorded what they saw. Such vapouring, combined with the extravagant plots of Monseigneur for the restoration of a state of things
that had utterly exhausted itself, and worn out Heaven and earth as well
as itself, was hard to be endured without some remonstrance by any sane
man who knew the truth. And it was such vapouring all about his ears,
like a troublesome confusion of blood in his own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, which had already made Charles Darnay restless,
and which still kept him so.

Among the talkers, was Stryver, of the KingrCOs Bench Bar, far on his way
to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme: broaching to Monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up and exterminating them
from the face of the earth, and doing without them: and for accomplishing
many similar objects akin in their nature to the abolition of eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race. Him, Darnay heard with a
particular feeling of objection; and Darnay stood divided between going
away that he might hear no more, and remaining to interpose his word,
when the thing that was to be, went on to shape itself out.

The House approached Mr. Lorry, and laying a soiled and unopened letter
before him, asked if he had yet discovered any traces of the person to
whom it was addressed? The House laid the letter down so close to Darnay
that he saw the directionrCothe more quickly because it was his own right name. The address, turned into English, ran:

rCLVery pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evr|-monde, of France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson and Co., Bankers,
London, England.rCY

On the marriage morning, Doctor Manette had made it his one urgent and
express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of this name should be rCounless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligationrCokept inviolate between them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had no suspicion
of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none.

rCLNo,rCY said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; rCLI have referred it, I think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this gentleman
is to be found.rCY

The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the Bank, there
was a general set of the current of talkers past Mr. LorryrCOs desk. He
held the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the
person of this plotting and indignant refugee; and Monseigneur looked at
it in the person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and This, That,
and The Other, all had something disparaging to say, in French or in
English, concerning the Marquis who was not to be found.

rCLNephew, I believerCobut in any case degenerate successorrCoof the polished Marquis who was murdered,rCY said one. rCLHappy to say, I never knew him.rCY

rCLA craven who abandoned his post,rCY said anotherrCothis Monseigneur had been
got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay rCorCLsome years ago.rCY

rCLInfected with the new doctrines,rCY said a third, eyeing the direction through his glass in passing; rCLset himself in opposition to the last Marquis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left them to
the ruffian herd. They will recompense him now, I hope, as he deserves.rCY

rCLHey?rCY cried the blatant Stryver. rCLDid he though? Is that the sort of fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. DrCon the fellow!rCY

Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr. Stryver on the shoulder, and said:

rCLI know the fellow.rCY

rCLDo you, by Jupiter?rCY said Stryver. rCLI am sorry for it.rCY

rCLWhy?rCY

rCLWhy, Mr. Darnay? DrCOye hear what he did? DonrCOt ask, why, in these times.rCY

rCLBut I do ask why?rCY

rCLThen I tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I am sorry for it. I am sorry to hear you putting any such extraordinary questions. Here is a fellow, who,
infected by the most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilry that ever
was known, abandoned his property to the vilest scum of the earth that
ever did murder by wholesale, and you ask me why I am sorry that a man
who instructs youth knows him? Well, but IrCOll answer you. I am sorry
because I believe there is contamination in such a scoundrel. ThatrCOs
why.rCY

Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty checked himself, and
said: rCLYou may not understand the gentleman.rCY

rCLI understand how to put you in a corner, Mr. Darnay,rCY said Bully
Stryver, rCLand IrCOll do it. If this fellow is a gentleman, I donrCOt understand him. You may tell him so, with my compliments. You may also
tell him, from me, that after abandoning his worldly goods and position
to this butcherly mob, I wonder he is not at the head of them. But, no, gentlemen,rCY said Stryver, looking all round, and snapping his fingers, rCLI know something of human nature, and I tell you that yourCOll never find a fellow like this fellow, trusting himself to the mercies of such precious prot|-g|-s. No, gentlemen; herCOll always show rCOem a clean pair of heels very
early in the scuffle, and sneak away.rCY

With those words, and a final snap of his fingers, Mr. Stryver shouldered himself into Fleet-street, amidst the general approbation of his hearers.
Mr. Lorry and Charles Darnay were left alone at the desk, in the general departure from the Bank.

rCLWill you take charge of the letter?rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLYou know where to deliver it?rCY

rCLI do.rCY

rCLWill you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have been addressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it, and that it has
been here some time?rCY

rCLI will do so. Do you start for Paris from here?rCY

rCLFrom here, at eight.rCY

rCLI will come back, to see you off.rCY

Very ill at ease with himself, and with Stryver and most other men,
Darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the Temple, opened the letter, and read it. These were its contents:

rCLPrison of the Abbaye, Paris.

rCLJune 21, 1792. rCLMonsieur Heretofore The Marquis.

rCLAfter having long been in danger of my life at the hands of the village,
I have been seized, with great violence and indignity, and brought a long journey on foot to Paris. On the road I have suffered a great deal. Nor
is that all; my house has been destroyedrCorazed to the ground.

rCLThe crime for which I am imprisoned, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis,
and for which I shall be summoned before the tribunal, and shall lose my
life (without your so generous help), is, they tell me, treason against
the majesty of the people, in that I have acted against them for an
emigrant. It is in vain I represent that I have acted for them, and not against, according to your commands. It is in vain I represent that,
before the sequestration of emigrant property, I had remitted the imposts
they had ceased to pay; that I had collected no rent; that I had had
recourse to no process. The only response is, that I have acted for an emigrant, and where is that emigrant?

rCLAh! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is that
emigrant? I cry in my sleep where is he? I demand of Heaven, will he not
come to deliver me? No answer. Ah Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I send
my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears
through the great bank of Tilson known at Paris!

rCLFor the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, to succour
and release me. My fault is, that I have been true to you. Oh Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I pray you be you true to me!

rCLFrom this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and
nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.

rCLYour afflicted,

rCLGabelle.rCY

The latent uneasiness in DarnayrCOs mind was roused to vigourous life by
this letter. The peril of an old servant and a good one, whose only crime
was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him so reproachfully in
the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the Temple considering what to
do, he almost hid his face from the passersby.

He knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culminated
the bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his
resentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his conscience regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed to uphold,
he had acted imperfectly. He knew very well, that in his love for Lucie,
his renunciation of his social place, though by no means new to his own
mind, had been hurried and incomplete. He knew that he ought to have systematically worked it out and supervised it, and that he had meant to
do it, and that it had never been done.

The happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of being
always actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the time
which had followed on one another so fast, that the events of this week annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events of the week following made all new again; he knew very well, that to the force of
these circumstances he had yielded:rConot without disquiet, but still
without continuous and accumulating resistance. That he had watched the
times for a time of action, and that they had shifted and struggled until
the time had gone by, and the nobility were trooping from France by every highway and byway, and their property was in course of confiscation and destruction, and their very names were blotting out, was as well known to himself as it could be to any new authority in France that might impeach
him for it.

But, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so far
from having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relinquished
them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with no favour in it, won
his own private place there, and earned his own bread. Monsieur Gabelle
had held the impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to giverCosuch fuel as the heavy creditors would let them have in the winter, and such produce
as could be saved from the same grip in the summerrCoand no doubt he had
put the fact in plea and proof, for his own safety, so that it could not
but appear now.

This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make,
that he would go to Paris.

Yes. Like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams had driven
him within the influence of the Loadstone Rock, and it was drawing him to itself, and he must go. Everything that arose before his mind drifted him
on, faster and faster, more and more steadily, to the terrible
attraction. His latent uneasiness had been, that bad aims were being
worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments, and that he who
could not fail to know that he was better than they, was not there,
trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assert the claims of mercy
and humanity. With this uneasiness half stifled, and half reproaching
him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison of himself with the
brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong; upon that comparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers of Monseigneur,
which had stung him bitterly, and those of Stryver, which above all were coarse and galling, for old reasons. Upon those, had followed GabellerCOs letter: the appeal of an innocent prisoner, in danger of death, to his justice, honour, and good name.

His resolution was made. He must go to Paris.

Yes. The Loadstone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until he
struck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. The intention with
which he had done what he had done, even although he had left it
incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect that would be gratefully acknowledged in France on his presenting himself to assert it. Then, that glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the sanguine mirage of
so many good minds, arose before him, and he even saw himself in the
illusion with some influence to guide this raging Revolution that was
running so fearfully wild.

As he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered that
neither Lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone. Lucie
should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, always reluctant
to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old, should come to
the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not in the balance of
suspense and doubt. How much of the incompleteness of his situation was referable to her father, through the painful anxiety to avoid reviving
old associations of France in his mind, he did not discuss with himself.
But, that circumstance too, had had its influence in his course.

He walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time to
return to TellsonrCOs and take leave of Mr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in Paris he would present himself to this old friend, but he must say
nothing of his intention now.

A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry was
booted and equipped.

rCLI have delivered that letter,rCY said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. rCLI would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but
perhaps you will take a verbal one?rCY

rCLThat I will, and readily,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLif it is not dangerous.rCY

rCLNot at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.rCY

rCLWhat is his name?rCY said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his
hand.

rCLGabelle.rCY

rCLGabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?rCY

rCLSimply, rCythat he has received the letter, and will come.rCOrCY

rCLAny time mentioned?rCY

rCLHe will start upon his journey to-morrow night.rCY

rCLAny person mentioned?rCY

rCLNo.rCY

He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and
went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into the
misty air of Fleet-street. rCLMy love to Lucie, and to little Lucie,rCY said Mr. Lorry at parting, rCLand take precious care of them till I come back.rCY Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled, as the carriage
rolled away.

That nightrCoit was the fourteenth of AugustrCohe sat up late, and wrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he
was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length, the reasons that he
had, for feeling confident that he could become involved in no personal
danger there; the other was to the Doctor, confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling on the same topics with the strongest assurances. To both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of
his safety, immediately after his arrival.

It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the first
reservation of their joint lives on his mind. It was a hard matter to
preserve the innocent deceit of which they were profoundly unsuspicious.
But, an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him
resolute not to tell her what impended (he had been half moved to do it,
so strange it was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid), and
the day passed quickly. Early in the evening he embraced her, and her
scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that he would return by-and-bye
(an imaginary engagement took him out, and he had secreted a valise of
clothes ready), and so he emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy
streets, with a heavier heart.

The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all the tides
and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He left his two
letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hour before
midnight, and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began his journey.
rCLFor the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name!rCY was the poor prisonerrCOs cry with which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him, and
floated away for the Loadstone Rock.

The end of the second book.

Book the ThirdrCothe Track of a Storm
CHAPTER I.
In Secret
The traveller fared slowly on his way, who fared towards Paris from
England in the autumn of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-
two. More than enough of bad roads, bad equipages, and bad horses, he
would have encountered to delay him, though the fallen and unfortunate
King of France had been upon his throne in all his glory; but, the
changed times were fraught with other obstacles than these. Every town-
gate and village taxing-house had its band of citizen-patriots, with
their national muskets in a most explosive state of readiness, who
stopped all comers and goers, cross-questioned them, inspected their
papers, looked for their names in lists of their own, turned them back,
or sent them on, or stopped them and laid them in hold, as their
capricious judgment or fancy deemed best for the dawning Republic One and Indivisible, of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death.

A very few French leagues of his journey were accomplished, when Charles Darnay began to perceive that for him along these country roads there was
no hope of return until he should have been declared a good citizen at
Paris. Whatever might befall now, he must on to his journeyrCOs end. Not a mean village closed upon him, not a common barrier dropped across the
road behind him, but he knew it to be another iron door in the series
that was barred between him and England. The universal watchfulness so encompassed him, that if he had been taken in a net, or were being
forwarded to his destination in a cage, he could not have felt his
freedom more completely gone.

This universal watchfulness not only stopped him on the highway twenty
times in a stage, but retarded his progress twenty times in a day, by
riding after him and taking him back, riding before him and stopping him
by anticipation, riding with him and keeping him in charge. He had been
days upon his journey in France alone, when he went to bed tired out, in
a little town on the high road, still a long way from Paris.

Nothing but the production of the afflicted GabellerCOs letter from his
prison of the Abbaye would have got him on so far. His difficulty at the guard-house in this small place had been such, that he felt his journey
to have come to a crisis. And he was, therefore, as little surprised as a
man could be, to find himself awakened at the small inn to which he had
been remitted until morning, in the middle of the night.

Awakened by a timid local functionary and three armed patriots in rough
red caps and with pipes in their mouths, who sat down on the bed.

rCLEmigrant,rCY said the functionary, rCLI am going to send you on to Paris, under an escort.rCY

rCLCitizen, I desire nothing more than to get to Paris, though I could dispense with the escort.rCY

rCLSilence!rCY growled a red-cap, striking at the coverlet with the butt-end of his musket. rCLPeace, aristocrat!rCY

rCLIt is as the good patriot says,rCY observed the timid functionary. rCLYou are an aristocrat, and must have an escortrCoand must pay for it.rCY

rCLI have no choice,rCY said Charles Darnay.

rCLChoice! Listen to him!rCY cried the same scowling red-cap. rCLAs if it was not a favour to be protected from the lamp-iron!rCY

rCLIt is always as the good patriot says,rCY observed the functionary. rCLRise and dress yourself, emigrant.rCY

Darnay complied, and was taken back to the guard-house, where other
patriots in rough red caps were smoking, drinking, and sleeping, by a watch-fire. Here he paid a heavy price for his escort, and hence he
started with it on the wet, wet roads at three orCOclock in the morning.

The escort were two mounted patriots in red caps and tri-coloured
cockades, armed with national muskets and sabres, who rode one on either
side of him.

The escorted governed his own horse, but a loose line was attached to his bridle, the end of which one of the patriots kept girded round his wrist.
In this state they set forth with the sharp rain driving in their faces: clattering at a heavy dragoon trot over the uneven town pavement, and out
upon the mire-deep roads. In this state they traversed without change,
except of horses and pace, all the mire-deep leagues that lay between
them and the capital.

They travelled in the night, halting an hour or two after daybreak, and
lying by until the twilight fell. The escort were so wretchedly clothed,
that they twisted straw round their bare legs, and thatched their ragged shoulders to keep the wet off. Apart from the personal discomfort of
being so attended, and apart from such considerations of present danger
as arose from one of the patriots being chronically drunk, and carrying
his musket very recklessly, Charles Darnay did not allow the restraint
that was laid upon him to awaken any serious fears in his breast; for, he reasoned with himself that it could have no reference to the merits of an individual case that was not yet stated, and of representations,
confirmable by the prisoner in the Abbaye, that were not yet made.

But when they came to the town of BeauvaisrCowhich they did at eventide,
when the streets were filled with peoplerCohe could not conceal from
himself that the aspect of affairs was very alarming. An ominous crowd gathered to see him dismount of the posting-yard, and many voices called
out loudly, rCLDown with the emigrant!rCY

He stopped in the act of swinging himself out of his saddle, and,
resuming it as his safest place, said:

rCLEmigrant, my friends! Do you not see me here, in France, of my own
will?rCY

rCLYou are a cursed emigrant,rCY cried a farrier, making at him in a furious manner through the press, hammer in hand; rCLand you are a cursed aristocrat!rCY

The postmaster interposed himself between this man and the riderrCOs bridle (at which he was evidently making), and soothingly said, rCLLet him be; let him be! He will be judged at Paris.rCY

rCLJudged!rCY repeated the farrier, swinging his hammer. rCLAy! and condemned as a traitor.rCY At this the crowd roared approval.

Checking the postmaster, who was for turning his horserCOs head to the yard (the drunken patriot sat composedly in his saddle looking on, with the
line round his wrist), Darnay said, as soon as he could make his voice
heard:

rCLFriends, you deceive yourselves, or you are deceived. I am not a traitor.rCY

rCLHe lies!rCY cried the smith. rCLHe is a traitor since the decree. His life is forfeit to the people. His cursed life is not his own!rCY

At the instant when Darnay saw a rush in the eyes of the crowd, which
another instant would have brought upon him, the postmaster turned his
horse into the yard, the escort rode in close upon his horserCOs flanks,
and the postmaster shut and barred the crazy double gates. The farrier
struck a blow upon them with his hammer, and the crowd groaned; but, no
more was done.

rCLWhat is this decree that the smith spoke of?rCY Darnay asked the postmaster, when he had thanked him, and stood beside him in the yard.

rCLTruly, a decree for selling the property of emigrants.rCY

rCLWhen passed?rCY

rCLOn the fourteenth.rCY

rCLThe day I left England!rCY

rCLEverybody says it is but one of several, and that there will be othersrCo
if there are not alreadyrCobanishing all emigrants, and condemning all to death who return. That is what he meant when he said your life was not
your own.rCY

rCLBut there are no such decrees yet?rCY

rCLWhat do I know!rCY said the postmaster, shrugging his shoulders; rCLthere may be, or there will be. It is all the same. What would you have?rCY

They rested on some straw in a loft until the middle of the night, and
then rode forward again when all the town was asleep. Among the many wild changes observable on familiar things which made this wild ride unreal,
not the least was the seeming rarity of sleep. After long and lonely
spurring over dreary roads, they would come to a cluster of poor
cottages, not steeped in darkness, but all glittering with lights, and
would find the people, in a ghostly manner in the dead of the night,
circling hand in hand round a shrivelled tree of Liberty, or all drawn up together singing a Liberty song. Happily, however, there was sleep in
Beauvais that night to help them out of it and they passed on once more
into solitude and loneliness: jingling through the untimely cold and wet, among impoverished fields that had yielded no fruits of the earth that
year, diversified by the blackened remains of burnt houses, and by the
sudden emergence from ambuscade, and sharp reining up across their way,
of patriot patrols on the watch on all the roads.

Daylight at last found them before the wall of Paris. The barrier was
closed and strongly guarded when they rode up to it.

rCLWhere are the papers of this prisoner?rCY demanded a resolute-looking man in authority, who was summoned out by the guard.

Naturally struck by the disagreeable word, Charles Darnay requested the speaker to take notice that he was a free traveller and French citizen,
in charge of an escort which the disturbed state of the country had
imposed upon him, and which he had paid for.

rCLWhere,rCY repeated the same personage, without taking any heed of him whatever, rCLare the papers of this prisoner?rCY

The drunken patriot had them in his cap, and produced them. Casting his
eyes over GabellerCOs letter, the same personage in authority showed some disorder and surprise, and looked at Darnay with a close attention.

He left escort and escorted without saying a word, however, and went into
the guard-room; meanwhile, they sat upon their horses outside the gate. Looking about him while in this state of suspense, Charles Darnay
observed that the gate was held by a mixed guard of soldiers and
patriots, the latter far outnumbering the former; and that while ingress
into the city for peasantsrCO carts bringing in supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy enough, egress, even for the homeliest people, was very difficult. A numerous medley of men and women, not to
mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was waiting to issue forth;
but, the previous identification was so strict, that they filtered
through the barrier very slowly. Some of these people knew their turn for examination to be so far off, that they lay down on the ground to sleep
or smoke, while others talked together, or loitered about. The red cap
and tri-colour cockade were universal, both among men and women.

When he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking note of these
things, Darnay found himself confronted by the same man in authority, who directed the guard to open the barrier. Then he delivered to the escort,
drunk and sober, a receipt for the escorted, and requested him to
dismount. He did so, and the two patriots, leading his tired horse,
turned and rode away without entering the city.

He accompanied his conductor into a guard-room, smelling of common wine
and tobacco, where certain soldiers and patriots, asleep and awake, drunk
and sober, and in various neutral states between sleeping and waking, drunkenness and sobriety, were standing and lying about. The light in the guard-house, half derived from the waning oil-lamps of the night, and
half from the overcast day, was in a correspondingly uncertain condition.
Some registers were lying open on a desk, and an officer of a coarse,
dark aspect, presided over these.

rCLCitizen Defarge,rCY said he to DarnayrCOs conductor, as he took a slip of paper to write on. rCLIs this the emigrant Evr|-monde?rCY

rCLThis is the man.rCY

rCLYour age, Evr|-monde?rCY

rCLThirty-seven.rCY

rCLMarried, Evr|-monde?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLWhere married?rCY

rCLIn England.rCY

rCLWithout doubt. Where is your wife, Evr|-monde?rCY

rCLIn England.rCY

rCLWithout doubt. You are consigned, Evr|-monde, to the prison of La Force.rCY

rCLJust Heaven!rCY exclaimed Darnay. rCLUnder what law, and for what offence?rCY

The officer looked up from his slip of paper for a moment.

rCLWe have new laws, Evr|-monde, and new offences, since you were here.rCY He said it with a hard smile, and went on writing.

rCLI entreat you to observe that I have come here voluntarily, in response
to that written appeal of a fellow-countryman which lies before you. I
demand no more than the opportunity to do so without delay. Is not that
my right?rCY

0616m
Original
rCLEmigrants have no rights, Evr|-monde,rCY was the stolid reply. The officer wrote until he had finished, read over to himself what he had written,
sanded it, and handed it to Defarge, with the words rCLIn secret.rCY

Defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he must accompany
him. The prisoner obeyed, and a guard of two armed patriots attended
them.

rCLIs it you,rCY said Defarge, in a low voice, as they went down the guardhouse steps and turned into Paris, rCLwho married the daughter of
Doctor Manette, once a prisoner in the Bastille that is no more?rCY

rCLYes,rCY replied Darnay, looking at him with surprise.

rCLMy name is Defarge, and I keep a wine-shop in the Quarter Saint Antoine. Possibly you have heard of me.rCY

rCLMy wife came to your house to reclaim her father? Yes!rCY

The word rCLwiferCY seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder to Defarge, to say with sudden impatience, rCLIn the name of that sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine, why did you come to France?rCY

rCLYou heard me say why, a minute ago. Do you not believe it is the truth?rCY

rCLA bad truth for you,rCY said Defarge, speaking with knitted brows, and looking straight before him.

rCLIndeed I am lost here. All here is so unprecedented, so changed, so
sudden and unfair, that I am absolutely lost. Will you render me a little help?rCY

rCLNone.rCY Defarge spoke, always looking straight before him.

rCLWill you answer me a single question?rCY

rCLPerhaps. According to its nature. You can say what it is.rCY

rCLIn this prison that I am going to so unjustly, shall I have some free communication with the world outside?rCY

rCLYou will see.rCY

rCLI am not to be buried there, prejudged, and without any means of
presenting my case?rCY

rCLYou will see. But, what then? Other people have been similarly buried in worse prisons, before now.rCY

rCLBut never by me, Citizen Defarge.rCY

Defarge glanced darkly at him for answer, and walked on in a steady and
set silence. The deeper he sank into this silence, the fainter hope there wasrCoor so Darnay thoughtrCoof his softening in any slight degree. He, therefore, made haste to say:

rCLIt is of the utmost importance to me (you know, Citizen, even better
than I, of how much importance), that I should be able to communicate to
Mr. Lorry of TellsonrCOs Bank, an English gentleman who is now in Paris,
the simple fact, without comment, that I have been thrown into the prison
of La Force. Will you cause that to be done for me?rCY

rCLI will do,rCY Defarge doggedly rejoined, rCLnothing for you. My duty is to my country and the People. I am the sworn servant of both, against you. I
will do nothing for you.rCY

Charles Darnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, and his pride was touched besides. As they walked on in silence, he could not but see how
used the people were to the spectacle of prisoners passing along the
streets. The very children scarcely noticed him. A few passers turned
their heads, and a few shook their fingers at him as an aristocrat;
otherwise, that a man in good clothes should be going to prison, was no
more remarkable than that a labourer in working clothes should be going
to work. In one narrow, dark, and dirty street through which they passed,
an excited orator, mounted on a stool, was addressing an excited audience
on the crimes against the people, of the king and the royal family. The
few words that he caught from this manrCOs lips, first made it known to Charles Darnay that the king was in prison, and that the foreign
ambassadors had one and all left Paris. On the road (except at Beauvais)
he had heard absolutely nothing. The escort and the universal
watchfulness had completely isolated him.

That he had fallen among far greater dangers than those which had
developed themselves when he left England, he of course knew now. That
perils had thickened about him fast, and might thicken faster and faster
yet, he of course knew now. He could not but admit to himself that he
might not have made this journey, if he could have foreseen the events of
a few days. And yet his misgivings were not so dark as, imagined by the
light of this later time, they would appear. Troubled as the future was,
it was the unknown future, and in its obscurity there was ignorant hope.
The horrible massacre, days and nights long, which, within a few rounds
of the clock, was to set a great mark of blood upon the blessed garnering
time of harvest, was as far out of his knowledge as if it had been a
hundred thousand years away. The rCLsharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine,rCY was hardly known to him, or to the generality of people, by name. The frightful deeds that were to be soon done, were probably
unimagined at that time in the brains of the doers. How could they have a place in the shadowy conceptions of a gentle mind?

Of unjust treatment in detention and hardship, and in cruel separation
from his wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or the
certainty; but, beyond this, he dreaded nothing distinctly. With this on
his mind, which was enough to carry into a dreary prison courtyard, he
arrived at the prison of La Force.

A man with a bloated face opened the strong wicket, to whom Defarge
presented rCLThe Emigrant Evr|-monde.rCY

rCLWhat the Devil! How many more of them!rCY exclaimed the man with the bloated face.

Defarge took his receipt without noticing the exclamation, and withdrew,
with his two fellow-patriots.

rCLWhat the Devil, I say again!rCY exclaimed the gaoler, left with his wife. rCLHow many more!rCY

The gaolerrCOs wife, being provided with no answer to the question, merely replied, rCLOne must have patience, my dear!rCY Three turnkeys who entered responsive to a bell she rang, echoed the sentiment, and one added, rCLFor
the love of Liberty;rCY which sounded in that place like an inappropriate conclusion.

The prison of La Force was a gloomy prison, dark and filthy, and with a horrible smell of foul sleep in it. Extraordinary how soon the noisome
flavour of imprisoned sleep, becomes manifest in all such places that are
ill cared for!

rCLIn secret, too,rCY grumbled the gaoler, looking at the written paper. rCLAs if I was not already full to bursting!rCY

He stuck the paper on a file, in an ill-humour, and Charles Darnay
awaited his further pleasure for half an hour: sometimes, pacing to and
fro in the strong arched room: sometimes, resting on a stone seat: in
either case detained to be imprinted on the memory of the chief and his subordinates.

rCLCome!rCY said the chief, at length taking up his keys, rCLcome with me, emigrant.rCY

Through the dismal prison twilight, his new charge accompanied him by
corridor and staircase, many doors clanging and locking behind them,
until they came into a large, low, vaulted chamber, crowded with
prisoners of both sexes. The women were seated at a long table, reading
and writing, knitting, sewing, and embroidering; the men were for the
most part standing behind their chairs, or lingering up and down the
room.

In the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime and
disgrace, the new-comer recoiled from this company. But the crowning
unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once rising to
receive him, with every refinement of manner known to the time, and with
all the engaging graces and courtesies of life.

So strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners and
gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor and
misery through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand
in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the ghost of pride, the ghost of frivolity, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all
waiting their dismissal from the desolate shore, all turning on him eyes
that were changed by the death they had died in coming there.

It struck him motionless. The gaoler standing at his side, and the other gaolers moving about, who would have been well enough as to appearance in
the ordinary exercise of their functions, looked so extravagantly coarse contrasted with sorrowing mothers and blooming daughters who were thererCo
with the apparitions of the coquette, the young beauty, and the mature
woman delicately bredrCothat the inversion of all experience and likelihood which the scene of shadows presented, was heightened to its utmost.
Surely, ghosts all. Surely, the long unreal ride some progress of disease
that had brought him to these gloomy shades!

rCLIn the name of the assembled companions in misfortune,rCY said a gentleman of courtly appearance and address, coming forward, rCLI have the honour of giving you welcome to La Force, and of condoling with you on the calamity
that has brought you among us. May it soon terminate happily! It would be
an impertinence elsewhere, but it is not so here, to ask your name and condition?rCY

Charles Darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, in
words as suitable as he could find.

rCLBut I hope,rCY said the gentleman, following the chief gaoler with his eyes, who moved across the room, rCLthat you are not in secret?rCY

rCLI do not understand the meaning of the term, but I have heard them say so.rCY

rCLAh, what a pity! We so much regret it! But take courage; several members
of our society have been in secret, at first, and it has lasted but a
short time.rCY Then he added, raising his voice, rCLI grieve to inform the societyrCoin secret.rCY

There was a murmur of commiseration as Charles Darnay crossed the room to
a grated door where the gaoler awaited him, and many voicesrCoamong which,
the soft and compassionate voices of women were conspicuousrCogave him good wishes and encouragement. He turned at the grated door, to render the
thanks of his heart; it closed under the gaolerrCOs hand; and the
apparitions vanished from his sight forever.

The wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. When they had
ascended forty steps (the prisoner of half an hour already counted them),
the gaoler opened a low black door, and they passed into a solitary cell.
It struck cold and damp, but was not dark.

rCLYours,rCY said the gaoler.

rCLWhy am I confined alone?rCY

rCLHow do I know!rCY

rCLI can buy pen, ink, and paper?rCY

rCLSuch are not my orders. You will be visited, and can ask then. At
present, you may buy your food, and nothing more.rCY

There were in the cell, a chair, a table, and a straw mattress. As the
gaoler made a general inspection of these objects, and of the four walls, before going out, a wandering fancy wandered through the mind of the
prisoner leaning against the wall opposite to him, that this gaoler was
so unwholesomely bloated, both in face and person, as to look like a man
who had been drowned and filled with water. When the gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, rCLNow am I left, as if I were dead.rCY Stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he turned from it with a
sick feeling, and thought, rCLAnd here in these crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death.rCY

rCLFive paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half, five paces
by four and a half.rCY The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like muffled drums with a
wild swell of voices added to them. rCLHe made shoes, he made shoes, he
made shoes.rCY The prisoner counted the measurement again, and paced
faster, to draw his mind with him from that latter repetition. rCLThe
ghosts that vanished when the wicket closed. There was one among them,
the appearance of a lady dressed in black, who was leaning in the
embrasure of a window, and she had a light shining upon her golden hair,
and she looked like * * * * Let us ride on again, for GodrCOs sake, through the illuminated villages with the people all awake! * * * * He made
shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes. * * * * Five paces by four and a
half.rCY With such scraps tossing and rolling upward from the depths of his mind, the prisoner walked faster and faster, obstinately counting and counting; and the roar of the city changed to this extentrCothat it still rolled in like muffled drums, but with the wail of voices that he knew,
in the swell that rose above them.

CHAPTER II.
The Grindstone
TellsonrCOs Bank, established in the Saint Germain Quarter of Paris, was in
a wing of a large house, approached by a courtyard and shut off from the street by a high wall and a strong gate. The house belonged to a great nobleman who had lived in it until he made a flight from the troubles, in
his own cookrCOs dress, and got across the borders. A mere beast of the
chase flying from hunters, he was still in his metempsychosis no other
than the same Monseigneur, the preparation of whose chocolate for whose
lips had once occupied three strong men besides the cook in question.

Monseigneur gone, and the three strong men absolving themselves from the
sin of having drawn his high wages, by being more than ready and willing
to cut his throat on the altar of the dawning Republic one and
indivisible of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, MonseigneurrCOs
house had been first sequestrated, and then confiscated. For, all things
moved so fast, and decree followed decree with that fierce precipitation,
that now upon the third night of the autumn month of September, patriot emissaries of the law were in possession of MonseigneurrCOs house, and had marked it with the tri-colour, and were drinking brandy in its state apartments.

A place of business in London like TellsonrCOs place of business in Paris, would soon have driven the House out of its mind and into the Gazette.
For, what would staid British responsibility and respectability have said
to orange-trees in boxes in a Bank courtyard, and even to a Cupid over
the counter? Yet such things were. TellsonrCOs had whitewashed the Cupid,
but he was still to be seen on the ceiling, in the coolest linen, aiming
(as he very often does) at money from morning to night. Bankruptcy must inevitably have come of this young Pagan, in Lombard-street, London, and
also of a curtained alcove in the rear of the immortal boy, and also of a looking-glass let into the wall, and also of clerks not at all old, who
danced in public on the slightest provocation. Yet, a French TellsonrCOs
could get on with these things exceedingly well, and, as long as the
times held together, no man had taken fright at them, and drawn out his
money.

What money would be drawn out of TellsonrCOs henceforth, and what would lie there, lost and forgotten; what plate and jewels would tarnish in
TellsonrCOs hiding-places, while the depositors rusted in prisons, and when they should have violently perished; how many accounts with TellsonrCOs
never to be balanced in this world, must be carried over into the next;
no man could have said, that night, any more than Mr. Jarvis Lorry could, though he thought heavily of these questions. He sat by a newly-lighted
wood fire (the blighted and unfruitful year was prematurely cold), and on
his honest and courageous face there was a deeper shade than the pendent
lamp could throw, or any object in the room distortedly reflectrCoa shade
of horror.

He occupied rooms in the Bank, in his fidelity to the House of which he
had grown to be a part, like strong root-ivy. It chanced that they
derived a kind of security from the patriotic occupation of the main
building, but the true-hearted old gentleman never calculated about that.
All such circumstances were indifferent to him, so that he did his duty.
On the opposite side of the courtyard, under a colonnade, was extensive standingrCofor carriagesrCowhere, indeed, some carriages of Monseigneur yet stood. Against two of the pillars were fastened two great flaring
flambeaux, and in the light of these, standing out in the open air, was a large grindstone: a roughly mounted thing which appeared to have
hurriedly been brought there from some neighbouring smithy, or other
workshop. Rising and looking out of window at these harmless objects, Mr. Lorry shivered, and retired to his seat by the fire. He had opened, not
only the glass window, but the lattice blind outside it, and he had
closed both again, and he shivered through his frame.

From the streets beyond the high wall and the strong gate, there came the usual night hum of the city, with now and then an indescribable ring in
it, weird and unearthly, as if some unwonted sounds of a terrible nature
were going up to Heaven.

rCLThank God,rCY said Mr. Lorry, clasping his hands, rCLthat no one near and dear to me is in this dreadful town to-night. May He have mercy on all
who are in danger!rCY

Soon afterwards, the bell at the great gate sounded, and he thought,
rCLThey have come back!rCY and sat listening. But, there was no loud
irruption into the courtyard, as he had expected, and he heard the gate
clash again, and all was quiet.

The nervousness and dread that were upon him inspired that vague
uneasiness respecting the Bank, which a great change would naturally
awaken, with such feelings roused. It was well guarded, and he got up to
go among the trusty people who were watching it, when his door suddenly opened, and two figures rushed in, at sight of which he fell back in amazement.

Lucie and her father! Lucie with her arms stretched out to him, and with
that old look of earnestness so concentrated and intensified, that it
seemed as though it had been stamped upon her face expressly to give
force and power to it in this one passage of her life.

rCLWhat is this?rCY cried Mr. Lorry, breathless and confused. rCLWhat is the matter? Lucie! Manette! What has happened? What has brought you here?
What is it?rCY

With the look fixed upon him, in her paleness and wildness, she panted
out in his arms, imploringly, rCLO my dear friend! My husband!rCY

rCLYour husband, Lucie?rCY

rCLCharles.rCY

rCLWhat of Charles?rCY

rCLHere.

rCLHere, in Paris?rCY

rCLHas been here some daysrCothree or fourrCoI donrCOt know how manyrCoI canrCOt
collect my thoughts. An errand of generosity brought him here unknown to
us; he was stopped at the barrier, and sent to prison.rCY

The old man uttered an irrepressible cry. Almost at the same moment, the
bell of the great gate rang again, and a loud noise of feet and voices
came pouring into the courtyard.

rCLWhat is that noise?rCY said the Doctor, turning towards the window.

rCLDonrCOt look!rCY cried Mr. Lorry. rCLDonrCOt look out! Manette, for your life,
donrCOt touch the blind!rCY

The Doctor turned, with his hand upon the fastening of the window, and
said, with a cool, bold smile:

rCLMy dear friend, I have a charmed life in this city. I have been a
Bastille prisoner. There is no patriot in ParisrCoin Paris? In FrancerCowho, knowing me to have been a prisoner in the Bastille, would touch me,
except to overwhelm me with embraces, or carry me in triumph. My old pain
has given me a power that has brought us through the barrier, and gained
us news of Charles there, and brought us here. I knew it would be so; I
knew I could help Charles out of all danger; I told Lucie so.rCoWhat is
that noise?rCY His hand was again upon the window.

rCLDonrCOt look!rCY cried Mr. Lorry, absolutely desperate. rCLNo, Lucie, my dear,
nor you!rCY He got his arm round her, and held her. rCLDonrCOt be so terrified,
my love. I solemnly swear to you that I know of no harm having happened
to Charles; that I had no suspicion even of his being in this fatal
place. What prison is he in?rCY

rCLLa Force!rCY

rCLLa Force! Lucie, my child, if ever you were brave and serviceable in
your liferCoand you were always bothrCoyou will compose yourself now, to do exactly as I bid you; for more depends upon it than you can think, or I
can say. There is no help for you in any action on your part to-night;
you cannot possibly stir out. I say this, because what I must bid you to
do for CharlesrCOs sake, is the hardest thing to do of all. You must
instantly be obedient, still, and quiet. You must let me put you in a
room at the back here. You must leave your father and me alone for two minutes, and as there are Life and Death in the world you must not
delay.rCY

rCLI will be submissive to you. I see in your face that you know I can do nothing else than this. I know you are true.rCY

The old man kissed her, and hurried her into his room, and turned the
key; then, came hurrying back to the Doctor, and opened the window and
partly opened the blind, and put his hand upon the DoctorrCOs arm, and
looked out with him into the courtyard.

Looked out upon a throng of men and women: not enough in number, or near enough, to fill the courtyard: not more than forty or fifty in all. The
people in possession of the house had let them in at the gate, and they
had rushed in to work at the grindstone; it had evidently been set up
there for their purpose, as in a convenient and retired spot.

But, such awful workers, and such awful work!

The grindstone had a double handle, and, turning at it madly were two
men, whose faces, as their long hair flapped back when the whirlings of
the grindstone brought their faces up, were more horrible and cruel than
the visages of the wildest savages in their most barbarous disguise.
False eyebrows and false moustaches were stuck upon them, and their
hideous countenances were all bloody and sweaty, and all awry with
howling, and all staring and glaring with beastly excitement and want of sleep. As these ruffians turned and turned, their matted locks now flung forward over their eyes, now flung backward over their necks, some women
held wine to their mouths that they might drink; and what with dropping
blood, and what with dropping wine, and what with the stream of sparks
struck out of the stone, all their wicked atmosphere seemed gore and
fire. The eye could not detect one creature in the group free from the
smear of blood. Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-
stone, were men stripped to the waist, with the stain all over their
limbs and bodies; men in all sorts of rags, with the stain upon those
rags; men devilishly set off with spoils of womenrCOs lace and silk and ribbon, with the stain dyeing those trifles through and through.
Hatchets, knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be sharpened, were all
red with it. Some of the hacked swords were tied to the wrists of those
who carried them, with strips of linen and fragments of dress: ligatures various in kind, but all deep of the one colour. And as the frantic
wielders of these weapons snatched them from the stream of sparks and
tore away into the streets, the same red hue was red in their frenzied eyes;rCoeyes which any unbrutalised beholder would have given twenty years
of life, to petrify with a well-directed gun.

All this was seen in a moment, as the vision of a drowning man, or of any human creature at any very great pass, could see a world if it were
there. They drew back from the window, and the Doctor looked for
explanation in his friendrCOs ashy face.

rCLThey are,rCY Mr. Lorry whispered the words, glancing fearfully round at
the locked room, rCLmurdering the prisoners. If you are sure of what you
say; if you really have the power you think you haverCoas I believe you haverComake yourself known to these devils, and get taken to La Force. It
may be too late, I donrCOt know, but let it not be a minute later!rCY

Doctor Manette pressed his hand, hastened bareheaded out of the room, and
was in the courtyard when Mr. Lorry regained the blind.

His streaming white hair, his remarkable face, and the impetuous
confidence of his manner, as he put the weapons aside like water, carried
him in an instant to the heart of the concourse at the stone. For a few moments there was a pause, and a hurry, and a murmur, and the
unintelligible sound of his voice; and then Mr. Lorry saw him, surrounded
by all, and in the midst of a line of twenty men long, all linked
shoulder to shoulder, and hand to shoulder, hurried out with cries of rCorCLLive the Bastille prisoner! Help for the Bastille prisonerrCOs kindred in
La Force! Room for the Bastille prisoner in front there! Save the
prisoner Evr|-monde at La Force!rCY and a thousand answering shouts.

He closed the lattice again with a fluttering heart, closed the window
and the curtain, hastened to Lucie, and told her that her father was
assisted by the people, and gone in search of her husband. He found her
child and Miss Pross with her; but, it never occurred to him to be
surprised by their appearance until a long time afterwards, when he sat watching them in such quiet as the night knew.

Lucie had, by that time, fallen into a stupor on the floor at his feet, clinging to his hand. Miss Pross had laid the child down on his own bed,
and her head had gradually fallen on the pillow beside her pretty charge.
O the long, long night, with the moans of the poor wife! And O the long,
long night, with no return of her father and no tidings!

Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded, and the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled and spluttered. rCLWhat
is it?rCY cried Lucie, affrighted. rCLHush! The soldiersrCO swords are sharpened there,rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLThe place is national property now,
and used as a kind of armoury, my love.rCY

Twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and fitful.
Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly detached himself
from the clasping hand, and cautiously looked out again. A man, so
besmeared that he might have been a sorely wounded soldier creeping back
to consciousness on a field of slain, was rising from the pavement by the
side of the grindstone, and looking about him with a vacant air. Shortly,
this worn-out murderer descried in the imperfect light one of the
carriages of Monseigneur, and, staggering to that gorgeous vehicle,
climbed in at the door, and shut himself up to take his rest on its
dainty cushions.

The great grindstone, Earth, had turned when Mr. Lorry looked out again,
and the sun was red on the courtyard. But, the lesser grindstone stood
alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had
never given, and would never take away.

CHAPTER III.
The Shadow
One of the first considerations which arose in the business mind of Mr.
Lorry when business hours came round, was this:rCothat he had no right to imperil TellsonrCOs by sheltering the wife of an emigrant prisoner under
the Bank roof. His own possessions, safety, life, he would have hazarded
for Lucie and her child, without a momentrCOs demur; but the great trust he held was not his own, and as to that business charge he was a strict man
of business.

At first, his mind reverted to Defarge, and he thought of finding out the wine-shop again and taking counsel with its master in reference to the
safest dwelling-place in the distracted state of the city. But, the same consideration that suggested him, repudiated him; he lived in the most
violent Quarter, and doubtless was influential there, and deep in its dangerous workings.

Noon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every minuterCOs delay
tending to compromise TellsonrCOs, Mr. Lorry advised with Lucie. She said
that her father had spoken of hiring a lodging for a short term, in that Quarter, near the Banking-house. As there was no business objection to
this, and as he foresaw that even if it were all well with Charles, and
he were to be released, he could not hope to leave the city, Mr. Lorry
went out in quest of such a lodging, and found a suitable one, high up in
a removed by-street where the closed blinds in all the other windows of a
high melancholy square of buildings marked deserted homes.

To this lodging he at once removed Lucie and her child, and Miss Pross:
giving them what comfort he could, and much more than he had himself. He
left Jerry with them, as a figure to fill a doorway that would bear considerable knocking on the head, and returned to his own occupations. A disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear upon them, and slowly and heavily the day lagged on with him.

It wore itself out, and wore him out with it, until the Bank closed. He
was again alone in his room of the previous night, considering what to do next, when he heard a foot upon the stair. In a few moments, a man stood
in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him, addressed him
by his name.

rCLYour servant,rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLDo you know me?rCY

He was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from forty-five to
fifty years of age. For answer he repeated, without any change of
emphasis, the words:

rCLDo you know me?rCY

rCLI have seen you somewhere.rCY

rCLPerhaps at my wine-shop?rCY

Much interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: rCLYou come from Doctor Manette?rCY

rCLYes. I come from Doctor Manette.rCY

rCLAnd what says he? What does he send me?rCY

Defarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It bore the
words in the DoctorrCOs writing:

rCLCharles is safe, but I cannot safely leave this place yet. I have
obtained the favour that the bearer has a short note from Charles to his
wife. Let the bearer see his wife.rCY

It was dated from La Force, within an hour.

rCLWill you accompany me,rCY said Mr. Lorry, joyfully relieved after reading this note aloud, rCLto where his wife resides?rCY

rCLYes,rCY returned Defarge.

Scarcely noticing as yet, in what a curiously reserved and mechanical way Defarge spoke, Mr. Lorry put on his hat and they went down into the
courtyard. There, they found two women; one, knitting.

rCLMadame Defarge, surely!rCY said Mr. Lorry, who had left her in exactly the same attitude some seventeen years ago.

rCLIt is she,rCY observed her husband.

rCLDoes Madame go with us?rCY inquired Mr. Lorry, seeing that she moved as they moved.

rCLYes. That she may be able to recognise the faces and know the persons.
It is for their safety.rCY

Beginning to be struck by DefargerCOs manner, Mr. Lorry looked dubiously at him, and led the way. Both the women followed; the second woman being The Vengeance.

They passed through the intervening streets as quickly as they might,
ascended the staircase of the new domicile, were admitted by Jerry, and
found Lucie weeping, alone. She was thrown into a transport by the
tidings Mr. Lorry gave her of her husband, and clasped the hand that
delivered his noterColittle thinking what it had been doing near him in the night, and might, but for a chance, have done to him.

rCLDearest,rCoTake courage. I am well, and your father has influence around me. You cannot answer this. Kiss our child for me.rCY

That was all the writing. It was so much, however, to her who received
it, that she turned from Defarge to his wife, and kissed one of the hands
that knitted. It was a passionate, loving, thankful, womanly action, but
the hand made no responserCodropped cold and heavy, and took to its
knitting again.

There was something in its touch that gave Lucie a check. She stopped in
the act of putting the note in her bosom, and, with her hands yet at her
neck, looked terrified at Madame Defarge. Madame Defarge met the lifted eyebrows and forehead with a cold, impassive stare.

rCLMy dear,rCY said Mr. Lorry, striking in to explain; rCLthere are frequent risings in the streets; and, although it is not likely they will ever
trouble you, Madame Defarge wishes to see those whom she has the power to protect at such times, to the end that she may know themrCothat she may identify them. I believe,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rather halting in his
reassuring words, as the stony manner of all the three impressed itself
upon him more and more, rCLI state the case, Citizen Defarge?rCY

Defarge looked gloomily at his wife, and gave no other answer than a
gruff sound of acquiescence.

rCLYou had better, Lucie,rCY said Mr. Lorry, doing all he could to
propitiate, by tone and manner, rCLhave the dear child here, and our good Pross. Our good Pross, Defarge, is an English lady, and knows no French.rCY

The lady in question, whose rooted conviction that she was more than a
match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and, danger, appeared with folded arms, and observed in English to The Vengeance, whom
her eyes first encountered, rCLWell, I am sure, Boldface! I hope you are pretty well!rCY She also bestowed a British cough on Madame Defarge; but, neither of the two took much heed of her.

rCLIs that his child?rCY said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for the first time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as if it
were the finger of Fate.

rCLYes, madame,rCY answered Mr. Lorry; rCLthis is our poor prisonerrCOs darling
daughter, and only child.rCY

The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed to fall so threatening and dark on the child, that her mother instinctively kneeled
on the ground beside her, and held her to her breast. The shadow
attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed then to fall,
threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child.

rCLIt is enough, my husband,rCY said Madame Defarge. rCLI have seen them. We may go.rCY

But, the suppressed manner had enough of menace in itrConot visible and presented, but indistinct and withheldrCoto alarm Lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing hand on Madame DefargerCOs dress:

rCLYou will be good to my poor husband. You will do him no harm. You will
help me to see him if you can?rCY

rCLYour husband is not my business here,rCY returned Madame Defarge, looking down at her with perfect composure. rCLIt is the daughter of your father
who is my business here.rCY

rCLFor my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For my childrCOs sake! She will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful. We are more
afraid of you than of these others.rCY

Madame Defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression.

rCLWhat is it that your husband says in that little letter?rCY asked Madame Defarge, with a lowering smile. rCLInfluence; he says something touching influence?rCY

rCLThat my father,rCY said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it, rCLhas much influence around him.rCY

rCLSurely it will release him!rCY said Madame Defarge. rCLLet it do so.rCY

rCLAs a wife and mother,rCY cried Lucie, most earnestly, rCLI implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess, against
my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. O sister-woman, think
of me. As a wife and mother!rCY

Madame Defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said,
turning to her friend The Vengeance:

rCLThe wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as little
as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? We have
known their husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, often enough? All our lives, we have seen our sister-women suffer, in
themselves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of all kinds?rCY

rCLWe have seen nothing else,rCY returned The Vengeance.

rCLWe have borne this a long time,rCY said Madame Defarge, turning her eyes again upon Lucie. rCLJudge you! Is it likely that the trouble of one wife
and mother would be much to us now?rCY

She resumed her knitting and went out. The Vengeance followed. Defarge
went last, and closed the door.

rCLCourage, my dear Lucie,rCY said Mr. Lorry, as he raised her. rCLCourage, courage! So far all goes well with usrComuch, much better than it has of
late gone with many poor souls. Cheer up, and have a thankful heart.rCY

rCLI am not thankless, I hope, but that dreadful woman seems to throw a
shadow on me and on all my hopes.rCY

rCLTut, tut!rCY said Mr. Lorry; rCLwhat is this despondency in the brave little
breast? A shadow indeed! No substance in it, Lucie.rCY

But the shadow of the manner of these Defarges was dark upon himself, for
all that, and in his secret mind it troubled him greatly.

CHAPTER IV.
Calm in Storm
Doctor Manette did not return until the morning of the fourth day of his absence. So much of what had happened in that dreadful time as could be
kept from the knowledge of Lucie was so well concealed from her, that not until long afterwards, when France and she were far apart, did she know
that eleven hundred defenceless prisoners of both sexes and all ages had
been killed by the populace; that four days and nights had been darkened
by this deed of horror; and that the air around her had been tainted by
the slain. She only knew that there had been an attack upon the prisons,
that all political prisoners had been in danger, and that some had been dragged out by the crowd and murdered.

To Mr. Lorry, the Doctor communicated under an injunction of secrecy on
which he had no need to dwell, that the crowd had taken him through a
scene of carnage to the prison of La Force. That, in the prison he had
found a self-appointed Tribunal sitting, before which the prisoners were brought singly, and by which they were rapidly ordered to be put forth to
be massacred, or to be released, or (in a few cases) to be sent back to
their cells. That, presented by his conductors to this Tribunal, he had announced himself by name and profession as having been for eighteen
years a secret and unaccused prisoner in the Bastille; that, one of the
body so sitting in judgment had risen and identified him, and that this
man was Defarge.

That, hereupon he had ascertained, through the registers on the table,
that his son-in-law was among the living prisoners, and had pleaded hard
to the TribunalrCoof whom some members were asleep and some awake, some
dirty with murder and some clean, some sober and some notrCofor his life
and liberty. That, in the first frantic greetings lavished on himself as
a notable sufferer under the overthrown system, it had been accorded to
him to have Charles Darnay brought before the lawless Court, and
examined. That, he seemed on the point of being at once released, when
the tide in his favour met with some unexplained check (not intelligible
to the Doctor), which led to a few words of secret conference. That, the
man sitting as President had then informed Doctor Manette that the
prisoner must remain in custody, but should, for his sake, be held
inviolate in safe custody. That, immediately, on a signal, the prisoner
was removed to the interior of the prison again; but, that he, the
Doctor, had then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain and assure himself that his son-in-law was, through no malice or mischance,
delivered to the concourse whose murderous yells outside the gate had
often drowned the proceedings, that he had obtained the permission, and
had remained in that Hall of Blood until the danger was over.

The sights he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and sleep by intervals, shall remain untold. The mad joy over the prisoners who were
saved, had astounded him scarcely less than the mad ferocity against
those who were cut to pieces. One prisoner there was, he said, who had
been discharged into the street free, but at whom a mistaken savage had
thrust a pike as he passed out. Being besought to go to him and dress the wound, the Doctor had passed out at the same gate, and had found him in
the arms of a company of Samaritans, who were seated on the bodies of
their victims. With an inconsistency as monstrous as anything in this
awful nightmare, they had helped the healer, and tended the wounded man
with the gentlest solicituderCohad made a litter for him and escorted him carefully from the spotrCohad then caught up their weapons and plunged anew into a butchery so dreadful, that the Doctor had covered his eyes with
his hands, and swooned away in the midst of it.

As Mr. Lorry received these confidences, and as he watched the face of
his friend now sixty-two years of age, a misgiving arose within him that
such dread experiences would revive the old danger.

But, he had never seen his friend in his present aspect: he had never at
all known him in his present character. For the first time the Doctor
felt, now, that his suffering was strength and power. For the first time
he felt that in that sharp fire, he had slowly forged the iron which
could break the prison door of his daughterrCOs husband, and deliver him. rCLIt all tended to a good end, my friend; it was not mere waste and ruin.
As my beloved child was helpful in restoring me to myself, I will be
helpful now in restoring the dearest part of herself to her; by the aid
of Heaven I will do it!rCY Thus, Doctor Manette. And when Jarvis Lorry saw
the kindled eyes, the resolute face, the calm strong look and bearing of
the man whose life always seemed to him to have been stopped, like a
clock, for so many years, and then set going again with an energy which
had lain dormant during the cessation of its usefulness, he believed.

Greater things than the Doctor had at that time to contend with, would
have yielded before his persevering purpose. While he kept himself in his place, as a physician, whose business was with all degrees of mankind,
bond and free, rich and poor, bad and good, he used his personal
influence so wisely, that he was soon the inspecting physician of three prisons, and among them of La Force. He could now assure Lucie that her husband was no longer confined alone, but was mixed with the general body
of prisoners; he saw her husband weekly, and brought sweet messages to
her, straight from his lips; sometimes her husband himself sent a letter
to her (though never by the DoctorrCOs hand), but she was not permitted to write to him: for, among the many wild suspicions of plots in the
prisons, the wildest of all pointed at emigrants who were known to have
made friends or permanent connections abroad.

This new life of the DoctorrCOs was an anxious life, no doubt; still, the sagacious Mr. Lorry saw that there was a new sustaining pride in it.
Nothing unbecoming tinged the pride; it was a natural and worthy one; but
he observed it as a curiosity. The Doctor knew, that up to that time, his imprisonment had been associated in the minds of his daughter and his
friend, with his personal affliction, deprivation, and weakness. Now that
this was changed, and he knew himself to be invested through that old
trial with forces to which they both looked for CharlesrCOs ultimate safety and deliverance, he became so far exalted by the change, that he took the
lead and direction, and required them as the weak, to trust to him as the strong. The preceding relative positions of himself and Lucie were
reversed, yet only as the liveliest gratitude and affection could reverse them, for he could have had no pride but in rendering some service to her
who had rendered so much to him. rCLAll curious to see,rCY thought Mr. Lorry, in his amiably shrewd way, rCLbut all natural and right; so, take the lead,
my dear friend, and keep it; it couldnrCOt be in better hands.rCY

But, though the Doctor tried hard, and never ceased trying, to get
Charles Darnay set at liberty, or at least to get him brought to trial,
the public current of the time set too strong and fast for him. The new
era began; the king was tried, doomed, and beheaded; the Republic of
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, declared for victory or death
against the world in arms; the black flag waved night and day from the
great towers of Notre Dame; three hundred thousand men, summoned to rise against the tyrants of the earth, rose from all the varying soils of
France, as if the dragonrCOs teeth had been sown broadcast, and had yielded fruit equally on hill and plain, on rock, in gravel, and alluvial mud,
under the bright sky of the South and under the clouds of the North, in
fell and forest, in the vineyards and the olive-grounds and among the
cropped grass and the stubble of the corn, along the fruitful banks of
the broad rivers, and in the sand of the sea-shore. What private
solicitude could rear itself against the deluge of the Year One of LibertyrCothe deluge rising from below, not falling from above, and with
the windows of Heaven shut, not opened!

There was no pause, no pity, no peace, no interval of relenting rest, no measurement of time. Though days and nights circled as regularly as when
time was young, and the evening and morning were the first day, other
count of time there was none. Hold of it was lost in the raging fever of
a nation, as it is in the fever of one patient. Now, breaking the
unnatural silence of a whole city, the executioner showed the people the
head of the kingrCoand now, it seemed almost in the same breath, the head
of his fair wife which had had eight weary months of imprisoned widowhood
and misery, to turn it grey.

And yet, observing the strange law of contradiction which obtains in all
such cases, the time was long, while it flamed by so fast. A
revolutionary tribunal in the capital, and forty or fifty thousand revolutionary committees all over the land; a law of the Suspected, which struck away all security for liberty or life, and delivered over any good
and innocent person to any bad and guilty one; prisons gorged with people
who had committed no offence, and could obtain no hearing; these things
became the established order and nature of appointed things, and seemed
to be ancient usage before they were many weeks old. Above all, one
hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had been before the general gaze
from the foundations of the worldrCothe figure of the sharp female called
La Guillotine.

It was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for headache, it infallibly prevented the hair from turning grey, it imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion, it was the National Razor which shaved close:
who kissed La Guillotine, looked through the little window and sneezed
into the sack. It was the sign of the regeneration of the human race. It superseded the Cross. Models of it were worn on breasts from which the
Cross was discarded, and it was bowed down to and believed in where the
Cross was denied.

It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most polluted,
were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a toy-puzzle for a young Devil, and was put together again when the occasion wanted it. It hushed
the eloquent, struck down the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. Twenty-two friends of high public mark, twenty-one living and one dead,
it had lopped the heads off, in one morning, in as many minutes. The name
of the strong man of Old Scripture had descended to the chief functionary
who worked it; but, so armed, he was stronger than his namesake, and
blinder, and tore away the gates of GodrCOs own Temple every day.

Among these terrors, and the brood belonging to them, the Doctor walked
with a steady head: confident in his power, cautiously persistent in his
end, never doubting that he would save LucierCOs husband at last. Yet the current of the time swept by, so strong and deep, and carried the time
away so fiercely, that Charles had lain in prison one year and three
months when the Doctor was thus steady and confident. So much more wicked
and distracted had the Revolution grown in that December month, that the rivers of the South were encumbered with the bodies of the violently
drowned by night, and prisoners were shot in lines and squares under the southern wintry sun. Still, the Doctor walked among the terrors with a
steady head. No man better known than he, in Paris at that day; no man in
a stranger situation. Silent, humane, indispensable in hospital and
prison, using his art equally among assassins and victims, he was a man
apart. In the exercise of his skill, the appearance and the story of the Bastille Captive removed him from all other men. He was not suspected or brought in question, any more than if he had indeed been recalled to life
some eighteen years before, or were a Spirit moving among mortals.

CHAPTER V.
The Wood-Sawyer
One year and three months. During all that time Lucie was never sure,
from hour to hour, but that the Guillotine would strike off her husbandrCOs head next day. Every day, through the stony streets, the tumbrils now
jolted heavily, filled with Condemned. Lovely girls; bright women, brown- haired, black-haired, and grey; youths; stalwart men and old; gentle born
and peasant born; all red wine for La Guillotine, all daily brought into
light from the dark cellars of the loathsome prisons, and carried to her through the streets to slake her devouring thirst. Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death;rCothe last, much the easiest to bestow, O Guillotine!

If the suddenness of her calamity, and the whirling wheels of the time,
had stunned the DoctorrCOs daughter into awaiting the result in idle
despair, it would but have been with her as it was with many. But, from
the hour when she had taken the white head to her fresh young bosom in
the garret of Saint Antoine, she had been true to her duties. She was
truest to them in the season of trial, as all the quietly loyal and good
will always be.

As soon as they were established in their new residence, and her father
had entered on the routine of his avocations, she arranged the little household as exactly as if her husband had been there. Everything had its appointed place and its appointed time. Little Lucie she taught, as
regularly, as if they had all been united in their English home. The
slight devices with which she cheated herself into the show of a belief
that they would soon be reunitedrCothe little preparations for his speedy return, the setting aside of his chair and his booksrCothese, and the
solemn prayer at night for one dear prisoner especially, among the many unhappy souls in prison and the shadow of deathrCowere almost the only outspoken reliefs of her heavy mind.

She did not greatly alter in appearance. The plain dark dresses, akin to mourning dresses, which she and her child wore, were as neat and as well attended to as the brighter clothes of happy days. She lost her colour,
and the old and intent expression was a constant, not an occasional,
thing; otherwise, she remained very pretty and comely. Sometimes, at
night on kissing her father, she would burst into the grief she had
repressed all day, and would say that her sole reliance, under Heaven,
was on him. He always resolutely answered: rCLNothing can happen to him without my knowledge, and I know that I can save him, Lucie.rCY

They had not made the round of their changed life many weeks, when her
father said to her, on coming home one evening:

rCLMy dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to which Charles can sometimes gain access at three in the afternoon. When he can get to itrCo
which depends on many uncertainties and incidentsrCohe might see you in the street, he thinks, if you stood in a certain place that I can show you.
But you will not be able to see him, my poor child, and even if you
could, it would be unsafe for you to make a sign of recognition.rCY

rCLO show me the place, my father, and I will go there every day.rCY

From that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. As the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned resignedly away. When
it was not too wet or inclement for her child to be with her, they went together; at other times she was alone; but, she never missed a single
day.

It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. The hovel of
a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only house at that
end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being there, he noticed
her.

rCLGood day, citizeness.rCY

rCLGood day, citizen.rCY

This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been
established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough patriots;
but, was now law for everybody.

rCLWalking here again, citizeness?rCY

rCLYou see me, citizen!rCY

The wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of gesture (he
had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the prison, pointed at
the prison, and putting his ten fingers before his face to represent
bars, peeped through them jocosely.

rCLBut itrCOs not my business,rCY said he. And went on sawing his wood.

Next day he was looking out for her, and accosted her the moment she
appeared.

rCLWhat? Walking here again, citizeness?rCY

rCLYes, citizen.rCY

rCLAh! A child too! Your mother, is it not, my little citizeness?rCY

rCLDo I say yes, mamma?rCY whispered little Lucie, drawing close to her.

rCLYes, dearest.rCY

rCLYes, citizen.rCY

rCLAh! But itrCOs not my business. My work is my business. See my saw! I call it my Little Guillotine. La, la, la; La, la, la! And off his head comes!rCY

The billet fell as he spoke, and he threw it into a basket.

rCLI call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See here again!
Loo, loo, loo; Loo, loo, loo! And off her head comes! Now, a child.
Tickle, tickle; Pickle, pickle! And off its head comes. All the family!rCY

Lucie shuddered as he threw two more billets into his basket, but it was impossible to be there while the wood-sawyer was at work, and not be in
his sight. Thenceforth, to secure his good will, she always spoke to him first, and often gave him drink-money, which he readily received.

He was an inquisitive fellow, and sometimes when she had quite forgotten
him in gazing at the prison roof and grates, and in lifting her heart up
to her husband, she would come to herself to find him looking at her,
with his knee on his bench and his saw stopped in its work. rCLBut itrCOs not my business!rCY he would generally say at those times, and would briskly
fall to his sawing again.

In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the rains of autumn, and again
in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed two hours of every day at
this place; and every day on leaving it, she kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she learned from her father) it might be once in five
or six times: it might be twice or thrice running: it might be, not for a
week or a fortnight together. It was enough that he could and did see her
when the chances served, and on that possibility she would have waited
out the day, seven days a week.

These occupations brought her round to the December month, wherein her
father walked among the terrors with a steady head. On a lightly-snowing afternoon she arrived at the usual corner. It was a day of some wild rejoicing, and a festival. She had seen the houses, as she came along, decorated with little pikes, and with little red caps stuck upon them;
also, with tricoloured ribbons; also, with the standard inscription (tricoloured letters were the favourite), Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!

The miserable shop of the wood-sawyer was so small, that its whole
surface furnished very indifferent space for this legend. He had got
somebody to scrawl it up for him, however, who had squeezed Death in with
most inappropriate difficulty. On his house-top, he displayed pike and
cap, as a good citizen must, and in a window he had stationed his saw inscribed as his rCLLittle Sainte GuillotinerCYrCofor the great sharp female was by that time popularly canonised. His shop was shut and he was not
there, which was a relief to Lucie, and left her quite alone.

But, he was not far off, for presently she heard a troubled movement and
a shouting coming along, which filled her with fear. A moment afterwards,
and a throng of people came pouring round the corner by the prison wall,
in the midst of whom was the wood-sawyer hand in hand with The Vengeance. There could not be fewer than five hundred people, and they were dancing
like five thousand demons. There was no other music than their own
singing. They danced to the popular Revolution song, keeping a ferocious
time that was like a gnashing of teeth in unison. Men and women danced together, women danced together, men danced together, as hazard had
brought them together. At first, they were a mere storm of coarse red
caps and coarse woollen rags; but, as they filled the place, and stopped
to dance about Lucie, some ghastly apparition of a dance-figure gone
raving mad arose among them. They advanced, retreated, struck at one anotherrCOs hands, clutched at one anotherrCOs heads, spun round alone,
caught one another and spun round in pairs, until many of them dropped.
While those were down, the rest linked hand in hand, and all spun round together: then the ring broke, and in separate rings of two and four they turned and turned until they all stopped at once, began again, struck, clutched, and tore, and then reversed the spin, and all spun round
another way. Suddenly they stopped again, paused, struck out the time
afresh, formed into lines the width of the public way, and, with their
heads low down and their hands high up, swooped screaming off. No fight
could have been half so terrible as this dance. It was so emphatically a fallen sportrCoa something, once innocent, delivered over to all devilryrCoa healthy pastime changed into a means of angering the blood, bewildering
the senses, and steeling the heart. Such grace as was visible in it, made
it the uglier, showing how warped and perverted all things good by nature
were become. The maidenly bosom bared to this, the pretty almost-childrCOs head thus distracted, the delicate foot mincing in this slough of blood
and dirt, were types of the disjointed time.

This was the Carmagnole. As it passed, leaving Lucie frightened and
bewildered in the doorway of the wood-sawyerrCOs house, the feathery snow
fell as quietly and lay as white and soft, as if it had never been.

rCLO my father!rCY for he stood before her when she lifted up the eyes she
had momentarily darkened with her hand; rCLsuch a cruel, bad sight.rCY

rCLI know, my dear, I know. I have seen it many times. DonrCOt be frightened! Not one of them would harm you.rCY

rCLI am not frightened for myself, my father. But when I think of my
husband, and the mercies of these peoplerCorCY

rCLWe will set him above their mercies very soon. I left him climbing to
the window, and I came to tell you. There is no one here to see. You may
kiss your hand towards that highest shelving roof.rCY

rCLI do so, father, and I send him my Soul with it!rCY

rCLYou cannot see him, my poor dear?rCY

rCLNo, father,rCY said Lucie, yearning and weeping as she kissed her hand, rCLno.rCY

A footstep in the snow. Madame Defarge. rCLI salute you, citizeness,rCY from the Doctor. rCLI salute you, citizen.rCY This in passing. Nothing more.
Madame Defarge gone, like a shadow over the white road.

rCLGive me your arm, my love. Pass from here with an air of cheerfulness
and courage, for his sake. That was well done;rCY they had left the spot; rCLit shall not be in vain. Charles is summoned for to-morrow.rCY

rCLFor to-morrow!rCY

rCLThere is no time to lose. I am well prepared, but there are precautions
to be taken, that could not be taken until he was actually summoned
before the Tribunal. He has not received the notice yet, but I know that
he will presently be summoned for to-morrow, and removed to the
Conciergerie; I have timely information. You are not afraid?rCY

She could scarcely answer, rCLI trust in you.rCY

rCLDo so, implicitly. Your suspense is nearly ended, my darling; he shall
be restored to you within a few hours; I have encompassed him with every protection. I must see Lorry.rCY

He stopped. There was a heavy lumbering of wheels within hearing. They
both knew too well what it meant. One. Two. Three. Three tumbrils faring
away with their dread loads over the hushing snow.

rCLI must see Lorry,rCY the Doctor repeated, turning her another way.

The staunch old gentleman was still in his trust; had never left it. He
and his books were in frequent requisition as to property confiscated and
made national. What he could save for the owners, he saved. No better man living to hold fast by what TellsonrCOs had in keeping, and to hold his
peace.

A murky red and yellow sky, and a rising mist from the Seine, denoted the approach of darkness. It was almost dark when they arrived at the Bank.
The stately residence of Monseigneur was altogether blighted and
deserted. Above a heap of dust and ashes in the court, ran the letters: National Property. Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!

Who could that be with Mr. LorryrCothe owner of the riding-coat upon the chairrCowho must not be seen? From whom newly arrived, did he come out, agitated and surprised, to take his favourite in his arms? To whom did he appear to repeat her faltering words, when, raising his voice and turning
his head towards the door of the room from which he had issued, he said: rCLRemoved to the Conciergerie, and summoned for to-morrow?rCY

CHAPTER VI.
Triumph
The dread tribunal of five Judges, Public Prosecutor, and determined
Jury, sat every day. Their lists went forth every evening, and were read
out by the gaolers of the various prisons to their prisoners. The
standard gaoler-joke was, rCLCome out and listen to the Evening Paper, you inside there!rCY

rCLCharles Evr|-monde, called Darnay!rCY

So at last began the Evening Paper at La Force.

When a name was called, its owner stepped apart into a spot reserved for
those who were announced as being thus fatally recorded. Charles
Evr|-monde, called Darnay, had reason to know the usage; he had seen
hundreds pass away so.

His bloated gaoler, who wore spectacles to read with, glanced over them
to assure himself that he had taken his place, and went through the list, making a similar short pause at each name. There were twenty-three names,
but only twenty were responded to; for one of the prisoners so summoned
had died in gaol and been forgotten, and two had already been guillotined
and forgotten. The list was read, in the vaulted chamber where Darnay had
seen the associated prisoners on the night of his arrival. Every one of
those had perished in the massacre; every human creature he had since
cared for and parted with, had died on the scaffold.

There were hurried words of farewell and kindness, but the parting was
soon over. It was the incident of every day, and the society of La Force
were engaged in the preparation of some games of forfeits and a little concert, for that evening. They crowded to the grates and shed tears
there; but, twenty places in the projected entertainments had to be
refilled, and the time was, at best, short to the lock-up hour, when the common rooms and corridors would be delivered over to the great dogs who
kept watch there through the night. The prisoners were far from
insensible or unfeeling; their ways arose out of the condition of the
time. Similarly, though with a subtle difference, a species of fervour or intoxication, known, without doubt, to have led some persons to brave the guillotine unnecessarily, and to die by it, was not mere boastfulness,
but a wild infection of the wildly shaken public mind. In seasons of pestilence, some of us will have a secret attraction to the diseaserCoa terrible passing inclination to die of it. And all of us have like
wonders hidden in our breasts, only needing circumstances to evoke them.

The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark; the night in its vermin-haunted cells was long and cold. Next day, fifteen prisoners were
put to the bar before Charles DarnayrCOs name was called. All the fifteen
were condemned, and the trials of the whole occupied an hour and a half.

rCLCharles Evr|-monde, called Darnay,rCY was at length arraigned.

His judges sat upon the Bench in feathered hats; but the rough red cap
and tricoloured cockade was the head-dress otherwise prevailing. Looking
at the Jury and the turbulent audience, he might have thought that the
usual order of things was reversed, and that the felons were trying the
honest men. The lowest, cruelest, and worst populace of a city, never
without its quantity of low, cruel, and bad, were the directing spirits
of the scene: noisily commenting, applauding, disapproving, anticipating,
and precipitating the result, without a check. Of the men, the greater
part were armed in various ways; of the women, some wore knives, some
daggers, some ate and drank as they looked on, many knitted. Among these
last, was one, with a spare piece of knitting under her arm as she
worked. She was in a front row, by the side of a man whom he had never
seen since his arrival at the Barrier, but whom he directly remembered as Defarge. He noticed that she once or twice whispered in his ear, and that
she seemed to be his wife; but, what he most noticed in the two figures
was, that although they were posted as close to himself as they could be,
they never looked towards him. They seemed to be waiting for something
with a dogged determination, and they looked at the Jury, but at nothing
else. Under the President sat Doctor Manette, in his usual quiet dress.
As well as the prisoner could see, he and Mr. Lorry were the only men
there, unconnected with the Tribunal, who wore their usual clothes, and
had not assumed the coarse garb of the Carmagnole.

Charles Evr|-monde, called Darnay, was accused by the public prosecutor as
an emigrant, whose life was forfeit to the Republic, under the decree
which banished all emigrants on pain of Death. It was nothing that the
decree bore date since his return to France. There he was, and there was
the decree; he had been taken in France, and his head was demanded.

rCLTake off his head!rCY cried the audience. rCLAn enemy to the Republic!rCY

The President rang his bell to silence those cries, and asked the
prisoner whether it was not true that he had lived many years in England?

Undoubtedly it was.

Was he not an emigrant then? What did he call himself?

Not an emigrant, he hoped, within the sense and spirit of the law.

Why not? the President desired to know.

Because he had voluntarily relinquished a title that was distasteful to
him, and a station that was distasteful to him, and had left his countryrCo
he submitted before the word emigrant in the present acceptation by the Tribunal was in userCoto live by his own industry in England, rather than
on the industry of the overladen people of France.

What proof had he of this?

He handed in the names of two witnesses; Theophile Gabelle, and Alexandre Manette.

But he had married in England? the President reminded him.

True, but not an English woman.

A citizeness of France?

Yes. By birth.

Her name and family?

rCLLucie Manette, only daughter of Doctor Manette, the good physician who
sits there.rCY

This answer had a happy effect upon the audience. Cries in exaltation of
the well-known good physician rent the hall. So capriciously were the
people moved, that tears immediately rolled down several ferocious countenances which had been glaring at the prisoner a moment before, as
if with impatience to pluck him out into the streets and kill him.

On these few steps of his dangerous way, Charles Darnay had set his foot according to Doctor ManetterCOs reiterated instructions. The same cautious counsel directed every step that lay before him, and had prepared every
inch of his road.

The President asked, why had he returned to France when he did, and not sooner?

He had not returned sooner, he replied, simply because he had no means of living in France, save those he had resigned; whereas, in England, he
lived by giving instruction in the French language and literature. He had returned when he did, on the pressing and written entreaty of a French citizen, who represented that his life was endangered by his absence. He
had come back, to save a citizenrCOs life, and to bear his testimony, at whatever personal hazard, to the truth. Was that criminal in the eyes of
the Republic?

The populace cried enthusiastically, rCLNo!rCY and the President rang his
bell to quiet them. Which it did not, for they continued to cry rCLNo!rCY until they left off, of their own will.

The President required the name of that citizen. The accused explained
that the citizen was his first witness. He also referred with confidence
to the citizenrCOs letter, which had been taken from him at the Barrier,
but which he did not doubt would be found among the papers then before
the President.

The Doctor had taken care that it should be thererCohad assured him that it would be thererCoand at this stage of the proceedings it was produced and read. Citizen Gabelle was called to confirm it, and did so. Citizen
Gabelle hinted, with infinite delicacy and politeness, that in the
pressure of business imposed on the Tribunal by the multitude of enemies
of the Republic with which it had to deal, he had been slightly
overlooked in his prison of the AbbayerCoin fact, had rather passed out of
the TribunalrCOs patriotic remembrancerCountil three days ago; when he had been summoned before it, and had been set at liberty on the JuryrCOs
declaring themselves satisfied that the accusation against him was
answered, as to himself, by the surrender of the citizen Evr|-monde,
called Darnay.

Doctor Manette was next questioned. His high personal popularity, and the clearness of his answers, made a great impression; but, as he proceeded,
as he showed that the Accused was his first friend on his release from
his long imprisonment; that, the accused had remained in England, always faithful and devoted to his daughter and himself in their exile; that, so
far from being in favour with the Aristocrat government there, he had
actually been tried for his life by it, as the foe of England and friend
of the United StatesrCoas he brought these circumstances into view, with
the greatest discretion and with the straightforward force of truth and earnestness, the Jury and the populace became one. At last, when he
appealed by name to Monsieur Lorry, an English gentleman then and there present, who, like himself, had been a witness on that English trial and
could corroborate his account of it, the Jury declared that they had
heard enough, and that they were ready with their votes if the President
were content to receive them.

At every vote (the Jurymen voted aloud and individually), the populace
set up a shout of applause. All the voices were in the prisonerrCOs favour, and the President declared him free.

Then, began one of those extraordinary scenes with which the populace sometimes gratified their fickleness, or their better impulses towards generosity and mercy, or which they regarded as some set-off against
their swollen account of cruel rage. No man can decide now to which of
these motives such extraordinary scenes were referable; it is probable,
to a blending of all the three, with the second predominating. No sooner
was the acquittal pronounced, than tears were shed as freely as blood at another time, and such fraternal embraces were bestowed upon the prisoner
by as many of both sexes as could rush at him, that after his long and unwholesome confinement he was in danger of fainting from exhaustion;
none the less because he knew very well, that the very same people,
carried by another current, would have rushed at him with the very same intensity, to rend him to pieces and strew him over the streets.

His removal, to make way for other accused persons who were to be tried, rescued him from these caresses for the moment. Five were to be tried together, next, as enemies of the Republic, forasmuch as they had not
assisted it by word or deed. So quick was the Tribunal to compensate
itself and the nation for a chance lost, that these five came down to him before he left the place, condemned to die within twenty-four hours. The
first of them told him so, with the customary prison sign of DeathrCoa
raised fingerrCoand they all added in words, rCLLong live the Republic!rCY

The five had had, it is true, no audience to lengthen their proceedings,
for when he and Doctor Manette emerged from the gate, there was a great
crowd about it, in which there seemed to be every face he had seen in CourtrCoexcept two, for which he looked in vain. On his coming out, the concourse made at him anew, weeping, embracing, and shouting, all by
turns and all together, until the very tide of the river on the bank of
which the mad scene was acted, seemed to run mad, like the people on the shore.

They put him into a great chair they had among them, and which they had
taken either out of the Court itself, or one of its rooms or passages.
Over the chair they had thrown a red flag, and to the back of it they had bound a pike with a red cap on its top. In this car of triumph, not even
the DoctorrCOs entreaties could prevent his being carried to his home on menrCOs shoulders, with a confused sea of red caps heaving about him, and casting up to sight from the stormy deep such wrecks of faces, that he
more than once misdoubted his mind being in confusion, and that he was in
the tumbril on his way to the Guillotine.

In wild dreamlike procession, embracing whom they met and pointing him
out, they carried him on. Reddening the snowy streets with the prevailing Republican colour, in winding and tramping through them, as they had
reddened them below the snow with a deeper dye, they carried him thus
into the courtyard of the building where he lived. Her father had gone on before, to prepare her, and when her husband stood upon his feet, she
dropped insensible in his arms.

As he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head between his
face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lips might come together unseen, a few of the people fell to dancing. Instantly, all the
rest fell to dancing, and the courtyard overflowed with the Carmagnole.
Then, they elevated into the vacant chair a young woman from the crowd to
be carried as the Goddess of Liberty, and then swelling and overflowing
out into the adjacent streets, and along the riverrCOs bank, and over the bridge, the Carmagnole absorbed them every one and whirled them away.

After grasping the DoctorrCOs hand, as he stood victorious and proud before him; after grasping the hand of Mr. Lorry, who came panting in breathless
from his struggle against the waterspout of the Carmagnole; after kissing little Lucie, who was lifted up to clasp her arms round his neck; and
after embracing the ever zealous and faithful Pross who lifted her; he
took his wife in his arms, and carried her up to their rooms.

rCLLucie! My own! I am safe.rCY

rCLO dearest Charles, let me thank God for this on my knees as I have
prayed to Him.rCY

They all reverently bowed their heads and hearts. When she was again in
his arms, he said to her:

rCLAnd now speak to your father, dearest. No other man in all this France could have done what he has done for me.rCY

She laid her head upon her fatherrCOs breast, as she had laid his poor head
on her own breast, long, long ago. He was happy in the return he had made
her, he was recompensed for his suffering, he was proud of his strength. rCLYou must not be weak, my darling,rCY he remonstrated; rCLdonrCOt tremble so. I
have saved him.rCY

CHAPTER VII.
A Knock at the Door
Ihave saved him.rCY It was not another of the dreams in which he had often come back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and a vague but heavy fear was upon her.

All the air round was so thick and dark, the people were so passionately revengeful and fitful, the innocent were so constantly put to death on
vague suspicion and black malice, it was so impossible to forget that
many as blameless as her husband and as dear to others as he was to her,
every day shared the fate from which he had been clutched, that her heart could not be as lightened of its load as she felt it ought to be. The
shadows of the wintry afternoon were beginning to fall, and even now the dreadful carts were rolling through the streets. Her mind pursued them, looking for him among the Condemned; and then she clung closer to his
real presence and trembled more.

Her father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superiority to this
womanrCOs weakness, which was wonderful to see. No garret, no shoemaking,
no One Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had accomplished the task
he had set himself, his promise was redeemed, he had saved Charles. Let
them all lean upon him.

Their housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only because that was
the safest way of life, involving the least offence to the people, but
because they were not rich, and Charles, throughout his imprisonment, had
had to pay heavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards the
living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on this account, and partly to
avoid a domestic spy, they kept no servant; the citizen and citizeness
who acted as porters at the courtyard gate, rendered them occasional
service; and Jerry (almost wholly transferred to them by Mr. Lorry) had
become their daily retainer, and had his bed there every night.

It was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible of Liberty,
Equality, Fraternity, or Death, that on the door or doorpost of every
house, the name of every inmate must be legibly inscribed in letters of a certain size, at a certain convenient height from the ground. Mr. Jerry CruncherrCOs name, therefore, duly embellished the doorpost down below;
and, as the afternoon shadows deepened, the owner of that name himself appeared, from overlooking a painter whom Doctor Manette had employed to
add to the list the name of Charles Evr|-monde, called Darnay.

In the universal fear and distrust that darkened the time, all the usual harmless ways of life were changed. In the DoctorrCOs little household, as
in very many others, the articles of daily consumption that were wanted
were purchased every evening, in small quantities and at various small
shops. To avoid attracting notice, and to give as little occasion as
possible for talk and envy, was the general desire.

For some months past, Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher had discharged the
office of purveyors; the former carrying the money; the latter, the
basket. Every afternoon at about the time when the public lamps were
lighted, they fared forth on this duty, and made and brought home such purchases as were needful. Although Miss Pross, through her long
association with a French family, might have known as much of their
language as of her own, if she had had a mind, she had no mind in that direction; consequently she knew no more of that rCLnonsenserCY (as she was pleased to call it) than Mr. Cruncher did. So her manner of marketing was
to plump a noun-substantive at the head of a shopkeeper without any introduction in the nature of an article, and, if it happened not to be
the name of the thing she wanted, to look round for that thing, lay hold
of it, and hold on by it until the bargain was concluded. She always made
a bargain for it, by holding up, as a statement of its just price, one
finger less than the merchant held up, whatever his number might be.

rCLNow, Mr. Cruncher,rCY said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red with felicity; rCLif you are ready, I am.rCY

Jerry hoarsely professed himself at Miss ProssrCOs service. He had worn all his rust off long ago, but nothing would file his spiky head down.

rCLThererCOs all manner of things wanted,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLand we shall have a precious time of it. We want wine, among the rest. Nice toasts
these Redheads will be drinking, wherever we buy it.rCY

rCLIt will be much the same to your knowledge, miss, I should think,rCY retorted Jerry, rCLwhether they drink your health or the Old UnrCOs.rCY

rCLWhorCOs he?rCY said Miss Pross.

Mr. Cruncher, with some diffidence, explained himself as meaning rCLOld NickrCOs.rCY

rCLHa!rCY said Miss Pross, rCLit doesnrCOt need an interpreter to explain the meaning of these creatures. They have but one, and itrCOs Midnight Murder,
and Mischief.rCY

rCLHush, dear! Pray, pray, be cautious!rCY cried Lucie.

rCLYes, yes, yes, IrCOll be cautious,rCY said Miss Pross; rCLbut I may say among
ourselves, that I do hope there will be no oniony and tobaccoey
smotherings in the form of embracings all round, going on in the streets.
Now, Ladybird, never you stir from that fire till I come back! Take care
of the dear husband you have recovered, and donrCOt move your pretty head
from his shoulder as you have it now, till you see me again! May I ask a question, Doctor Manette, before I go?rCY

rCLI think you may take that liberty,rCY the Doctor answered, smiling.

rCLFor gracious sake, donrCOt talk about Liberty; we have quite enough of that,rCY said Miss Pross.

rCLHush, dear! Again?rCY Lucie remonstrated.

rCLWell, my sweet,rCY said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically, rCLthe short and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most Gracious
Majesty King George the Third;rCY Miss Pross curtseyed at the name; rCLand as such, my maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish
tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!rCY

Mr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly repeated the words
after Miss Pross, like somebody at church.

rCLI am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I wish you
had never taken that cold in your voice,rCY said Miss Pross, approvingly. rCLBut the question, Doctor Manette. Is thererCYrCoit was the good creaturerCOs
way to affect to make light of anything that was a great anxiety with
them all, and to come at it in this chance mannerrCorCLis there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this place?rCY

rCLI fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet.rCY

rCLHeigh-ho-hum!rCY said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as she glanced at her darlingrCOs golden hair in the light of the fire, rCLthen we must have patience and wait: thatrCOs all. We must hold up our heads and
fight low, as my brother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher!rCoDonrCOt
you move, Ladybird!rCY

They went out, leaving Lucie, and her husband, her father, and the child,
by a bright fire. Mr. Lorry was expected back presently from the Banking House. Miss Pross had lighted the lamp, but had put it aside in a corner,
that they might enjoy the fire-light undisturbed. Little Lucie sat by her grandfather with her hands clasped through his arm: and he, in a tone not rising much above a whisper, began to tell her a story of a great and
powerful Fairy who had opened a prison-wall and let out a captive who had
once done the Fairy a service. All was subdued and quiet, and Lucie was
more at ease than she had been.

rCLWhat is that?rCY she cried, all at once.

rCLMy dear!rCY said her father, stopping in his story, and laying his hand on hers, rCLcommand yourself. What a disordered state you are in! The least thingrConothingrCostartles you! You, your fatherrCOs daughter!rCY

rCLI thought, my father,rCY said Lucie, excusing herself, with a pale face
and in a faltering voice, rCLthat I heard strange feet upon the stairs.rCY

rCLMy love, the staircase is as still as Death.rCY

As he said the word, a blow was struck upon the door.

rCLOh father, father. What can this be! Hide Charles. Save him!rCY

rCLMy child,rCY said the Doctor, rising, and laying his hand upon her shoulder, rCLI have saved him. What weakness is this, my dear! Let me go to the door.rCY

He took the lamp in his hand, crossed the two intervening outer rooms,
and opened it. A rude clattering of feet over the floor, and four rough
men in red caps, armed with sabres and pistols, entered the room.

0649m
Original
rCLThe Citizen Evr|-monde, called Darnay,rCY said the first.

rCLWho seeks him?rCY answered Darnay.

rCLI seek him. We seek him. I know you, Evr|-monde; I saw you before the Tribunal to-day. You are again the prisoner of the Republic.rCY

The four surrounded him, where he stood with his wife and child clinging
to him.

rCLTell me how and why am I again a prisoner?rCY

rCLIt is enough that you return straight to the Conciergerie, and will know to-morrow. You are summoned for to-morrow.rCY

Doctor Manette, whom this visitation had so turned into stone, that he
stood with the lamp in his hand, as if he were a statue made to hold it,
moved after these words were spoken, put the lamp down, and confronting
the speaker, and taking him, not ungently, by the loose front of his red woollen shirt, said:

rCLYou know him, you have said. Do you know me?rCY

rCLYes, I know you, Citizen Doctor.rCY

rCLWe all know you, Citizen Doctor,rCY said the other three.

He looked abstractedly from one to another, and said, in a lower voice,
after a pause:

rCLWill you answer his question to me then? How does this happen?rCY

rCLCitizen Doctor,rCY said the first, reluctantly, rCLhe has been denounced to the Section of Saint Antoine. This citizen,rCY pointing out the second who
had entered, rCLis from Saint Antoine.rCY

The citizen here indicated nodded his head, and added:

rCLHe is accused by Saint Antoine.rCY

rCLOf what?rCY asked the Doctor.

rCLCitizen Doctor,rCY said the first, with his former reluctance, rCLask no more. If the Republic demands sacrifices from you, without doubt you as a
good patriot will be happy to make them. The Republic goes before all.
The People is supreme. Evr|-monde, we are pressed.rCY

rCLOne word,rCY the Doctor entreated. rCLWill you tell me who denounced him?rCY

rCLIt is against rule,rCY answered the first; rCLbut you can ask Him of Saint Antoine here.rCY

The Doctor turned his eyes upon that man. Who moved uneasily on his feet, rubbed his beard a little, and at length said:

rCLWell! Truly it is against rule. But he is denouncedrCoand gravelyrCoby the Citizen and Citizeness Defarge. And by one other.rCY

rCLWhat other?rCY

rCLDo you ask, Citizen Doctor?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLThen,rCY said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, rCLyou will be answered to-morrow. Now, I am dumb!rCY

CHAPTER VIII.
A Hand at Cards
Happily unconscious of the new calamity at home, Miss Pross threaded her
way along the narrow streets and crossed the river by the bridge of the Pont-Neuf, reckoning in her mind the number of indispensable purchases
she had to make. Mr. Cruncher, with the basket, walked at her side. They
both looked to the right and to the left into most of the shops they
passed, had a wary eye for all gregarious assemblages of people, and
turned out of their road to avoid any very excited group of talkers. It
was a raw evening, and the misty river, blurred to the eye with blazing
lights and to the ear with harsh noises, showed where the barges were stationed in which the smiths worked, making guns for the Army of the Republic. Woe to the man who played tricks with that Army, or got
undeserved promotion in it! Better for him that his beard had never
grown, for the National Razor shaved him close.

Having purchased a few small articles of grocery, and a measure of oil
for the lamp, Miss Pross bethought herself of the wine they wanted. After peeping into several wine-shops, she stopped at the sign of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, not far from the National Palace, once
(and twice) the Tuileries, where the aspect of things rather took her
fancy. It had a quieter look than any other place of the same description
they had passed, and, though red with patriotic caps, was not so red as
the rest. Sounding Mr. Cruncher, and finding him of her opinion, Miss
Pross resorted to the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, attended by
her cavalier.

Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth,
playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal aloud, and of the
others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or laid aside to be
resumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high-shouldered shaggy black spencer looked, in that attitude,
like slumbering bears or dogs; the two outlandish customers approached
the counter, and showed what they wanted.

As their wine was measuring out, a man parted from another man in a
corner, and rose to depart. In going, he had to face Miss Pross. No
sooner did he face her, than Miss Pross uttered a scream, and clapped her hands.

In a moment, the whole company were on their feet. That somebody was assassinated by somebody vindicating a difference of opinion was the
likeliest occurrence. Everybody looked to see somebody fall, but only saw
a man and a woman standing staring at each other; the man with all the
outward aspect of a Frenchman and a thorough Republican; the woman,
evidently English.

0653m
Original
What was said in this disappointing anti-climax, by the disciples of the
Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was something very
voluble and loud, would have been as so much Hebrew or Chaldean to Miss
Pross and her protector, though they had been all ears. But, they had no
ears for anything in their surprise. For, it must be recorded, that not
only was Miss Pross lost in amazement and agitation, but, Mr. CruncherrCo though it seemed on his own separate and individual accountrCowas in a
state of the greatest wonder.

rCLWhat is the matter?rCY said the man who had caused Miss Pross to scream; speaking in a vexed, abrupt voice (though in a low tone), and in English.

rCLOh, Solomon, dear Solomon!rCY cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands again. rCLAfter not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so long a time, do
I find you here!rCY

rCLDonrCOt call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death of me?rCY asked the man, in a furtive, frightened way.

rCLBrother, brother!rCY cried Miss Pross, bursting into tears. rCLHave I ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruel question?rCY

rCLThen hold your meddlesome tongue,rCY said Solomon, rCLand come out, if you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine, and come out. WhorCOs this man?rCY

Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her by no means affectionate brother, said through her tears, rCLMr. Cruncher.rCY

rCLLet him come out too,rCY said Solomon. rCLDoes he think me a ghost?rCY

Apparently, Mr. Cruncher did, to judge from his looks. He said not a
word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the depths of her reticule
through her tears with great difficulty paid for her wine. As she did so, Solomon turned to the followers of the Good Republican Brutus of
Antiquity, and offered a few words of explanation in the French language, which caused them all to relapse into their former places and pursuits.

rCLNow,rCY said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, rCLwhat do you want?rCY

rCLHow dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned my love away from!rCY cried Miss Pross, rCLto give me such a greeting, and show me no affection.rCY

rCLThere. Confound it! There,rCY said Solomon, making a dab at Miss ProssrCOs lips with his own. rCLNow are you content?rCY

Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.

rCLIf you expect me to be surprised,rCY said her brother Solomon, rCLI am not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most people who are here. If
you really donrCOt want to endanger my existencerCowhich I half believe you dorCogo your ways as soon as possible, and let me go mine. I am busy. I am
an official.rCY

rCLMy English brother Solomon,rCY mourned Miss Pross, casting up her tear- fraught eyes, rCLthat had the makings in him of one of the best and
greatest of men in his native country, an official among foreigners, and
such foreigners! I would almost sooner have seen the dear boy lying in hisrCorCY

rCLI said so!rCY cried her brother, interrupting. rCLI knew it. You want to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own sister. Just as
I am getting on!rCY

rCLThe gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!rCY cried Miss Pross. rCLFar rather
would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever loved you
truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionate word to me, and tell me
there is nothing angry or estranged between us, and I will detain you no longer.rCY

Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them had come of any culpability of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had not known it for a fact, years
ago, in the quiet corner in Soho, that this precious brother had spent
her money and left her!

He was saying the affectionate word, however, with a far more grudging condescension and patronage than he could have shown if their relative
merits and positions had been reversed (which is invariably the case, all
the world over), when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on the shoulder,
hoarsely and unexpectedly interposed with the following singular
question:

rCLI say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is John Solomon,
or Solomon John?rCY

The official turned towards him with sudden distrust. He had not
previously uttered a word.

rCLCome!rCY said Mr. Cruncher. rCLSpeak out, you know.rCY (Which, by the way, was
more than he could do himself.) rCLJohn Solomon, or Solomon John? She calls you Solomon, and she must know, being your sister. And I know yourCOre
John, you know. Which of the two goes first? And regarding that name of
Pross, likewise. That warnrCOt your name over the water.rCY

rCLWhat do you mean?rCY

rCLWell, I donrCOt know all I mean, for I canrCOt call to mind what your name was, over the water.rCY

rCLNo?rCY

rCLNo. But IrCOll swear it was a name of two syllables.rCY

rCLIndeed?rCY

rCLYes. TrCOother onerCOs was one syllable. I know you. You was a spyrCowitness
at the Bailey. What, in the name of the Father of Lies, own father to yourself, was you called at that time?rCY

rCLBarsad,rCY said another voice, striking in.

rCLThatrCOs the name for a thousand pound!rCY cried Jerry.

The speaker who struck in, was Sydney Carton. He had his hands behind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and he stood at Mr. CruncherrCOs elbow
as negligently as he might have stood at the Old Bailey itself.

rCLDonrCOt be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross. I arrived at Mr. LorryrCOs, to his surprise, yesterday evening; we agreed that I would not present myself elsewhere until all was well, or unless I could be useful; I present
myself here, to beg a little talk with your brother. I wish you had a
better employed brother than Mr. Barsad. I wish for your sake Mr. Barsad
was not a Sheep of the Prisons.rCY

Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers. The spy,
who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how he daredrCo

rCLIrCOll tell you,rCY said Sydney. rCLI lighted on you, Mr. Barsad, coming out
of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was contemplating the walls, an
hour or more ago. You have a face to be remembered, and I remember faces
well. Made curious by seeing you in that connection, and having a reason,
to which you are no stranger, for associating you with the misfortunes of
a friend now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction. I walked into
the wine-shop here, close after you, and sat near you. I had no
difficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed to shape itself into a
purpose, Mr. Barsad.rCY

rCLWhat purpose?rCY the spy asked.

rCLIt would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in the
street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some minutes of your companyrCoat the office of TellsonrCOs Bank, for instance?rCY

rCLUnder a threat?rCY

rCLOh! Did I say that?rCY

rCLThen, why should I go there?rCY

rCLReally, Mr. Barsad, I canrCOt say, if you canrCOt.rCY

rCLDo you mean that you wonrCOt say, sir?rCY the spy irresolutely asked.

rCLYou apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I wonrCOt.rCY

CartonrCOs negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully in aid of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had in his secret mind, and
with such a man as he had to do with. His practised eye saw it, and made
the most of it.

rCLNow, I told you so,rCY said the spy, casting a reproachful look at his sister; rCLif any trouble comes of this, itrCOs your doing.rCY

rCLCome, come, Mr. Barsad!rCY exclaimed Sydney. rCLDonrCOt be ungrateful. But for
my great respect for your sister, I might not have led up so pleasantly
to a little proposal that I wish to make for our mutual satisfaction. Do
you go with me to the Bank?rCY

rCLIrCOll hear what you have got to say. Yes, IrCOll go with you.rCY

rCLI propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the corner of her
own street. Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not a good city, at
this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and as your escort knows
Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. LorryrCOs with us. Are we ready? Come then!rCY

Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life
remembered, that as she pressed her hands on SydneyrCOs arm and looked up
in his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and raised the man. She was
too much occupied then with fears for the brother who so little deserved
her affection, and with SydneyrCOs friendly reassurances, adequately to
heed what she observed.

They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to Mr. LorryrCOs, which was within a few minutesrCO walk. John Barsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side.

Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before a cheery
little log or two of firerCoperhaps looking into their blaze for the
picture of that younger elderly gentleman from TellsonrCOs, who had looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now a good many years
ago. He turned his head as they entered, and showed the surprise with
which he saw a stranger.

rCLMiss ProssrCOs brother, sir,rCY said Sydney. rCLMr. Barsad.rCY

rCLBarsad?rCY repeated the old gentleman, rCLBarsad? I have an association with
the namerCoand with the face.rCY

rCLI told you you had a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad,rCY observed Carton, coolly. rCLPray sit down.rCY

As he took a chair himself, he supplied the link that Mr. Lorry wanted,
by saying to him with a frown, rCLWitness at that trial.rCY Mr. Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his new visitor with an undisguised
look of abhorrence.

rCLMr. Barsad has been recognised by Miss Pross as the affectionate brother you have heard of,rCY said Sydney, rCLand has acknowledged the relationship.
I pass to worse news. Darnay has been arrested again.rCY

Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed, rCLWhat do you tell me! I left him safe and free within these two hours, and am about to
return to him!rCY

rCLArrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad?rCY

rCLJust now, if at all.rCY

rCLMr. Barsad is the best authority possible, sir,rCY said Sydney, rCLand I have it from Mr. BarsadrCOs communication to a friend and brother Sheep
over a bottle of wine, that the arrest has taken place. He left the
messengers at the gate, and saw them admitted by the porter. There is no earthly doubt that he is retaken.rCY

Mr. LorryrCOs business eye read in the speakerrCOs face that it was loss of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, but sensible that something might depend on his presence of mind, he commanded himself, and was silently attentive.

rCLNow, I trust,rCY said Sydney to him, rCLthat the name and influence of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good stead to-morrowrCoyou said he would
be before the Tribunal again to-morrow, Mr. Barsad?rCorCY

rCLYes; I believe so.rCY

rCLrCoIn as good stead to-morrow as to-day. But it may not be so. I own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor ManetterCOs not having had the power
to prevent this arrest.rCY

rCLHe may not have known of it beforehand,rCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLBut that very circumstance would be alarming, when we remember how identified he is with his son-in-law.rCY

rCLThatrCOs true,rCY Mr. Lorry acknowledged, with his troubled hand at his chin, and his troubled eyes on Carton.

rCLIn short,rCY said Sydney, rCLthis is a desperate time, when desperate games are played for desperate stakes. Let the Doctor play the winning game; I
will play the losing one. No manrCOs life here is worth purchase. Any one carried home by the people to-day, may be condemned tomorrow. Now, the
stake I have resolved to play for, in case of the worst, is a friend in
the Conciergerie. And the friend I purpose to myself to win, is Mr.
Barsad.rCY

rCLYou need have good cards, sir,rCY said the spy.

rCLIrCOll run them over. IrCOll see what I hold,rCoMr. Lorry, you know what a brute I am; I wish yourCOd give me a little brandy.rCY

It was put before him, and he drank off a glassfulrCodrank off another glassfulrCopushed the bottle thoughtfully away.

rCLMr. Barsad,rCY he went on, in the tone of one who really was looking over
a hand at cards: rCLSheep of the prisons, emissary of Republican
committees, now turnkey, now prisoner, always spy and secret informer, so
much the more valuable here for being English that an Englishman is less
open to suspicion of subornation in those characters than a Frenchman, represents himself to his employers under a false name. ThatrCOs a very
good card. Mr. Barsad, now in the employ of the republican French
government, was formerly in the employ of the aristocratic English
government, the enemy of France and freedom. ThatrCOs an excellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of suspicion, that Mr. Barsad,
still in the pay of the aristocratic English government, is the spy of
Pitt, the treacherous foe of the Republic crouching in its bosom, the
English traitor and agent of all mischief so much spoken of and so
difficult to find. ThatrCOs a card not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?rCY

rCLNot to understand your play,rCY returned the spy, somewhat uneasily.

rCLI play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest Section
Committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and see what you have. DonrCOt hurry.rCY

He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of brandy, and drank
it off. He saw that the spy was fearful of his drinking himself into a
fit state for the immediate denunciation of him. Seeing it, he poured out
and drank another glassful.

rCLLook over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time.rCY

It was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losing cards in it
that Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of his honourable
employment in England, through too much unsuccessful hard swearing thererCo
not because he was not wanted there; our English reasons for vaunting our superiority to secrecy and spies are of very modern daterCohe knew that he
had crossed the Channel, and accepted service in France: first, as a
tempter and an eavesdropper among his own countrymen there: gradually, as
a tempter and an eavesdropper among the natives. He knew that under the overthrown government he had been a spy upon Saint Antoine and DefargerCOs wine-shop; had received from the watchful police such heads of
information concerning Doctor ManetterCOs imprisonment, release, and
history, as should serve him for an introduction to familiar conversation
with the Defarges; and tried them on Madame Defarge, and had broken down
with them signally. He always remembered with fear and trembling, that
that terrible woman had knitted when he talked with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingers moved. He had since seen her, in the
Section of Saint Antoine, over and over again produce her knitted
registers, and denounce people whose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up. He knew, as every one employed as he was did, that he was
never safe; that flight was impossible; that he was tied fast under the
shadow of the axe; and that in spite of his utmost tergiversation and treachery in furtherance of the reigning terror, a word might bring it
down upon him. Once denounced, and on such grave grounds as had just now
been suggested to his mind, he foresaw that the dreadful woman of whose unrelenting character he had seen many proofs, would produce against him
that fatal register, and would quash his last chance of life. Besides
that all secret men are men soon terrified, here were surely cards enough
of one black suit, to justify the holder in growing rather livid as he
turned them over.

rCLYou scarcely seem to like your hand,rCY said Sydney, with the greatest composure. rCLDo you play?rCY

rCLI think, sir,rCY said the spy, in the meanest manner, as he turned to Mr. Lorry, rCLI may appeal to a gentleman of your years and benevolence, to put
it to this other gentleman, so much your junior, whether he can under any circumstances reconcile it to his station to play that Ace of which he
has spoken. I admit that I am a spy, and that it is considered a
discreditable stationrCothough it must be filled by somebody; but this gentleman is no spy, and why should he so demean himself as to make
himself one?rCY

rCLI play my Ace, Mr. Barsad,rCY said Carton, taking the answer on himself, and looking at his watch, rCLwithout any scruple, in a very few minutes.rCY

rCLI should have hoped, gentlemen both,rCY said the spy, always striving to hook Mr. Lorry into the discussion, rCLthat your respect for my sisterrCorCY

rCLI could not better testify my respect for your sister than by finally relieving her of her brother,rCY said Sydney Carton.

rCLYou think not, sir?rCY

rCLI have thoroughly made up my mind about it.rCY

The smooth manner of the spy, curiously in dissonance with his
ostentatiously rough dress, and probably with his usual demeanour,
received such a check from the inscrutability of Carton,rCowho was a
mystery to wiser and honester men than he,rCothat it faltered here and
failed him. While he was at a loss, Carton said, resuming his former air
of contemplating cards:

rCLAnd indeed, now I think again, I have a strong impression that I have another good card here, not yet enumerated. That friend and fellow-Sheep,
who spoke of himself as pasturing in the country prisons; who was he?rCY

rCLFrench. You donrCOt know him,rCY said the spy, quickly.

rCLFrench, eh?rCY repeated Carton, musing, and not appearing to notice him at all, though he echoed his word. rCLWell; he may be.rCY

rCLIs, I assure you,rCY said the spy; rCLthough itrCOs not important.rCY

rCLThough itrCOs not important,rCY repeated Carton, in the same mechanical way rCorCLthough itrCOs not importantrCoNo, itrCOs not important. No. Yet I know the
face.rCY

rCLI think not. I am sure not. It canrCOt be,rCY said the spy.

rCLIt-canrCOt-be,rCY muttered Sydney Carton, retrospectively, and idling his glass (which fortunately was a small one) again. rCLCanrCOt-be. Spoke good French. Yet like a foreigner, I thought?rCY

rCLProvincial,rCY said the spy.

rCLNo. Foreign!rCY cried Carton, striking his open hand on the table, as a light broke clearly on his mind. rCLCly! Disguised, but the same man. We
had that man before us at the Old Bailey.rCY

rCLNow, there you are hasty, sir,rCY said Barsad, with a smile that gave his aquiline nose an extra inclination to one side; rCLthere you really give me
an advantage over you. Cly (who I will unreservedly admit, at this
distance of time, was a partner of mine) has been dead several years. I attended him in his last illness. He was buried in London, at the church
of Saint Pancras-in-the-Fields. His unpopularity with the blackguard
multitude at the moment prevented my following his remains, but I helped
to lay him in his coffin.rCY

Here, Mr. Lorry became aware, from where he sat, of a most remarkable
goblin shadow on the wall. Tracing it to its source, he discovered it to
be caused by a sudden extraordinary rising and stiffening of all the
risen and stiff hair on Mr. CruncherrCOs head.

rCLLet us be reasonable,rCY said the spy, rCLand let us be fair. To show you how mistaken you are, and what an unfounded assumption yours is, I will
lay before you a certificate of ClyrCOs burial, which I happened to have carried in my pocket-book,rCY with a hurried hand he produced and opened
it, rCLever since. There it is. Oh, look at it, look at it! You may take it
in your hand; itrCOs no forgery.rCY

Here, Mr. Lorry perceived the reflection on the wall to elongate, and Mr. Cruncher rose and stepped forward. His hair could not have been more
violently on end, if it had been that moment dressed by the Cow with the crumpled horn in the house that Jack built.

Unseen by the spy, Mr. Cruncher stood at his side, and touched him on the shoulder like a ghostly bailiff.

rCLThat there Roger Cly, master,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, with a taciturn and iron-bound visage. rCLSo you put him in his coffin?rCY

rCLI did.rCY

rCLWho took him out of it?rCY

Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, rCLWhat do you mean?rCY

rCLI mean,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, rCLthat he warnrCOt never in it. No! Not he! IrCOll have my head took off, if he was ever in it.rCY

The spy looked round at the two gentlemen; they both looked in
unspeakable astonishment at Jerry.

rCLI tell you,rCY said Jerry, rCLthat you buried paving-stones and earth in that there coffin. DonrCOt go and tell me that you buried Cly. It was a
take in. Me and two more knows it.rCY

rCLHow do you know it?rCY

rCLWhatrCOs that to you? Ecod!rCY growled Mr. Cruncher, rCLitrCOs you I have got a
old grudge again, is it, with your shameful impositions upon tradesmen!
IrCOd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.rCY

Sydney Carton, who, with Mr. Lorry, had been lost in amazement at this
turn of the business, here requested Mr. Cruncher to moderate and explain himself.

rCLAt another time, sir,rCY he returned, evasively, rCLthe present time is ill- conwenient for explaininrCO. What I stand to, is, that he knows well wot
that there Cly was never in that there coffin. Let him say he was, in so
much as a word of one syllable, and IrCOll either catch hold of his throat
and choke him for half a guinea;rCY Mr. Cruncher dwelt upon this as quite a liberal offer; rCLor IrCOll out and announce him.rCY

rCLHumph! I see one thing,rCY said Carton. rCLI hold another card, Mr. Barsad. Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling the air, for you
to outlive denunciation, when you are in communication with another aristocratic spy of the same antecedents as yourself, who, moreover, has
the mystery about him of having feigned death and come to life again! A
plot in the prisons, of the foreigner against the Republic. A strong card
rCoa certain Guillotine card! Do you play?rCY

rCLNo!rCY returned the spy. rCLI throw up. I confess that we were so unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from England at the risk of being ducked to death, and that Cly was so ferreted up and down, that he
never would have got away at all but for that sham. Though how this man
knows it was a sham, is a wonder of wonders to me.rCY

rCLNever you trouble your head about this man,rCY retorted the contentious
Mr. Cruncher; rCLyourCOll have trouble enough with giving your attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!rCYrCoMr. Cruncher could not be restrained from making rather an ostentatious parade of his liberality rCorCLIrCOd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.rCY

The Sheep of the prisons turned from him to Sydney Carton, and said, with
more decision, rCLIt has come to a point. I go on duty soon, and canrCOt overstay my time. You told me you had a proposal; what is it? Now, it is
of no use asking too much of me. Ask me to do anything in my office,
putting my head in great extra danger, and I had better trust my life to
the chances of a refusal than the chances of consent. In short, I should
make that choice. You talk of desperation. We are all desperate here. Remember! I may denounce you if I think proper, and I can swear my way
through stone walls, and so can others. Now, what do you want with me?rCY

rCLNot very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?rCY

rCLI tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape possible,rCY said the spy, firmly.

rCLWhy need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?rCY

rCLI am sometimes.rCY

rCLYou can be when you choose?rCY

rCLI can pass in and out when I choose.rCY

Sydney Carton filled another glass with brandy, poured it slowly out upon
the hearth, and watched it as it dropped. It being all spent, he said,
rising:

rCLSo far, we have spoken before these two, because it was as well that the merits of the cards should not rest solely between you and me. Come into
the dark room here, and let us have one final word alone.rCY

CHAPTER IX.
The Game Made
While Sydney Carton and the Sheep of the prisons were in the adjoining
dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry looked
at Jerry in considerable doubt and mistrust. That honest tradesmanrCOs
manner of receiving the look, did not inspire confidence; he changed the
leg on which he rested, as often as if he had fifty of those limbs, and
were trying them all; he examined his finger-nails with a very
questionable closeness of attention; and whenever Mr. LorryrCOs eye caught his, he was taken with that peculiar kind of short cough requiring the
hollow of a hand before it, which is seldom, if ever, known to be an
infirmity attendant on perfect openness of character.

rCLJerry,rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLCome here.rCY

Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders in advance
of him.

rCLWhat have you been, besides a messenger?rCY

After some cogitation, accompanied with an intent look at his patron, Mr. Cruncher conceived the luminous idea of replying, rCLAgicultooral character.rCY

rCLMy mind misgives me much,rCY said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking a forefinger at him, rCLthat you have used the respectable and great house of TellsonrCOs as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous description. If you have, donrCOt expect me to befriend you when you get
back to England. If you have, donrCOt expect me to keep your secret. TellsonrCOs shall not be imposed upon.rCY

rCLI hope, sir,rCY pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, rCLthat a gentleman like yourself wot IrCOve had the honour of odd jobbing till IrCOm grey at it,
would think twice about harming of me, even if it wos sorCoI donrCOt say it is, but even if it wos. And which it is to be took into account that if
it wos, it wouldnrCOt, even then, be all orCO one side. ThererCOd be two sides to it. There might be medical doctors at the present hour, a picking up
their guineas where a honest tradesman donrCOt pick up his fardensrCofardens! no, nor yet his half fardensrCohalf fardens! no, nor yet his quarterrCoa banking away like smoke at TellsonrCOs, and a cocking their medical eyes at that tradesman on the sly, a going in and going out to their own carriagesrCoah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that rCOud be imposing, too, on TellsonrCOs. For you cannot sarse the goose and not the gander. And hererCOs Mrs. Cruncher, or leastways wos in the Old England
times, and would be to-morrow, if cause given, a floppinrCO again the
business to that degree as is ruinatingrCostark ruinating! Whereas them medical doctorsrCO wives donrCOt floprCocatch rCOem at it! Or, if they flop, their floppings goes in favour of more patients, and how can you rightly
have one without trCOother? Then, wot with undertakers, and wot with parish clerks, and wot with sextons, and wot with private watchmen (all
awaricious and all in it), a man wouldnrCOt get much by it, even if it wos
so. And wot little a man did get, would never prosper with him, Mr.
Lorry. HerCOd never have no good of it; herCOd want all along to be out of
the line, if he, could see his way out, being once inrCoeven if it wos so.rCY

rCLUgh!rCY cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless, rCLI am shocked at the sight of you.rCY

rCLNow, what I would humbly offer to you, sir,rCY pursued Mr. Cruncher, rCLeven
if it wos so, which I donrCOt say it isrCorCY

rCLDonrCOt prevaricate,rCY said Mr. Lorry.

rCLNo, I will not, sir,rCY returned Mr. Crunches as if nothing were further from his thoughts or practicerCorCLwhich I donrCOt say it isrCowot I would humbly
offer to you, sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that there
Bar, sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be a man,
wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job you, till your heels
is where your head is, if such should be your wishes. If it wos so, which
I still donrCOt say it is (for I will not prewaricate to you, sir), let
that there boy keep his fatherrCOs place, and take care of his mother;
donrCOt blow upon that boyrCOs fatherrCodo not do it, sirrCoand let that father
go into the line of the regrCOlar digginrCO, and make amends for what he
would have undugrCoif it wos sorCoby digginrCO of rCOem in with a will, and with
conwictions respectinrCO the futurrCO keepinrCO of rCOem safe. That, Mr. Lorry,rCY
said Mr. Cruncher, wiping his forehead with his arm, as an announcement
that he had arrived at the peroration of his discourse, rCLis wot I would respectfully offer to you, sir. A man donrCOt see all this here a goinrCO on dreadful round him, in the way of Subjects without heads, dear me,
plentiful enough fur to bring the price down to porterage and hardly
that, without havinrCO his serious thoughts of things. And these here would
be mine, if it wos so, entreatinrCO of you fur to bear in mind that wot I
said just now, I up and said in the good cause when I might have keprCO it back.rCY

rCLThat at least is true,rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLSay no more now. It may be that
I shall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and repent in actionrCo
not in words. I want no more words.rCY

Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy returned
from the dark room. rCLAdieu, Mr. Barsad,rCY said the former; rCLour arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me.rCY

He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When they
were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done?

rCLNot much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have ensured access
to him, once.rCY

Mr. LorryrCOs countenance fell.

rCLIt is all I could do,rCY said Carton. rCLTo propose too much, would be to put this manrCOs head under the axe, and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness
of the position. There is no help for it.rCY

rCLBut access to him,rCY said Mr. Lorry, rCLif it should go ill before the Tribunal, will not save him.rCY

rCLI never said it would.rCY

Mr. LorryrCOs eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his
darling, and the heavy disappointment of his second arrest, gradually
weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and
his tears fell.

rCLYou are a good man and a true friend,rCY said Carton, in an altered voice. rCLForgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see my father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your sorrow more, if
you were my father. You are free from that misfortune, however.rCY

Though he said the last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there
was a true feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that
Mr. Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly
unprepared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed it.

rCLTo return to poor Darnay,rCY said Carton. rCLDonrCOt tell Her of this interview, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see him.
She might think it was contrived, in case of the worse, to convey to him
the means of anticipating the sentence.rCY

Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to see
if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and
evidently understood it.

rCLShe might think a thousand things,rCY Carton said, rCLand any of them would only add to her trouble. DonrCOt speak of me to her. As I said to you when
I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do any little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, without that.
You are going to her, I hope? She must be very desolate to-night.rCY

rCLI am going now, directly.rCY

rCLI am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reliance
on you. How does she look?rCY

rCLAnxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.rCY

rCLAh!rCY

It was a long, grieving sound, like a sighrCoalmost like a sob. It
attracted Mr. LorryrCOs eyes to CartonrCOs face, which was turned to the
fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a
wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little
flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat
and top-boots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their
light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was
sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry;
his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had
broken under the weight of his foot.

rCLI forgot it,rCY he said.

Mr. LorryrCOs eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of the
wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and having the expression of prisonersrCO faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly
reminded of that expression.

rCLAnd your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?rCY said Carton, turning to him.

rCLYes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so unexpectedly,
I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped to have left them
in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Paris. I have my Leave to
Pass. I was ready to go.rCY

They were both silent.

rCLYours is a long life to look back upon, sir?rCY said Carton, wistfully.

rCLI am in my seventy-eighth year.rCY

rCLYou have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?rCY

rCLI have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man. Indeed, I
may say that I was a man of business when a boy.rCY

rCLSee what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will miss
you when you leave it empty!rCY

rCLA solitary old bachelor,rCY answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head. rCLThere is nobody to weep for me.rCY

rCLHow can you say that? WouldnrCOt She weep for you? WouldnrCOt her child?rCY

rCLYes, yes, thank God. I didnrCOt quite mean what I said.rCY

rCLIt is a thing to thank God for; is it not?rCY

rCLSurely, surely.rCY

rCLIf you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, rCyI have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect,
of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in no regard; I
have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by!rCO your seventy- eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they not?rCY

rCLYou say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be.rCY

Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence of a few moments, said:

rCLI should like to ask you:rCoDoes your childhood seem far off? Do the days when you sat at your motherrCOs knee, seem days of very long ago?rCY

Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered:

rCLTwenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I draw
closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and nearer
to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings and
preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many remembrances that
had long fallen asleep, of my pretty young mother (and I so old!), and by
many associations of the days when what we call the World was not so real
with me, and my faults were not confirmed in me.rCY

rCLI understand the feeling!rCY exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. rCLAnd you are the better for it?rCY

rCLI hope so.rCY

Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with
his outer coat; rCLBut you,rCY said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, rCLyou are young.rCY

rCLYes,rCY said Carton. rCLI am not old, but my young way was never the way to age. Enough of me.rCY

rCLAnd of me, I am sure,rCY said Mr. Lorry. rCLAre you going out?rCY

rCLIrCOll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless
habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, donrCOt be uneasy;
I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?rCY

rCLYes, unhappily.rCY

rCLI shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.rCY

Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. LorryrCOs destination. Carton left him there;
but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when
it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison
every day. rCLShe came out here,rCY he said, looking about him, rCLturned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps.rCY

It was ten orCOclock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having
closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door.

rCLGood night, citizen,rCY said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively.

rCLGood night, citizen.rCY

rCLHow goes the Republic?rCY

rCLYou mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to
a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being
exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!rCY

rCLDo you often go to see himrCorCY

rCLShave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?rCY

rCLNever.rCY

rCLGo and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself,
citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less
than two pipes. Word of honour!rCY

As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain
how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire
to strike the life out of him, that he turned away.

rCLBut you are not English,rCY said the wood-sawyer, rCLthough you wear English
dress?rCY

rCLYes,rCY said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder.

rCLYou speak like a Frenchman.rCY

rCLI am an old student here.rCY

rCLAha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.rCY

rCLGood night, citizen.rCY

rCLBut go and see that droll dog,rCY the little man persisted, calling after him. rCLAnd take a pipe with you!rCY

Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of
the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap
of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered
the way well, several dark and dirty streetsrComuch dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terrorrCohe stopped at a chemistrCOs shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man.

Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his
counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. rCLWhew!rCY the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. rCLHi! hi! hi!rCY

Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said:

rCLFor you, citizen?rCY

rCLFor me.rCY

rCLYou will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?rCY

rCLPerfectly.rCY

Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by
one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. rCLThere is nothing more to do,rCY said he, glancing upward at the moon, rCLuntil to-morrow. I canrCOt sleep.rCY

It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words
aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of
negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who
had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into
his road and saw its end.

Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a
youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His
mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at
his fatherrCOs grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high
above him. rCLI am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever
liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.rCY

In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow
rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and
for to-morrowrCOs victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and
still of to-morrowrCOs and to-morrowrCOs, the chain of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old shiprCOs anchor from the deep,
might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and
went on.

With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going
to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding
them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep;
in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled
to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful
story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the
working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and
death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury;
Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.

Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be
suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the
people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one
of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for
a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and
before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss.

rCLI am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and
believeth in me, shall never die.rCY

Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were
in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and
steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard
them always.

The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the
water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light
of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the
sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died,
and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to DeathrCOs dominion.

But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden
of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light
appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river
sparkled under it.

The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial
friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank.
When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream
absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.rCorCLLike me.rCY

A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then
glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track
in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart
for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors,
ended in the words, rCLI am the resurrection and the life.rCY

Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise
where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh
himself, went out to the place of trial.

The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheeprCowhom many fell
away from in dreadrCopressed him into an obscure corner among the crowd.
Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.

When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so
sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying
tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy
blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If
there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney
Carton, it would have been seen to be the same influence exactly.

Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could have
been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had not
first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds.

Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and the day
after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and
his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave
great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal-looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The whole jury,
as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer.

Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising,
murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other eye in
the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one
another, before bending forward with a strained attention.

Charles Evr|-monde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Reaccused and
retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants,
one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished
privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evr|-monde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.

To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor.

The President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly?

rCLOpenly, President.rCY

rCLBy whom?rCY

rCLThree voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine.rCY

rCLGood.rCY

rCLTh|-r|?se Defarge, his wife.rCY

rCLGood.rCY

rCLAlexandre Manette, physician.rCY

A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor
Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been seated.

rCLPresident, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a
fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My
daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who
and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband
of my child!rCY

rCLCitizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of
the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to
you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic.rCY

Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and
with warmth resumed.

rCLIf the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child
herself, you would have no duty but to sacrifice her. Listen to what is
to follow. In the meanwhile, be silent!rCY

Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Manette sat down, with his
eyes looking around, and his lips trembling; his daughter drew closer to
him. The craving man on the jury rubbed his hands together, and restored
the usual hand to his mouth.

Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough to admit of his
being heard, and rapidly expounded the story of the imprisonment, and of
his having been a mere boy in the DoctorrCOs service, and of the release,
and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered to him. This short examination followed, for the court was quick with its work.

rCLYou did good service at the taking of the Bastille, citizen?rCY

rCLI believe so.rCY

Here, an excited woman screeched from the crowd: rCLYou were one of the
best patriots there. Why not say so? You were a cannonier that day there,
and you were among the first to enter the accursed fortress when it fell. Patriots, I speak the truth!rCY

It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of the audience,
thus assisted the proceedings. The President rang his bell; but, The Vengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, rCLI defy that bell!rCY wherein she was likewise much commended.

rCLInform the Tribunal of what you did that day within the Bastille, citizen.rCY

rCLI knew,rCY said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who stood at the bottom of the steps on which he was raised, looking steadily up at him; rCLI knew that this prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as
One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from himself. He knew
himself by no other name than One Hundred and Five, North Tower, when he
made shoes under my care. As I serve my gun that day, I resolve, when the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount to the cell,
with a fellow-citizen who is one of the Jury, directed by a gaoler. I
examine it, very closely. In a hole in the chimney, where a stone has
been worked out and replaced, I find a written paper. This is that
written paper. I have made it my business to examine some specimens of
the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of Doctor Manette. I confide this paper, in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the President.rCY

rCLLet it be read.rCY

In a dead silence and stillnessrCothe prisoner under trial looking lovingly
at his wife, his wife only looking from him to look with solicitude at
her father, Doctor Manette keeping his eyes fixed on the reader, Madame Defarge never taking hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking his
from his feasting wife, and all the other eyes there intent upon the
Doctor, who saw none of themrCothe paper was read, as follows.

CHAPTER X.
The Substance of the Shadow
I, Alexandre Manette, unfortunate physician, native of Beauvais, and afterwards resident in Paris, write this melancholy paper in my doleful
cell in the Bastille, during the last month of the year, 1767. I write it
at stolen intervals, under every difficulty. I design to secrete it in
the wall of the chimney, where I have slowly and laboriously made a place
of concealment for it. Some pitying hand may find it there, when I and my sorrows are dust.

rCLThese words are formed by the rusty iron point with which I write with difficulty in scrapings of soot and charcoal from the chimney, mixed with blood, in the last month of the tenth year of my captivity. Hope has
quite departed from my breast. I know from terrible warnings I have noted
in myself that my reason will not long remain unimpaired, but I solemnly declare that I am at this time in the possession of my right mindrCothat my memory is exact and circumstantialrCoand that I write the truth as I shall answer for these my last recorded words, whether they be ever read by men
or not, at the Eternal Judgment-seat.

rCLOne cloudy moonlight night, in the third week of December (I think the twenty-second of the month) in the year 1757, I was walking on a retired
part of the quay by the Seine for the refreshment of the frosty air, at
an hourrCOs distance from my place of residence in the Street of the School
of Medicine, when a carriage came along behind me, driven very fast. As I stood aside to let that carriage pass, apprehensive that it might
otherwise run me down, a head was put out at the window, and a voice
called to the driver to stop.

rCLThe carriage stopped as soon as the driver could rein in his horses, and the same voice called to me by my name. I answered. The carriage was then
so far in advance of me that two gentlemen had time to open the door and alight before I came up with it.

rCLI observed that they were both wrapped in cloaks, and appeared to
conceal themselves. As they stood side by side near the carriage door, I
also observed that they both looked of about my own age, or rather
younger, and that they were greatly alike, in stature, manner, voice, and
(as far as I could see) face too.

rCLrCyYou are Doctor Manette?rCO said one.

rCLI am.rCY

rCLrCyDoctor Manette, formerly of Beauvais,rCO said the other; rCythe young physician, originally an expert surgeon, who within the last year or two
has made a rising reputation in Paris?rCO

rCLrCyGentlemen,rCO I returned, rCyI am that Doctor Manette of whom you speak so
graciously.rCO

rCLrCyWe have been to your residence,rCO said the first, rCyand not being so fortunate as to find you there, and being informed that you were probably walking in this direction, we followed, in the hope of overtaking you.
Will you please to enter the carriage?rCO

rCLThe manner of both was imperious, and they both moved, as these words
were spoken, so as to place me between themselves and the carriage door.
They were armed. I was not.

rCLrCyGentlemen,rCO said I, rCypardon me; but I usually inquire who does me the
honour to seek my assistance, and what is the nature of the case to which
I am summoned.rCO

rCLThe reply to this was made by him who had spoken second. rCyDoctor, your clients are people of condition. As to the nature of the case, our
confidence in your skill assures us that you will ascertain it for
yourself better than we can describe it. Enough. Will you please to enter
the carriage?rCO

rCLI could do nothing but comply, and I entered it in silence. They both entered after merCothe last springing in, after putting up the steps. The carriage turned about, and drove on at its former speed.

rCLI repeat this conversation exactly as it occurred. I have no doubt that
it is, word for word, the same. I describe everything exactly as it took place, constraining my mind not to wander from the task. Where I make the broken marks that follow here, I leave off for the time, and put my paper
in its hiding-place.

rCLThe carriage left the streets behind, passed the North Barrier, and
emerged upon the country road. At two-thirds of a league from the Barrier
rCoI did not estimate the distance at that time, but afterwards when I traversed itrCoit struck out of the main avenue, and presently stopped at a solitary house, We all three alighted, and walked, by a damp soft
footpath in a garden where a neglected fountain had overflowed, to the
door of the house. It was not opened immediately, in answer to the
ringing of the bell, and one of my two conductors struck the man who
opened it, with his heavy riding glove, across the face.

rCLThere was nothing in this action to attract my particular attention, for
I had seen common people struck more commonly than dogs. But, the other
of the two, being angry likewise, struck the man in like manner with his
arm; the look and bearing of the brothers were then so exactly alike,
that I then first perceived them to be twin brothers.

rCLFrom the time of our alighting at the outer gate (which we found locked, and which one of the brothers had opened to admit us, and had relocked),
I had heard cries proceeding from an upper chamber. I was conducted to
this chamber straight, the cries growing louder as we ascended the
stairs, and I found a patient in a high fever of the brain, lying on a
bed.

rCLThe patient was a woman of great beauty, and young; assuredly not much
past twenty. Her hair was torn and ragged, and her arms were bound to her sides with sashes and handkerchiefs. I noticed that these bonds were all portions of a gentlemanrCOs dress. On one of them, which was a fringed
scarf for a dress of ceremony, I saw the armorial bearings of a Noble,
and the letter E.

rCLI saw this, within the first minute of my contemplation of the patient; for, in her restless strivings she had turned over on her face on the
edge of the bed, had drawn the end of the scarf into her mouth, and was
in danger of suffocation. My first act was to put out my hand to relieve
her breathing; and in moving the scarf aside, the embroidery in the
corner caught my sight.

rCLI turned her gently over, placed my hands upon her breast to calm her
and keep her down, and looked into her face. Her eyes were dilated and
wild, and she constantly uttered piercing shrieks, and repeated the
words, rCyMy husband, my father, and my brother!rCO and then counted up to twelve, and said, rCyHush!rCO For an instant, and no more, she would pause to listen, and then the piercing shrieks would begin again, and she would
repeat the cry, rCyMy husband, my father, and my brother!rCO and would count up to twelve, and say, rCyHush!rCO There was no variation in the order, or
the manner. There was no cessation, but the regular momentrCOs pause, in
the utterance of these sounds.

rCLrCyHow long,rCO I asked, rCyhas this lasted?rCO

rCLTo distinguish the brothers, I will call them the elder and the younger;
by the elder, I mean him who exercised the most authority. It was the
elder who replied, rCySince about this hour last night.rCO

rCLrCyShe has a husband, a father, and a brother?rCO

rCLrCyA brother.rCO

rCLrCyI do not address her brother?rCO

rCLHe answered with great contempt, rCyNo.rCO

rCLrCyShe has some recent association with the number twelve?rCO

rCLThe younger brother impatiently rejoined, rCyWith twelve orCOclock?rCO

rCLrCySee, gentlemen,rCO said I, still keeping my hands upon her breast, rCyhow
useless I am, as you have brought me! If I had known what I was coming to
see, I could have come provided. As it is, time must be lost. There are
no medicines to be obtained in this lonely place.rCO

rCLThe elder brother looked to the younger, who said haughtily, rCyThere is a case of medicines here;rCO and brought it from a closet, and put it on the table.

rCLI opened some of the bottles, smelt them, and put the stoppers to my
lips. If I had wanted to use anything save narcotic medicines that were poisons in themselves, I would not have administered any of those.

rCLrCyDo you doubt them?rCO asked the younger brother.

rCLrCyYou see, monsieur, I am going to use them,rCO I replied, and said no more.

rCLI made the patient swallow, with great difficulty, and after many
efforts, the dose that I desired to give. As I intended to repeat it
after a while, and as it was necessary to watch its influence, I then sat
down by the side of the bed. There was a timid and suppressed woman in attendance (wife of the man down-stairs), who had retreated into a
corner. The house was damp and decayed, indifferently furnishedrCo
evidently, recently occupied and temporarily used. Some thick old
hangings had been nailed up before the windows, to deaden the sound of
the shrieks. They continued to be uttered in their regular succession,
with the cry, rCyMy husband, my father, and my brother!rCO the counting up to twelve, and rCyHush!rCO The frenzy was so violent, that I had not unfastened the bandages restraining the arms; but, I had looked to them, to see that
they were not painful. The only spark of encouragement in the case, was,
that my hand upon the suffererrCOs breast had this much soothing influence, that for minutes at a time it tranquillised the figure. It had no effect
upon the cries; no pendulum could be more regular.

rCLFor the reason that my hand had this effect (I assume), I had sat by the side of the bed for half an hour, with the two brothers looking on,
before the elder said:

rCLrCyThere is another patient.rCO

rCLI was startled, and asked, rCyIs it a pressing case?rCO

rCLrCyYou had better see,rCO he carelessly answered; and took up a light.

rCLThe other patient lay in a back room across a second staircase, which
was a species of loft over a stable. There was a low plastered ceiling to
a part of it; the rest was open, to the ridge of the tiled roof, and
there were beams across. Hay and straw were stored in that portion of the place, fagots for firing, and a heap of apples in sand. I had to pass
through that part, to get at the other. My memory is circumstantial and unshaken. I try it with these details, and I see them all, in this my
cell in the Bastille, near the close of the tenth year of my captivity,
as I saw them all that night.

rCLOn some hay on the ground, with a cushion thrown under his head, lay a handsome peasant boyrCoa boy of not more than seventeen at the most. He lay
on his back, with his teeth set, his right hand clenched on his breast,
and his glaring eyes looking straight upward. I could not see where his
wound was, as I kneeled on one knee over him; but, I could see that he
was dying of a wound from a sharp point.

rCLrCyI am a doctor, my poor fellow,rCO said I. rCyLet me examine it.rCO

rCLrCyI do not want it examined,rCO he answered; rCylet it be.rCO

rCLIt was under his hand, and I soothed him to let me move his hand away.
The wound was a sword-thrust, received from twenty to twenty-four hours before, but no skill could have saved him if it had been looked to
without delay. He was then dying fast. As I turned my eyes to the elder brother, I saw him looking down at this handsome boy whose life was
ebbing out, as if he were a wounded bird, or hare, or rabbit; not at all
as if he were a fellow-creature.

rCLrCyHow has this been done, monsieur?rCO said I.

rCLrCyA crazed young common dog! A serf! Forced my brother to draw upon him, and has fallen by my brotherrCOs swordrColike a gentleman.rCO

rCLThere was no touch of pity, sorrow, or kindred humanity, in this answer. The speaker seemed to acknowledge that it was inconvenient to have that different order of creature dying there, and that it would have been
better if he had died in the usual obscure routine of his vermin kind. He
was quite incapable of any compassionate feeling about the boy, or about
his fate.

rCLThe boyrCOs eyes had slowly moved to him as he had spoken, and they now slowly moved to me.

rCLrCyDoctor, they are very proud, these Nobles; but we common dogs are proud too, sometimes. They plunder us, outrage us, beat us, kill us; but we
have a little pride left, sometimes. SherCohave you seen her, Doctor?rCO

rCLThe shrieks and the cries were audible there, though subdued by the distance. He referred to them, as if she were lying in our presence.

rCLI said, rCyI have seen her.rCO

rCLrCyShe is my sister, Doctor. They have had their shameful rights, these Nobles, in the modesty and virtue of our sisters, many years, but we have
had good girls among us. I know it, and have heard my father say so. She
was a good girl. She was betrothed to a good young man, too: a tenant of
his. We were all tenants of hisrCothat manrCOs who stands there. The other is his brother, the worst of a bad race.rCO

rCLIt was with the greatest difficulty that the boy gathered bodily force
to speak; but, his spirit spoke with a dreadful emphasis.

rCLrCyWe were so robbed by that man who stands there, as all we common dogs are by those superior BeingsrCotaxed by him without mercy, obliged to work
for him without pay, obliged to grind our corn at his mill, obliged to
feed scores of his tame birds on our wretched crops, and forbidden for
our lives to keep a single tame bird of our own, pillaged and plundered
to that degree that when we chanced to have a bit of meat, we ate it in
fear, with the door barred and the shutters closed, that his people
should not see it and take it from usrCoI say, we were so robbed, and
hunted, and were made so poor, that our father told us it was a dreadful
thing to bring a child into the world, and that what we should most pray
for, was, that our women might be barren and our miserable race die out!rCO

rCLI had never before seen the sense of being oppressed, bursting forth
like a fire. I had supposed that it must be latent in the people
somewhere; but, I had never seen it break out, until I saw it in the
dying boy.

rCLrCyNevertheless, Doctor, my sister married. He was ailing at that time, poor fellow, and she married her lover, that she might tend and comfort
him in our cottagerCoour dog-hut, as that man would call it. She had not
been married many weeks, when that manrCOs brother saw her and admired her, and asked that man to lend her to himrCofor what are husbands among us! He
was willing enough, but my sister was good and virtuous, and hated his
brother with a hatred as strong as mine. What did the two then, to
persuade her husband to use his influence with her, to make her willing?rCO

rCLThe boyrCOs eyes, which had been fixed on mine, slowly turned to the looker-on, and I saw in the two faces that all he said was true. The two opposing kinds of pride confronting one another, I can see, even in this Bastille; the gentlemanrCOs, all negligent indifference; the peasantrCOs, all trodden-down sentiment, and passionate revenge.

rCLrCyYou know, Doctor, that it is among the Rights of these Nobles to
harness us common dogs to carts, and drive us. They so harnessed him and
drove him. You know that it is among their Rights to keep us in their
grounds all night, quieting the frogs, in order that their noble sleep
may not be disturbed. They kept him out in the unwholesome mists at
night, and ordered him back into his harness in the day. But he was not persuaded. No! Taken out of harness one day at noon, to feedrCoif he could find foodrCohe sobbed twelve times, once for every stroke of the bell, and died on her bosom.rCO

rCLNothing human could have held life in the boy but his determination to
tell all his wrong. He forced back the gathering shadows of death, as he forced his clenched right hand to remain clenched, and to cover his
wound.

rCLrCyThen, with that manrCOs permission and even with his aid, his brother took her away; in spite of what I know she must have told his brotherrCoand what that is, will not be long unknown to you, Doctor, if it is nowrCohis brother took her awayrCofor his pleasure and diversion, for a little while.
I saw her pass me on the road. When I took the tidings home, our fatherrCOs heart burst; he never spoke one of the words that filled it. I took my
young sister (for I have another) to a place beyond the reach of this
man, and where, at least, she will never be his vassal. Then, I tracked
the brother here, and last night climbed inrCoa common dog, but sword in hand.rCoWhere is the loft window? It was somewhere here?rCO

rCLThe room was darkening to his sight; the world was narrowing around him.
I glanced about me, and saw that the hay and straw were trampled over the floor, as if there had been a struggle.

rCLrCyShe heard me, and ran in. I told her not to come near us till he was dead. He came in and first tossed me some pieces of money; then struck at
me with a whip. But I, though a common dog, so struck at him as to make
him draw. Let him break into as many pieces as he will, the sword that he stained with my common blood; he drew to defend himselfrCothrust at me with all his skill for his life.rCO

rCLMy glance had fallen, but a few moments before, on the fragments of a broken sword, lying among the hay. That weapon was a gentlemanrCOs. In
another place, lay an old sword that seemed to have been a soldierrCOs.

rCLrCyNow, lift me up, Doctor; lift me up. Where is he?rCO

rCLrCyHe is not here,rCO I said, supporting the boy, and thinking that he referred to the brother.

rCLrCyHe! Proud as these nobles are, he is afraid to see me. Where is the man who was here? Turn my face to him.rCO

rCLI did so, raising the boyrCOs head against my knee. But, invested for the moment with extraordinary power, he raised himself completely: obliging
me to rise too, or I could not have still supported him.

rCLrCyMarquis,rCO said the boy, turned to him with his eyes opened wide, and his right hand raised, rCyin the days when all these things are to be
answered for, I summon you and yours, to the last of your bad race, to
answer for them. I mark this cross of blood upon you, as a sign that I do
it. In the days when all these things are to be answered for, I summon
your brother, the worst of the bad race, to answer for them separately. I
mark this cross of blood upon him, as a sign that I do it.rCO

rCLTwice, he put his hand to the wound in his breast, and with his
forefinger drew a cross in the air. He stood for an instant with the
finger yet raised, and as it dropped, he dropped with it, and I laid him
down dead.

rCLWhen I returned to the bedside of the young woman, I found her raving in precisely the same order of continuity. I knew that this might last for
many hours, and that it would probably end in the silence of the grave.

rCLI repeated the medicines I had given her, and I sat at the side of the
bed until the night was far advanced. She never abated the piercing
quality of her shrieks, never stumbled in the distinctness or the order
of her words. They were always rCyMy husband, my father, and my brother!
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,
twelve. Hush!rCO

rCLThis lasted twenty-six hours from the time when I first saw her. I had
come and gone twice, and was again sitting by her, when she began to
falter. I did what little could be done to assist that opportunity, and by-and-bye she sank into a lethargy, and lay like the dead.

rCLIt was as if the wind and rain had lulled at last, after a long and
fearful storm. I released her arms, and called the woman to assist me to compose her figure and the dress she had torn. It was then that I knew
her condition to be that of one in whom the first expectations of being a mother have arisen; and it was then that I lost the little hope I had had
of her.

rCLrCyIs she dead?rCO asked the Marquis, whom I will still describe as the elder brother, coming booted into the room from his horse.

rCLrCyNot dead,rCO said I; rCybut like to die.rCO

rCLrCyWhat strength there is in these common bodies!rCO he said, looking down at her with some curiosity.

rCLrCyThere is prodigious strength,rCO I answered him, rCyin sorrow and despair.rCO

rCLHe first laughed at my words, and then frowned at them. He moved a chair with his foot near to mine, ordered the woman away, and said in a subdued voice,

rCLrCyDoctor, finding my brother in this difficulty with these hinds, I recommended that your aid should be invited. Your reputation is high,
and, as a young man with your fortune to make, you are probably mindful
of your interest. The things that you see here, are things to be seen,
and not spoken of.rCO

rCLI listened to the patientrCOs breathing, and avoided answering.

rCLrCyDo you honour me with your attention, Doctor?rCO

rCLrCyMonsieur,rCO said I, rCyin my profession, the communications of patients are always received in confidence.rCO I was guarded in my answer, for I was troubled in my mind with what I had heard and seen.

rCLHer breathing was so difficult to trace, that I carefully tried the
pulse and the heart. There was life, and no more. Looking round as I
resumed my seat, I found both the brothers intent upon me.

rCLI write with so much difficulty, the cold is so severe, I am so fearful
of being detected and consigned to an underground cell and total
darkness, that I must abridge this narrative. There is no confusion or
failure in my memory; it can recall, and could detail, every word that
was ever spoken between me and those brothers.

rCLShe lingered for a week. Towards the last, I could understand some few syllables that she said to me, by placing my ear close to her lips. She
asked me where she was, and I told her; who I was, and I told her. It was
in vain that I asked her for her family name. She faintly shook her head
upon the pillow, and kept her secret, as the boy had done.

rCLI had no opportunity of asking her any question, until I had told the brothers she was sinking fast, and could not live another day. Until
then, though no one was ever presented to her consciousness save the
woman and myself, one or other of them had always jealously sat behind
the curtain at the head of the bed when I was there. But when it came to
that, they seemed careless what communication I might hold with her; as ifrCothe thought passed through my mindrCoI were dying too.

rCLI always observed that their pride bitterly resented the younger brotherrCOs (as I call him) having crossed swords with a peasant, and that peasant a boy. The only consideration that appeared to affect the mind of either of them was the consideration that this was highly degrading to
the family, and was ridiculous. As often as I caught the younger
brotherrCOs eyes, their expression reminded me that he disliked me deeply,
for knowing what I knew from the boy. He was smoother and more polite to
me than the elder; but I saw this. I also saw that I was an incumbrance
in the mind of the elder, too.

rCLMy patient died, two hours before midnightrCoat a time, by my watch, answering almost to the minute when I had first seen her. I was alone
with her, when her forlorn young head drooped gently on one side, and all
her earthly wrongs and sorrows ended.

rCLThe brothers were waiting in a room down-stairs, impatient to ride away.
I had heard them, alone at the bedside, striking their boots with their riding-whips, and loitering up and down.

rCLrCyAt last she is dead?rCO said the elder, when I went in.

rCLrCyShe is dead,rCO said I.

rCLrCyI congratulate you, my brother,rCO were his words as he turned round.

rCLHe had before offered me money, which I had postponed taking. He now
gave me a rouleau of gold. I took it from his hand, but laid it on the
table. I had considered the question, and had resolved to accept nothing.

rCLrCyPray excuse me,rCO said I. rCyUnder the circumstances, no.rCO

rCLThey exchanged looks, but bent their heads to me as I bent mine to them, and we parted without another word on either side.

rCLI am weary, weary, wearyrCoworn down by misery. I cannot read what I have written with this gaunt hand.

rCLEarly in the morning, the rouleau of gold was left at my door in a
little box, with my name on the outside. From the first, I had anxiously considered what I ought to do. I decided, that day, to write privately to
the Minister, stating the nature of the two cases to which I had been summoned, and the place to which I had gone: in effect, stating all the circumstances. I knew what Court influence was, and what the immunities
of the Nobles were, and I expected that the matter would never be heard
of; but, I wished to relieve my own mind. I had kept the matter a
profound secret, even from my wife; and this, too, I resolved to state in
my letter. I had no apprehension whatever of my real danger; but I was conscious that there might be danger for others, if others were
compromised by possessing the knowledge that I possessed.

rCLI was much engaged that day, and could not complete my letter that
night. I rose long before my usual time next morning to finish it. It was
the last day of the year. The letter was lying before me just completed,
when I was told that a lady waited, who wished to see me.

rCLI am growing more and more unequal to the task I have set myself. It is
so cold, so dark, my senses are so benumbed, and the gloom upon me is so dreadful.

rCLThe lady was young, engaging, and handsome, but not marked for long
life. She was in great agitation. She presented herself to me as the wife
of the Marquis St. Evr|-monde. I connected the title by which the boy had addressed the elder brother, with the initial letter embroidered on the
scarf, and had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that I had
seen that nobleman very lately.

rCLMy memory is still accurate, but I cannot write the words of our conversation. I suspect that I am watched more closely than I was, and I
know not at what times I may be watched. She had in part suspected, and
in part discovered, the main facts of the cruel story, of her husbandrCOs share in it, and my being resorted to. She did not know that the girl was dead. Her hope had been, she said in great distress, to show her, in
secret, a womanrCOs sympathy. Her hope had been to avert the wrath of
Heaven from a House that had long been hateful to the suffering many.

rCLShe had reasons for believing that there was a young sister living, and
her greatest desire was, to help that sister. I could tell her nothing
but that there was such a sister; beyond that, I knew nothing. Her
inducement to come to me, relying on my confidence, had been the hope
that I could tell her the name and place of abode. Whereas, to this
wretched hour I am ignorant of both.

rCLThese scraps of paper fail me. One was taken from me, with a warning, yesterday. I must finish my record to-day.

rCLShe was a good, compassionate lady, and not happy in her marriage. How could she be! The brother distrusted and disliked her, and his influence
was all opposed to her; she stood in dread of him, and in dread of her
husband too. When I handed her down to the door, there was a child, a
pretty boy from two to three years old, in her carriage.

rCLrCyFor his sake, Doctor,rCO she said, pointing to him in tears, rCyI would do
all I can to make what poor amends I can. He will never prosper in his inheritance otherwise. I have a presentiment that if no other innocent atonement is made for this, it will one day be required of him. What I
have left to call my ownrCoit is little beyond the worth of a few jewelsrCoI will make it the first charge of his life to bestow, with the compassion
and lamenting of his dead mother, on this injured family, if the sister
can be discovered.rCO

rCLShe kissed the boy, and said, caressing him, rCyIt is for thine own dear sake. Thou wilt be faithful, little Charles?rCO The child answered her bravely, rCyYes!rCO I kissed her hand, and she took him in her arms, and went away caressing him. I never saw her more.

rCLAs she had mentioned her husbandrCOs name in the faith that I knew it, I added no mention of it to my letter. I sealed my letter, and, not
trusting it out of my own hands, delivered it myself that day.

rCLThat night, the last night of the year, towards nine orCOclock, a man in a black dress rang at my gate, demanded to see me, and softly followed my servant, Ernest Defarge, a youth, up-stairs. When my servant came into
the room where I sat with my wiferCoO my wife, beloved of my heart! My fair young English wife!rCowe saw the man, who was supposed to be at the gate, standing silent behind him.

rCLAn urgent case in the Rue St. Honore, he said. It would not detain me,
he had a coach in waiting.

rCLIt brought me here, it brought me to my grave. When I was clear of the house, a black muffler was drawn tightly over my mouth from behind, and
my arms were pinioned. The two brothers crossed the road from a dark
corner, and identified me with a single gesture. The Marquis took from
his pocket the letter I had written, showed it me, burnt it in the light
of a lantern that was held, and extinguished the ashes with his foot. Not
a word was spoken. I was brought here, I was brought to my living grave.

rCLIf it had pleased God to put it in the hard heart of either of the brothers, in all these frightful years, to grant me any tidings of my
dearest wiferCoso much as to let me know by a word whether alive or deadrCoI might have thought that He had not quite abandoned them. But, now I
believe that the mark of the red cross is fatal to them, and that they
have no part in His mercies. And them and their descendants, to the last
of their race, I, Alexandre Manette, unhappy prisoner, do this last night
of the year 1767, in my unbearable agony, denounce to the times when all
these things shall be answered for. I denounce them to Heaven and to
earth.rCY

A terrible sound arose when the reading of this document was done. A
sound of craving and eagerness that had nothing articulate in it but
blood. The narrative called up the most revengeful passions of the time,
and there was not a head in the nation but must have dropped before it.

Little need, in presence of that tribunal and that auditory, to show how
the Defarges had not made the paper public, with the other captured
Bastille memorials borne in procession, and had kept it, biding their
time. Little need to show that this detested family name had long been anathematised by Saint Antoine, and was wrought into the fatal register.
The man never trod ground whose virtues and services would have sustained
him in that place that day, against such denunciation.

And all the worse for the doomed man, that the denouncer was a well-known citizen, his own attached friend, the father of his wife. One of the
frenzied aspirations of the populace was, for imitations of the
questionable public virtues of antiquity, and for sacrifices and self- immolations on the peoplerCOs altar. Therefore when the President said
(else had his own head quivered on his shoulders), that the good
physician of the Republic would deserve better still of the Republic by rooting out an obnoxious family of Aristocrats, and would doubtless feel
a sacred glow and joy in making his daughter a widow and her child an
orphan, there was wild excitement, patriotic fervour, not a touch of
human sympathy.

rCLMuch influence around him, has that Doctor?rCY murmured Madame Defarge, smiling to The Vengeance. rCLSave him now, my Doctor, save him!rCY

At every jurymanrCOs vote, there was a roar. Another and another. Roar and roar.

Unanimously voted. At heart and by descent an Aristocrat, an enemy of the Republic, a notorious oppressor of the People. Back to the Conciergerie,
and Death within four-and-twenty hours!

CHAPTER XI.
Dusk
The wretched wife of the innocent man thus doomed to die, fell under the sentence, as if she had been mortally stricken. But, she uttered no
sound; and so strong was the voice within her, representing that it was
she of all the world who must uphold him in his misery and not augment
it, that it quickly raised her, even from that shock.

The Judges having to take part in a public demonstration out of doors,
the Tribunal adjourned. The quick noise and movement of the courtrCOs
emptying itself by many passages had not ceased, when Lucie stood
stretching out her arms towards her husband, with nothing in her face but
love and consolation.

rCLIf I might touch him! If I might embrace him once! O, good citizens, if
you would have so much compassion for us!rCY

There was but a gaoler left, along with two of the four men who had taken
him last night, and Barsad. The people had all poured out to the show in
the streets. Barsad proposed to the rest, rCLLet her embrace him then; it
is but a moment.rCY It was silently acquiesced in, and they passed her over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, by leaning over the
dock, could fold her in his arms.

rCLFarewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. We
shall meet again, where the weary are at rest!rCY

They were her husbandrCOs words, as he held her to his bosom.

rCLI can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from above: donrCOt suffer for me. A parting blessing for our child.rCY

rCLI send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say farewell to her by you.rCY

rCLMy husband. No! A moment!rCY He was tearing himself apart from her. rCLWe shall not be separated long. I feel that this will break my heart by-and-
bye; but I will do my duty while I can, and when I leave her, God will
raise up friends for her, as He did for me.rCY

Her father had followed her, and would have fallen on his knees to both
of them, but that Darnay put out a hand and seized him, crying:

rCLNo, no! What have you done, what have you done, that you should kneel to us! We know now, what a struggle you made of old. We know, now what you underwent when you suspected my descent, and when you knew it. We know
now, the natural antipathy you strove against, and conquered, for her
dear sake. We thank you with all our hearts, and all our love and duty.
Heaven be with you!rCY

Her fatherrCOs only answer was to draw his hands through his white hair,
and wring them with a shriek of anguish.

rCLIt could not be otherwise,rCY said the prisoner. rCLAll things have worked together as they have fallen out. It was the always-vain endeavour to discharge my poor motherrCOs trust that first brought my fatal presence
near you. Good could never come of such evil, a happier end was not in
nature to so unhappy a beginning. Be comforted, and forgive me. Heaven
bless you!rCY

As he was drawn away, his wife released him, and stood looking after him
with her hands touching one another in the attitude of prayer, and with a radiant look upon her face, in which there was even a comforting smile.
As he went out at the prisonersrCO door, she turned, laid her head lovingly
on her fatherrCOs breast, tried to speak to him, and fell at his feet.

0686m
Original
Then, issuing from the obscure corner from which he had never moved,
Sydney Carton came and took her up. Only her father and Mr. Lorry were
with her. His arm trembled as it raised her, and supported her head. Yet, there was an air about him that was not all of pityrCothat had a flush of pride in it.

rCLShall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her weight.rCY

He carried her lightly to the door, and laid her tenderly down in a
coach. Her father and their old friend got into it, and he took his seat beside the driver.

When they arrived at the gateway where he had paused in the dark not many hours before, to picture to himself on which of the rough stones of the
street her feet had trodden, he lifted her again, and carried her up the staircase to their rooms. There, he laid her down on a couch, where her
child and Miss Pross wept over her.

rCLDonrCOt recall her to herself,rCY he said, softly, to the latter, rCLshe is better so. DonrCOt revive her to consciousness, while she only faints.rCY

rCLOh, Carton, Carton, dear Carton!rCY cried little Lucie, springing up and throwing her arms passionately round him, in a burst of grief. rCLNow that
you have come, I think you will do something to help mamma, something to
save papa! O, look at her, dear Carton! Can you, of all the people who
love her, bear to see her so?rCY

He bent over the child, and laid her blooming cheek against his face. He
put her gently from him, and looked at her unconscious mother.

rCLBefore I go,rCY he said, and pausedrCorCLI may kiss her?rCY

It was remembered afterwards that when he bent down and touched her face
with his lips, he murmured some words. The child, who was nearest to him,
told them afterwards, and told her grandchildren when she was a handsome
old lady, that she heard him say, rCLA life you love.rCY

When he had gone out into the next room, he turned suddenly on Mr. Lorry
and her father, who were following, and said to the latter:

rCLYou had great influence but yesterday, Doctor Manette; let it at least
be tried. These judges, and all the men in power, are very friendly to
you, and very recognisant of your services; are they not?rCY

rCLNothing connected with Charles was concealed from me. I had the
strongest assurances that I should save him; and I did.rCY He returned the answer in great trouble, and very slowly.

rCLTry them again. The hours between this and to-morrow afternoon are few
and short, but try.rCY

rCLI intend to try. I will not rest a moment.rCY

rCLThatrCOs well. I have known such energy as yours do great things before nowrCothough never,rCY he added, with a smile and a sigh together, rCLsuch great things as this. But try! Of little worth as life is when we misuse
it, it is worth that effort. It would cost nothing to lay down if it were not.rCY

rCLI will go,rCY said Doctor Manette, rCLto the Prosecutor and the President straight, and I will go to others whom it is better not to name. I will
write too, andrCoBut stay! There is a Celebration in the streets, and no
one will be accessible until dark.rCY

rCLThatrCOs true. Well! It is a forlorn hope at the best, and not much the forlorner for being delayed till dark. I should like to know how you
speed; though, mind! I expect nothing! When are you likely to have seen
these dread powers, Doctor Manette?rCY

rCLImmediately after dark, I should hope. Within an hour or two from this.rCY

rCLIt will be dark soon after four. Let us stretch the hour or two. If I go
to Mr. LorryrCOs at nine, shall I hear what you have done, either from our friend or from yourself?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

rCLMay you prosper!rCY

Mr. Lorry followed Sydney to the outer door, and, touching him on the
shoulder as he was going away, caused him to turn.

rCLI have no hope,rCY said Mr. Lorry, in a low and sorrowful whisper.

rCLNor have I.rCY

rCLIf any one of these men, or all of these men, were disposed to spare him rCowhich is a large supposition; for what is his life, or any manrCOs to them!rCoI doubt if they durst spare him after the demonstration in the court.rCY

rCLAnd so do I. I heard the fall of the axe in that sound.rCY

Mr. Lorry leaned his arm upon the door-post, and bowed his face upon it.

rCLDonrCOt despond,rCY said Carton, very gently; rCLdonrCOt grieve. I encouraged
Doctor Manette in this idea, because I felt that it might one day be consolatory to her. Otherwise, she might think rCyhis life was wantonly
thrown away or wasted,rCO and that might trouble her.rCY

rCLYes, yes, yes,rCY returned Mr. Lorry, drying his eyes, rCLyou are right. But
he will perish; there is no real hope.rCY

rCLYes. He will perish: there is no real hope,rCY echoed Carton.

And walked with a settled step, down-stairs.

CHAPTER XII.
Darkness
Sydney Carton paused in the street, not quite decided where to go. rCLAt TellsonrCOs banking-house at nine,rCY he said, with a musing face. rCLShall I do well, in the mean time, to show myself? I think so. It is best that
these people should know there is such a man as I here; it is a sound precaution, and may be a necessary preparation. But care, care, care! Let
me think it out!rCY

Checking his steps which had begun to tend towards an object, he took a
turn or two in the already darkening street, and traced the thought in
his mind to its possible consequences. His first impression was
confirmed. rCLIt is best,rCY he said, finally resolved, rCLthat these people should know there is such a man as I here.rCY And he turned his face
towards Saint Antoine.

Defarge had described himself, that day, as the keeper of a wine-shop in
the Saint Antoine suburb. It was not difficult for one who knew the city
well, to find his house without asking any question. Having ascertained
its situation, Carton came out of those closer streets again, and dined
at a place of refreshment and fell sound asleep after dinner. For the
first time in many years, he had no strong drink. Since last night he had taken nothing but a little light thin wine, and last night he had dropped
the brandy slowly down on Mr. LorryrCOs hearth like a man who had done with it.

It was as late as seven orCOclock when he awoke refreshed, and went out
into the streets again. As he passed along towards Saint Antoine, he
stopped at a shop-window where there was a mirror, and slightly altered
the disordered arrangement of his loose cravat, and his coat-collar, and
his wild hair. This done, he went on direct to DefargerCOs, and went in.

There happened to be no customer in the shop but Jacques Three, of the restless fingers and the croaking voice. This man, whom he had seen upon
the Jury, stood drinking at the little counter, in conversation with the Defarges, man and wife. The Vengeance assisted in the conversation, like
a regular member of the establishment.

As Carton walked in, took his seat and asked (in very indifferent French)
for a small measure of wine, Madame Defarge cast a careless glance at
him, and then a keener, and then a keener, and then advanced to him
herself, and asked him what it was he had ordered.

He repeated what he had already said.

rCLEnglish?rCY asked Madame Defarge, inquisitively raising her dark eyebrows.

After looking at her, as if the sound of even a single French word were
slow to express itself to him, he answered, in his former strong foreign accent. rCLYes, madame, yes. I am English!rCY

Madame Defarge returned to her counter to get the wine, and, as he took
up a Jacobin journal and feigned to pore over it puzzling out its
meaning, he heard her say, rCLI swear to you, like Evr|-monde!rCY

Defarge brought him the wine, and gave him Good Evening.

rCLHow?rCY

rCLGood evening.rCY

rCLOh! Good evening, citizen,rCY filling his glass. rCLAh! and good wine. I drink to the Republic.rCY

Defarge went back to the counter, and said, rCLCertainly, a little like.rCY Madame sternly retorted, rCLI tell you a good deal like.rCY Jacques Three pacifically remarked, rCLHe is so much in your mind, see you, madame.rCY The amiable Vengeance added, with a laugh, rCLYes, my faith! And you are
looking forward with so much pleasure to seeing him once more to-morrow!rCY

Carton followed the lines and words of his paper, with a slow forefinger,
and with a studious and absorbed face. They were all leaning their arms
on the counter close together, speaking low. After a silence of a few
moments, during which they all looked towards him without disturbing his outward attention from the Jacobin editor, they resumed their
conversation.

rCLIt is true what madame says,rCY observed Jacques Three. rCLWhy stop? There is great force in that. Why stop?rCY

rCLWell, well,rCY reasoned Defarge, rCLbut one must stop somewhere. After all, the question is still where?rCY

rCLAt extermination,rCY said madame.

rCLMagnificent!rCY croaked Jacques Three. The Vengeance, also, highly approved.

rCLExtermination is good doctrine, my wife,rCY said Defarge, rather troubled; rCLin general, I say nothing against it. But this Doctor has suffered much; you have seen him to-day; you have observed his face when the paper was read.rCY

rCLI have observed his face!rCY repeated madame, contemptuously and angrily. rCLYes. I have observed his face. I have observed his face to be not the
face of a true friend of the Republic. Let him take care of his face!rCY

rCLAnd you have observed, my wife,rCY said Defarge, in a deprecatory manner, rCLthe anguish of his daughter, which must be a dreadful anguish to him!rCY

rCLI have observed his daughter,rCY repeated madame; rCLyes, I have observed his daughter, more times than one. I have observed her to-day, and I have observed her other days. I have observed her in the court, and I have
observed her in the street by the prison. Let me but lift my fingerrCo!rCY
She seemed to raise it (the listenerrCOs eyes were always on his paper),
and to let it fall with a rattle on the ledge before her, as if the axe
had dropped.

rCLThe citizeness is superb!rCY croaked the Juryman.

rCLShe is an Angel!rCY said The Vengeance, and embraced her.

rCLAs to thee,rCY pursued madame, implacably, addressing her husband, rCLif it depended on theerCowhich, happily, it does notrCothou wouldst rescue this man even now.rCY

rCLNo!rCY protested Defarge. rCLNot if to lift this glass would do it! But I would leave the matter there. I say, stop there.rCY

rCLSee you then, Jacques,rCY said Madame Defarge, wrathfully; rCLand see you, too, my little Vengeance; see you both! Listen! For other crimes as
tyrants and oppressors, I have this race a long time on my register,
doomed to destruction and extermination. Ask my husband, is that so.rCY

rCLIt is so,rCY assented Defarge, without being asked.

rCLIn the beginning of the great days, when the Bastille falls, he finds
this paper of to-day, and he brings it home, and in the middle of the
night when this place is clear and shut, we read it, here on this spot,
by the light of this lamp. Ask him, is that so.rCY

rCLIt is so,rCY assented Defarge.

rCLThat night, I tell him, when the paper is read through, and the lamp is burnt out, and the day is gleaming in above those shutters and between
those iron bars, that I have now a secret to communicate. Ask him, is
that so.rCY

rCLIt is so,rCY assented Defarge again.

rCLI communicate to him that secret. I smite this bosom with these two
hands as I smite it now, and I tell him, rCyDefarge, I was brought up among the fishermen of the sea-shore, and that peasant family so injured by the
two Evr|-monde brothers, as that Bastille paper describes, is my family. Defarge, that sister of the mortally wounded boy upon the ground was my sister, that husband was my sisterrCOs husband, that unborn child was their child, that brother was my brother, that father was my father, those dead
are my dead, and that summons to answer for those things descends to me!rCO Ask him, is that so.rCY

rCLIt is so,rCY assented Defarge once more.

rCLThen tell Wind and Fire where to stop,rCY returned madame; rCLbut donrCOt tell
me.rCY

Both her hearers derived a horrible enjoyment from the deadly nature of
her wrathrCothe listener could feel how white she was, without seeing herrCo and both highly commended it. Defarge, a weak minority, interposed a few
words for the memory of the compassionate wife of the Marquis; but only elicited from his own wife a repetition of her last reply. rCLTell the Wind and the Fire where to stop; not me!rCY

Customers entered, and the group was broken up. The English customer paid
for what he had had, perplexedly counted his change, and asked, as a
stranger, to be directed towards the National Palace. Madame Defarge took
him to the door, and put her arm on his, in pointing out the road. The
English customer was not without his reflections then, that it might be a
good deed to seize that arm, lift it, and strike under it sharp and deep.

But, he went his way, and was soon swallowed up in the shadow of the
prison wall. At the appointed hour, he emerged from it to present himself
in Mr. LorryrCOs room again, where he found the old gentleman walking to
and fro in restless anxiety. He said he had been with Lucie until just
now, and had only left her for a few minutes, to come and keep his appointment. Her father had not been seen, since he quitted the banking-
house towards four orCOclock. She had some faint hopes that his mediation might save Charles, but they were very slight. He had been more than five hours gone: where could he be?

Mr. Lorry waited until ten; but, Doctor Manette not returning, and he
being unwilling to leave Lucie any longer, it was arranged that he should
go back to her, and come to the banking-house again at midnight. In the meanwhile, Carton would wait alone by the fire for the Doctor.

He waited and waited, and the clock struck twelve; but Doctor Manette did
not come back. Mr. Lorry returned, and found no tidings of him, and
brought none. Where could he be?

They were discussing this question, and were almost building up some weak structure of hope on his prolonged absence, when they heard him on the
stairs. The instant he entered the room, it was plain that all was lost.

Whether he had really been to any one, or whether he had been all that
time traversing the streets, was never known. As he stood staring at
them, they asked him no question, for his face told them everything.

rCLI cannot find it,rCY said he, rCLand I must have it. Where is it?rCY

His head and throat were bare, and, as he spoke with a helpless look
straying all around, he took his coat off, and let it drop on the floor.

rCLWhere is my bench? I have been looking everywhere for my bench, and I canrCOt find it. What have they done with my work? Time presses: I must
finish those shoes.rCY

They looked at one another, and their hearts died within them.

rCLCome, come!rCY said he, in a whimpering miserable way; rCLlet me get to work. Give me my work.rCY

Receiving no answer, he tore his hair, and beat his feet upon the ground,
like a distracted child.

rCLDonrCOt torture a poor forlorn wretch,rCY he implored them, with a dreadful cry; rCLbut give me my work! What is to become of us, if those shoes are
not done to-night?rCY

Lost, utterly lost!

It was so clearly beyond hope to reason with him, or try to restore him, thatrCoas if by agreementrCothey each put a hand upon his shoulder, and soothed him to sit down before the fire, with a promise that he should
have his work presently. He sank into the chair, and brooded over the
embers, and shed tears. As if all that had happened since the garret time
were a momentary fancy, or a dream, Mr. Lorry saw him shrink into the
exact figure that Defarge had had in keeping.

Affected, and impressed with terror as they both were, by this spectacle
of ruin, it was not a time to yield to such emotions. His lonely
daughter, bereft of her final hope and reliance, appealed to them both
too strongly. Again, as if by agreement, they looked at one another with
one meaning in their faces. Carton was the first to speak:

rCLThe last chance is gone: it was not much. Yes; he had better be taken to her. But, before you go, will you, for a moment, steadily attend to me? DonrCOt ask me why I make the stipulations I am going to make, and exact
the promise I am going to exact; I have a reasonrCoa good one.rCY

rCLI do not doubt it,rCY answered Mr. Lorry. rCLSay on.rCY

The figure in the chair between them, was all the time monotonously
rocking itself to and fro, and moaning. They spoke in such a tone as they would have used if they had been watching by a sick-bed in the night.

Carton stooped to pick up the coat, which lay almost entangling his feet.
As he did so, a small case in which the Doctor was accustomed to carry
the lists of his dayrCOs duties, fell lightly on the floor. Carton took it
up, and there was a folded paper in it. rCLWe should look at this!rCY he
said. Mr. Lorry nodded his consent. He opened it, and exclaimed, rCLThank God!rCY

rCLWhat is it?rCY asked Mr. Lorry, eagerly.

rCLA moment! Let me speak of it in its place. First,rCY he put his hand in
his coat, and took another paper from it, rCLthat is the certificate which enables me to pass out of this city. Look at it. You seerCoSydney Carton,
an Englishman?rCY

Mr. Lorry held it open in his hand, gazing in his earnest face.

rCLKeep it for me until to-morrow. I shall see him to-morrow, you remember, and I had better not take it into the prison.rCY

rCLWhy not?rCY

rCLI donrCOt know; I prefer not to do so. Now, take this paper that Doctor Manette has carried about him. It is a similar certificate, enabling him
and his daughter and her child, at any time, to pass the barrier and the frontier! You see?rCY

rCLYes!rCY

rCLPerhaps he obtained it as his last and utmost precaution against evil, yesterday. When is it dated? But no matter; donrCOt stay to look; put it up carefully with mine and your own. Now, observe! I never doubted until
within this hour or two, that he had, or could have such a paper. It is
good, until recalled. But it may be soon recalled, and, I have reason to think, will be.rCY

rCLThey are not in danger?rCY

rCLThey are in great danger. They are in danger of denunciation by Madame Defarge. I know it from her own lips. I have overheard words of that womanrCOs, to-night, which have presented their danger to me in strong colours. I have lost no time, and since then, I have seen the spy. He
confirms me. He knows that a wood-sawyer, living by the prison wall, is
under the control of the Defarges, and has been rehearsed by Madame
Defarge as to his having seen HerrCYrCohe never mentioned LucierCOs name rCorCLmaking signs and signals to prisoners. It is easy to foresee that the pretence will be the common one, a prison plot, and that it will involve
her liferCoand perhaps her childrCOsrCoand perhaps her fatherrCOsrCofor both have
been seen with her at that place. DonrCOt look so horrified. You will save them all.rCY

rCLHeaven grant I may, Carton! But how?rCY

rCLI am going to tell you how. It will depend on you, and it could depend
on no better man. This new denunciation will certainly not take place
until after to-morrow; probably not until two or three days afterwards;
more probably a week afterwards. You know it is a capital crime, to mourn
for, or sympathise with, a victim of the Guillotine. She and her father
would unquestionably be guilty of this crime, and this woman (the
inveteracy of whose pursuit cannot be described) would wait to add that strength to her case, and make herself doubly sure. You follow me?rCY

rCLSo attentively, and with so much confidence in what you say, that for
the moment I lose sight,rCY touching the back of the DoctorrCOs chair, rCLeven of this distress.rCY

rCLYou have money, and can buy the means of travelling to the seacoast as quickly as the journey can be made. Your preparations have been completed
for some days, to return to England. Early to-morrow have your horses
ready, so that they may be in starting trim at two orCOclock in the afternoon.rCY

rCLIt shall be done!rCY

His manner was so fervent and inspiring, that Mr. Lorry caught the flame,
and was as quick as youth.

rCLYou are a noble heart. Did I say we could depend upon no better man?
Tell her, to-night, what you know of her danger as involving her child
and her father. Dwell upon that, for she would lay her own fair head
beside her husbandrCOs cheerfully.rCY He faltered for an instant; then went
on as before. rCLFor the sake of her child and her father, press upon her
the necessity of leaving Paris, with them and you, at that hour. Tell her
that it was her husbandrCOs last arrangement. Tell her that more depends
upon it than she dare believe, or hope. You think that her father, even
in this sad state, will submit himself to her; do you not?rCY

rCLI am sure of it.rCY

rCLI thought so. Quietly and steadily have all these arrangements made in
the courtyard here, even to the taking of your own seat in the carriage.
The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away.rCY

rCLI understand that I wait for you under all circumstances?rCY

rCLYou have my certificate in your hand with the rest, you know, and will reserve my place. Wait for nothing but to have my place occupied, and
then for England!rCY

rCLWhy, then,rCY said Mr. Lorry, grasping his eager but so firm and steady hand, rCLit does not all depend on one old man, but I shall have a young
and ardent man at my side.rCY

rCLBy the help of Heaven you shall! Promise me solemnly that nothing will influence you to alter the course on which we now stand pledged to one another.rCY

rCLNothing, Carton.rCY

rCLRemember these words to-morrow: change the course, or delay in itrCofor
any reasonrCoand no life can possibly be saved, and many lives must
inevitably be sacrificed.rCY

rCLI will remember them. I hope to do my part faithfully.rCY

rCLAnd I hope to do mine. Now, good bye!rCY

Though he said it with a grave smile of earnestness, and though he even
put the old manrCOs hand to his lips, he did not part from him then. He
helped him so far to arouse the rocking figure before the dying embers,
as to get a cloak and hat put upon it, and to tempt it forth to find
where the bench and work were hidden that it still moaningly besought to
have. He walked on the other side of it and protected it to the courtyard
of the house where the afflicted heartrCoso happy in the memorable time
when he had revealed his own desolate heart to itrCooutwatched the awful night. He entered the courtyard and remained there for a few moments
alone, looking up at the light in the window of her room. Before he went
away, he breathed a blessing towards it, and a Farewell.

CHAPTER XIII.
Fifty-two
In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited
their fate. They were in number as the weeks of the year. Fifty-two were
to roll that afternoon on the life-tide of the city to the boundless everlasting sea. Before their cells were quit of them, new occupants were appointed; before their blood ran into the blood spilled yesterday, the
blood that was to mingle with theirs to-morrow was already set apart.

Two score and twelve were told off. From the farmer-general of seventy,
whose riches could not buy his life, to the seamstress of twenty, whose poverty and obscurity could not save her. Physical diseases, engendered
in the vices and neglects of men, will seize on victims of all degrees;
and the frightful moral disorder, born of unspeakable suffering,
intolerable oppression, and heartless indifference, smote equally without distinction.

Charles Darnay, alone in a cell, had sustained himself with no flattering delusion since he came to it from the Tribunal. In every line of the
narrative he had heard, he had heard his condemnation. He had fully comprehended that no personal influence could possibly save him, that he
was virtually sentenced by the millions, and that units could avail him nothing.

Nevertheless, it was not easy, with the face of his beloved wife fresh
before him, to compose his mind to what it must bear. His hold on life
was strong, and it was very, very hard, to loosen; by gradual efforts and degrees unclosed a little here, it clenched the tighter there; and when
he brought his strength to bear on that hand and it yielded, this was
closed again. There was a hurry, too, in all his thoughts, a turbulent
and heated working of his heart, that contended against resignation. If,
for a moment, he did feel resigned, then his wife and child who had to
live after him, seemed to protest and to make it a selfish thing.

But, all this was at first. Before long, the consideration that there was
no disgrace in the fate he must meet, and that numbers went the same road wrongfully, and trod it firmly every day, sprang up to stimulate him.
Next followed the thought that much of the future peace of mind enjoyable
by the dear ones, depended on his quiet fortitude. So, by degrees he
calmed into the better state, when he could raise his thoughts much
higher, and draw comfort down.

Before it had set in dark on the night of his condemnation, he had
travelled thus far on his last way. Being allowed to purchase the means
of writing, and a light, he sat down to write until such time as the
prison lamps should be extinguished.

He wrote a long letter to Lucie, showing her that he had known nothing of
her fatherrCOs imprisonment, until he had heard of it from herself, and
that he had been as ignorant as she of his fatherrCOs and unclerCOs responsibility for that misery, until the paper had been read. He had
already explained to her that his concealment from herself of the name he
had relinquished, was the one conditionrCofully intelligible nowrCothat her father had attached to their betrothal, and was the one promise he had
still exacted on the morning of their marriage. He entreated her, for her fatherrCOs sake, never to seek to know whether her father had become
oblivious of the existence of the paper, or had had it recalled to him
(for the moment, or for good), by the story of the Tower, on that old
Sunday under the dear old plane-tree in the garden. If he had preserved
any definite remembrance of it, there could be no doubt that he had
supposed it destroyed with the Bastille, when he had found no mention of
it among the relics of prisoners which the populace had discovered there,
and which had been described to all the world. He besought herrCothough he added that he knew it was needlessrCoto console her father, by impressing
him through every tender means she could think of, with the truth that he
had done nothing for which he could justly reproach himself, but had
uniformly forgotten himself for their joint sakes. Next to her
preservation of his own last grateful love and blessing, and her
overcoming of her sorrow, to devote herself to their dear child, he
adjured her, as they would meet in Heaven, to comfort her father.

To her father himself, he wrote in the same strain; but, he told her
father that he expressly confided his wife and child to his care. And he
told him this, very strongly, with the hope of rousing him from any despondency or dangerous retrospect towards which he foresaw he might be tending.

To Mr. Lorry, he commended them all, and explained his worldly affairs.
That done, with many added sentences of grateful friendship and warm attachment, all was done. He never thought of Carton. His mind was so
full of the others, that he never once thought of him.

He had time to finish these letters before the lights were put out. When
he lay down on his straw bed, he thought he had done with this world.

But, it beckoned him back in his sleep, and showed itself in shining
forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in Soho (though it had
nothing in it like the real house), unaccountably released and light of
heart, he was with Lucie again, and she told him it was all a dream, and
he had never gone away. A pause of forgetfulness, and then he had even suffered, and had come back to her, dead and at peace, and yet there was
no difference in him. Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the
sombre morning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, until it flashed upon his mind, rCLthis is the day of my death!rCY

Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the fifty-two heads
were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and hoped that he could
meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action began in his waking
thoughts, which was very difficult to master.

He had never seen the instrument that was to terminate his life. How high
it was from the ground, how many steps it had, where he would be stood,
how he would be touched, whether the touching hands would be dyed red,
which way his face would be turned, whether he would be the first, or
might be the last: these and many similar questions, in nowise directed
by his will, obtruded themselves over and over again, countless times.
Neither were they connected with fear: he was conscious of no fear.
Rather, they originated in a strange besetting desire to know what to do
when the time came; a desire gigantically disproportionate to the few
swift moments to which it referred; a wondering that was more like the wondering of some other spirit within his, than his own.

The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the
numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away. After a hard contest
with that eccentric action of thought which had last perplexed him, he
had got the better of it. He walked up and down, softly repeating their
names to himself. The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and
down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them.

Twelve gone for ever.

He had been apprised that the final hour was Three, and he knew he would
be summoned some time earlier, inasmuch as the tumbrils jolted heavily
and slowly through the streets. Therefore, he resolved to keep Two before
his mind, as the hour, and so to strengthen himself in the interval that
he might be able, after that time, to strengthen others.

Walking regularly to and fro with his arms folded on his breast, a very different man from the prisoner, who had walked to and fro at La Force,
he heard One struck away from him, without surprise. The hour had
measured like most other hours. Devoutly thankful to Heaven for his
recovered self-possession, he thought, rCLThere is but another now,rCY and turned to walk again.

Footsteps in the stone passage outside the door. He stopped.

The key was put in the lock, and turned. Before the door was opened, or
as it opened, a man said in a low voice, in English: rCLHe has never seen
me here; I have kept out of his way. Go you in alone; I wait near. Lose
no time!rCY

The door was quickly opened and closed, and there stood before him face
to face, quiet, intent upon him, with the light of a smile on his
features, and a cautionary finger on his lip, Sydney Carton.

There was something so bright and remarkable in his look, that, for the
first moment, the prisoner misdoubted him to be an apparition of his own imagining. But, he spoke, and it was his voice; he took the prisonerrCOs
hand, and it was his real grasp.

rCLOf all the people upon earth, you least expected to see me?rCY he said.

rCLI could not believe it to be you. I can scarcely believe it now. You are notrCYrCothe apprehension came suddenly into his mindrCorCLa prisoner?rCY

rCLNo. I am accidentally possessed of a power over one of the keepers here, and in virtue of it I stand before you. I come from herrCoyour wife, dear Darnay.rCY

The prisoner wrung his hand.

rCLI bring you a request from her.rCY

rCLWhat is it?rCY

rCLA most earnest, pressing, and emphatic entreaty, addressed to you in the most pathetic tones of the voice so dear to you, that you well remember.rCY

The prisoner turned his face partly aside.

rCLYou have no time to ask me why I bring it, or what it means; I have no
time to tell you. You must comply with itrCotake off those boots you wear,
and draw on these of mine.rCY

There was a chair against the wall of the cell, behind the prisoner.
Carton, pressing forward, had already, with the speed of lightning, got
him down into it, and stood over him, barefoot.

rCLDraw on these boots of mine. Put your hands to them; put your will to
them. Quick!rCY

rCLCarton, there is no escaping from this place; it never can be done. You will only die with me. It is madness.rCY

rCLIt would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? When I ask you
to pass out at that door, tell me it is madness and remain here. Change
that cravat for this of mine, that coat for this of mine. While you do
it, let me take this ribbon from your hair, and shake out your hair like
this of mine!rCY

With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and action,
that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him.
The prisoner was like a young child in his hands.

rCLCarton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be accomplished, it never
can be done, it has been attempted, and has always failed. I implore you
not to add your death to the bitterness of mine.rCY

rCLDo I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your hand steady enough
to write?rCY

rCLIt was when you came in.rCY

rCLSteady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend, quick!rCY

Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at the table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close beside him.

rCLWrite exactly as I speak.rCY

rCLTo whom do I address it?rCY

rCLTo no one.rCY Carton still had his hand in his breast.

rCLDo I date it?rCY

rCLNo.rCY

The prisoner looked up, at each question. Carton, standing over him with
his hand in his breast, looked down.

rCLrCyIf you remember,rCOrCY said Carton, dictating, rCLrCythe words that passed
between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this when you see it.
You do remember them, I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.rCOrCY

He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner chancing to look up
in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing upon
something.

rCLHave you written rCyforget themrCO?rCY Carton asked.

rCLI have. Is that a weapon in your hand?rCY

rCLNo; I am not armed.rCY

rCLWhat is it in your hand?rCY

rCLYou shall know directly. Write on; there are but a few words more.rCY He dictated again. rCLrCyI am thankful that the time has come, when I can prove them. That I do so is no subject for regret or grief.rCOrCY As he said these words with his eyes fixed on the writer, his hand slowly and softly moved
down close to the writerrCOs face.

The pen dropped from DarnayrCOs fingers on the table, and he looked about
him vacantly.

rCLWhat vapour is that?rCY he asked.

rCLVapour?rCY

rCLSomething that crossed me?rCY

rCLI am conscious of nothing; there can be nothing here. Take up the pen
and finish. Hurry, hurry!rCY

As if his memory were impaired, or his faculties disordered, the prisoner
made an effort to rally his attention. As he looked at Carton with
clouded eyes and with an altered manner of breathing, CartonrCohis hand
again in his breastrColooked steadily at him.

rCLHurry, hurry!rCY

The prisoner bent over the paper, once more.

rCLrCyIf it had been otherwise;rCOrCY CartonrCOs hand was again watchfully and softly stealing down; rCLrCyI never should have used the longer opportunity. If it had been otherwise;rCOrCY the hand was at the prisonerrCOs face; rCLrCyI should but have had so much the more to answer for. If it had been otherwiserCorCOrCY Carton looked at the pen and saw it was trailing off into unintelligible signs.

CartonrCOs hand moved back to his breast no more. The prisoner sprang up
with a reproachful look, but CartonrCOs hand was close and firm at his nostrils, and CartonrCOs left arm caught him round the waist. For a few seconds he faintly struggled with the man who had come to lay down his
life for him; but, within a minute or so, he was stretched insensible on
the ground.

Quickly, but with hands as true to the purpose as his heart was, Carton dressed himself in the clothes the prisoner had laid aside, combed back
his hair, and tied it with the ribbon the prisoner had worn. Then, he
softly called, rCLEnter there! Come in!rCY and the Spy presented himself.

rCLYou see?rCY said Carton, looking up, as he kneeled on one knee beside the insensible figure, putting the paper in the breast: rCLis your hazard very great?rCY

rCLMr. Carton,rCY the Spy answered, with a timid snap of his fingers, rCLmy hazard is not that, in the thick of business here, if you are true to the whole of your bargain.rCY

rCLDonrCOt fear me. I will be true to the death.rCY

rCLYou must be, Mr. Carton, if the tale of fifty-two is to be right. Being made right by you in that dress, I shall have no fear.rCY

rCLHave no fear! I shall soon be out of the way of harming you, and the
rest will soon be far from here, please God! Now, get assistance and take
me to the coach.rCY

rCLYou?rCY said the Spy nervously.

rCLHim, man, with whom I have exchanged. You go out at the gate by which
you brought me in?rCY

rCLOf course.rCY

rCLI was weak and faint when you brought me in, and I am fainter now you
take me out. The parting interview has overpowered me. Such a thing has happened here, often, and too often. Your life is in your own hands.
Quick! Call assistance!rCY

rCLYou swear not to betray me?rCY said the trembling Spy, as he paused for a last moment.

rCLMan, man!rCY returned Carton, stamping his foot; rCLhave I sworn by no solemn vow already, to go through with this, that you waste the precious moments now? Take him yourself to the courtyard you know of, place him yourself in the carriage, show him yourself to Mr. Lorry, tell him
yourself to give him no restorative but air, and to remember my words of
last night, and his promise of last night, and drive away!rCY

The Spy withdrew, and Carton seated himself at the table, resting his
forehead on his hands. The Spy returned immediately, with two men.

rCLHow, then?rCY said one of them, contemplating the fallen figure. rCLSo afflicted to find that his friend has drawn a prize in the lottery of
Sainte Guillotine?rCY

rCLA good patriot,rCY said the other, rCLcould hardly have been more afflicted if the Aristocrat had drawn a blank.rCY

They raised the unconscious figure, placed it on a litter they had
brought to the door, and bent to carry it away.

rCLThe time is short, Evr|-monde,rCY said the Spy, in a warning voice.

rCLI know it well,rCY answered Carton. rCLBe careful of my friend, I entreat you, and leave me.rCY

rCLCome, then, my children,rCY said Barsad. rCLLift him, and come away!rCY

The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of
listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote
suspicion or alarm. There was none. Keys turned, doors clashed, footsteps passed along distant passages: no cry was raised, or hurry made, that
seemed unusual. Breathing more freely in a little while, he sat down at
the table, and listened again until the clock struck Two.

Sounds that he was not afraid of, for he divined their meaning, then
began to be audible. Several doors were opened in succession, and finally
his own. A gaoler, with a list in his hand, looked in, merely saying, rCLFollow me, Evr|-monde!rCY and he followed into a large dark room, at a distance. It was a dark winter day, and what with the shadows within, and
what with the shadows without, he could but dimly discern the others who
were brought there to have their arms bound. Some were standing; some
seated. Some were lamenting, and in restless motion; but, these were few.
The great majority were silent and still, looking fixedly at the ground.

As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, while some of the fifty-two were brought in after him, one man stopped in passing, to embrace him, as
having a knowledge of him. It thrilled him with a great dread of
discovery; but the man went on. A very few moments after that, a young
woman, with a slight girlish form, a sweet spare face in which there was
no vestige of colour, and large widely opened patient eyes, rose from the
seat where he had observed her sitting, and came to speak to him.

rCLCitizen Evr|-monde,rCY she said, touching him with her cold hand. rCLI am a poor little seamstress, who was with you in La Force.rCY

He murmured for answer: rCLTrue. I forget what you were accused of?rCY

rCLPlots. Though the just Heaven knows that I am innocent of any. Is it likely? Who would think of plotting with a poor little weak creature like me?rCY

The forlorn smile with which she said it, so touched him, that tears
started from his eyes.

rCLI am not afraid to die, Citizen Evr|-monde, but I have done nothing. I am not unwilling to die, if the Republic which is to do so much good to us
poor, will profit by my death; but I do not know how that can be, Citizen Evr|-monde. Such a poor weak little creature!rCY

As the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, it
warmed and softened to this pitiable girl.

rCLI heard you were released, Citizen Evr|-monde. I hoped it was true?rCY

rCLIt was. But, I was again taken and condemned.rCY

rCLIf I may ride with you, Citizen Evr|-monde, will you let me hold your
hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage.rCY

As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in
them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his lips.

rCLAre you dying for him?rCY she whispered.

rCLAnd his wife and child. Hush! Yes.rCY

rCLO you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?rCY

rCLHush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.rCY

The same shadows that are falling on the prison, are falling, in that
same hour of the early afternoon, on the Barrier with the crowd about it,
when a coach going out of Paris drives up to be examined.

rCLWho goes here? Whom have we within? Papers!rCY

The papers are handed out, and read.

rCLAlexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is he?rCY

This is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old man
pointed out.

rCLApparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his right mind? The Revolution- fever will have been too much for him?rCY

Greatly too much for him.

rCLHah! Many suffer with it. Lucie. His daughter. French. Which is she?rCY

This is she.

rCLApparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evr|-monde; is it not?rCY

It is.

rCLHah! Evr|-monde has an assignation elsewhere. Lucie, her child. English. This is she?rCY

She and no other.

rCLKiss me, child of Evr|-monde. Now, thou hast kissed a good Republican; something new in thy family; remember it! Sydney Carton. Advocate.
English. Which is he?rCY

He lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out.

rCLApparently the English advocate is in a swoon?rCY

It is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is represented that he
is not in strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is
under the displeasure of the Republic.

rCLIs that all? It is not a great deal, that! Many are under the
displeasure of the Republic, and must look out at the little window.
Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which is he?rCY

rCLI am he. Necessarily, being the last.rCY

It is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions. It is
Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the coach door, replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage
and leisurely mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on
the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach
doors and greedily stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has
its short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an
aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine.

rCLBehold your papers, Jarvis Lorry, countersigned.rCY

rCLOne can depart, citizen?rCY

rCLOne can depart. Forward, my postilions! A good journey!rCY

rCLI salute you, citizens.rCoAnd the first danger passed!rCY

These are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps his hands, and
looks upward. There is terror in the carriage, there is weeping, there is
the heavy breathing of the insensible traveller.

rCLAre we not going too slowly? Can they not be induced to go faster?rCY asks Lucie, clinging to the old man.

rCLIt would seem like flight, my darling. I must not urge them too much; it would rouse suspicion.rCY

rCLLook back, look back, and see if we are pursued!rCY

rCLThe road is clear, my dearest. So far, we are not pursued.rCY

Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, ruinous buildings, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, open country, avenues of leafless
trees. The hard uneven pavement is under us, the soft deep mud is on
either side. Sometimes, we strike into the skirting mud, to avoid the
stones that clatter us and shake us; sometimes, we stick in ruts and
sloughs there. The agony of our impatience is then so great, that in our
wild alarm and hurry we are for getting out and runningrCohidingrCodoing anything but stopping.

Out of the open country, in again among ruinous buildings, solitary
farms, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, cottages in twos and threes, avenues of leafless trees. Have these men deceived us, and taken us back
by another road? Is not this the same place twice over? Thank Heaven, no.
A village. Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued! Hush! the posting-house.

Leisurely, our four horses are taken out; leisurely, the coach stands in
the little street, bereft of horses, and with no likelihood upon it of
ever moving again; leisurely, the new horses come into visible existence,
one by one; leisurely, the new postilions follow, sucking and plaiting
the lashes of their whips; leisurely, the old postilions count their
money, make wrong additions, and arrive at dissatisfied results. All the
time, our overfraught hearts are beating at a rate that would far
outstrip the fastest gallop of the fastest horses ever foaled.

At length the new postilions are in their saddles, and the old are left behind. We are through the village, up the hill, and down the hill, and
on the low watery grounds. Suddenly, the postilions exchange speech with animated gesticulation, and the horses are pulled up, almost on their haunches. We are pursued?

rCLHo! Within the carriage there. Speak then!rCY

rCLWhat is it?rCY asks Mr. Lorry, looking out at window.

rCLHow many did they say?rCY

rCLI do not understand you.rCY

rCLrCoAt the last post. How many to the Guillotine to-day?rCY

rCLFifty-two.rCY

rCLI said so! A brave number! My fellow-citizen here would have it forty-
two; ten more heads are worth having. The Guillotine goes handsomely. I
love it. Hi forward. Whoop!rCY

The night comes on dark. He moves more; he is beginning to revive, and to speak intelligibly; he thinks they are still together; he asks him, by
his name, what he has in his hand. O pity us, kind Heaven, and help us!
Look out, look out, and see if we are pursued.

The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the
moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us;
but, so far, we are pursued by nothing else.

CHAPTER XIV.
The Knitting Done
In that same juncture of time when the Fifty-Two awaited their fate
Madame Defarge held darkly ominous council with The Vengeance and Jacques Three of the Revolutionary Jury. Not in the wine-shop did Madame Defarge confer with these ministers, but in the shed of the wood-sawyer, erst a
mender of roads. The sawyer himself did not participate in the
conference, but abided at a little distance, like an outer satellite who
was not to speak until required, or to offer an opinion until invited.

rCLBut our Defarge,rCY said Jacques Three, rCLis undoubtedly a good Republican?
Eh?rCY

rCLThere is no better,rCY the voluble Vengeance protested in her shrill
notes, rCLin France.rCY

rCLPeace, little Vengeance,rCY said Madame Defarge, laying her hand with a slight frown on her lieutenantrCOs lips, rCLhear me speak. My husband, fellow-citizen, is a good Republican and a bold man; he has deserved well
of the Republic, and possesses its confidence. But my husband has his weaknesses, and he is so weak as to relent towards this Doctor.rCY

rCLIt is a great pity,rCY croaked Jacques Three, dubiously shaking his head, with his cruel fingers at his hungry mouth; rCLit is not quite like a good citizen; it is a thing to regret.rCY

rCLSee you,rCY said madame, rCLI care nothing for this Doctor, I. He may wear his head or lose it, for any interest I have in him; it is all one to me.
But, the Evr|-monde people are to be exterminated, and the wife and child
must follow the husband and father.rCY

rCLShe has a fine head for it,rCY croaked Jacques Three. rCLI have seen blue eyes and golden hair there, and they looked charming when Samson held
them up.rCY Ogre that he was, he spoke like an epicure.

Madame Defarge cast down her eyes, and reflected a little.

rCLThe child also,rCY observed Jacques Three, with a meditative enjoyment of his words, rCLhas golden hair and blue eyes. And we seldom have a child
there. It is a pretty sight!rCY

rCLIn a word,rCY said Madame Defarge, coming out of her short abstraction, rCLI
cannot trust my husband in this matter. Not only do I feel, since last
night, that I dare not confide to him the details of my projects; but
also I feel that if I delay, there is danger of his giving warning, and
then they might escape.rCY

rCLThat must never be,rCY croaked Jacques Three; rCLno one must escape. We have
not half enough as it is. We ought to have six score a day.rCY

rCLIn a word,rCY Madame Defarge went on, rCLmy husband has not my reason for pursuing this family to annihilation, and I have not his reason for
regarding this Doctor with any sensibility. I must act for myself,
therefore. Come hither, little citizen.rCY

The wood-sawyer, who held her in the respect, and himself in the
submission, of mortal fear, advanced with his hand to his red cap.

rCLTouching those signals, little citizen,rCY said Madame Defarge, sternly, rCLthat she made to the prisoners; you are ready to bear witness to them
this very day?rCY

rCLAy, ay, why not!rCY cried the sawyer. rCLEvery day, in all weathers, from two to four, always signalling, sometimes with the little one, sometimes without. I know what I know. I have seen with my eyes.rCY

He made all manner of gestures while he spoke, as if in incidental
imitation of some few of the great diversity of signals that he had never seen.

rCLClearly plots,rCY said Jacques Three. rCLTransparently!rCY

rCLThere is no doubt of the Jury?rCY inquired Madame Defarge, letting her
eyes turn to him with a gloomy smile.

rCLRely upon the patriotic Jury, dear citizeness. I answer for my fellow- Jurymen.rCY

rCLNow, let me see,rCY said Madame Defarge, pondering again. rCLYet once more! Can I spare this Doctor to my husband? I have no feeling either way. Can
I spare him?rCY

rCLHe would count as one head,rCY observed Jacques Three, in a low voice. rCLWe
really have not heads enough; it would be a pity, I think.rCY

rCLHe was signalling with her when I saw her,rCY argued Madame Defarge; rCLI cannot speak of one without the other; and I must not be silent, and
trust the case wholly to him, this little citizen here. For, I am not a
bad witness.rCY

The Vengeance and Jacques Three vied with each other in their fervent protestations that she was the most admirable and marvellous of
witnesses. The little citizen, not to be outdone, declared her to be a celestial witness.

rCLHe must take his chance,rCY said Madame Defarge. rCLNo, I cannot spare him! You are engaged at three orCOclock; you are going to see the batch of to-
day executed.rCoYou?rCY

The question was addressed to the wood-sawyer, who hurriedly replied in
the affirmative: seizing the occasion to add that he was the most ardent
of Republicans, and that he would be in effect the most desolate of Republicans, if anything prevented him from enjoying the pleasure of
smoking his afternoon pipe in the contemplation of the droll national
barber. He was so very demonstrative herein, that he might have been
suspected (perhaps was, by the dark eyes that looked contemptuously at
him out of Madame DefargerCOs head) of having his small individual fears
for his own personal safety, every hour in the day.

rCLI,rCY said madame, rCLam equally engaged at the same place. After it is over rCosay at eight to-nightrCocome you to me, in Saint Antoine, and we will give information against these people at my Section.rCY

The wood-sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to attend the
citizeness. The citizeness looking at him, he became embarrassed, evaded
her glance as a small dog would have done, retreated among his wood, and
hid his confusion over the handle of his saw.

Madame Defarge beckoned the Juryman and The Vengeance a little nearer to
the door, and there expounded her further views to them thus:

rCLShe will now be at home, awaiting the moment of his death. She will be mourning and grieving. She will be in a state of mind to impeach the
justice of the Republic. She will be full of sympathy with its enemies. I
will go to her.rCY

rCLWhat an admirable woman; what an adorable woman!rCY exclaimed Jacques Three, rapturously. rCLAh, my cherished!rCY cried The Vengeance; and embraced her.

rCLTake you my knitting,rCY said Madame Defarge, placing it in her lieutenantrCOs hands, rCLand have it ready for me in my usual seat. Keep me
my usual chair. Go you there, straight, for there will probably be a
greater concourse than usual, to-day.rCY

rCLI willingly obey the orders of my Chief,rCY said The Vengeance with alacrity, and kissing her cheek. rCLYou will not be late?rCY

rCLI shall be there before the commencement.rCY

rCLAnd before the tumbrils arrive. Be sure you are there, my soul,rCY said
The Vengeance, calling after her, for she had already turned into the
street, rCLbefore the tumbrils arrive!rCY

Madame Defarge slightly waved her hand, to imply that she heard, and
might be relied upon to arrive in good time, and so went through the mud,
and round the corner of the prison wall. The Vengeance and the Juryman, looking after her as she walked away, were highly appreciative of her
fine figure, and her superb moral endowments.

There were many women at that time, upon whom the time laid a dreadfully disfiguring hand; but, there was not one among them more to be dreaded
than this ruthless woman, now taking her way along the streets. Of a
strong and fearless character, of shrewd sense and readiness, of great determination, of that kind of beauty which not only seems to impart to
its possessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into others an
instinctive recognition of those qualities; the troubled time would have heaved her up, under any circumstances. But, imbued from her childhood
with a brooding sense of wrong, and an inveterate hatred of a class, opportunity had developed her into a tigress. She was absolutely without
pity. If she had ever had the virtue in her, it had quite gone out of
her.

It was nothing to her, that an innocent man was to die for the sins of
his forefathers; she saw, not him, but them. It was nothing to her, that
his wife was to be made a widow and his daughter an orphan; that was insufficient punishment, because they were her natural enemies and her
prey, and as such had no right to live. To appeal to her, was made
hopeless by her having no sense of pity, even for herself. If she had
been laid low in the streets, in any of the many encounters in which she
had been engaged, she would not have pitied herself; nor, if she had been ordered to the axe to-morrow, would she have gone to it with any softer feeling than a fierce desire to change places with the man who sent her
there.

Such a heart Madame Defarge carried under her rough robe. Carelessly
worn, it was a becoming robe enough, in a certain weird way, and her dark
hair looked rich under her coarse red cap. Lying hidden in her bosom, was
a loaded pistol. Lying hidden at her waist, was a sharpened dagger. Thus accoutred, and walking with the confident tread of such a character, and
with the supple freedom of a woman who had habitually walked in her
girlhood, bare-foot and bare-legged, on the brown sea-sand, Madame
Defarge took her way along the streets.

Now, when the journey of the travelling coach, at that very moment
waiting for the completion of its load, had been planned out last night,
the difficulty of taking Miss Pross in it had much engaged Mr. LorryrCOs attention. It was not merely desirable to avoid overloading the coach,
but it was of the highest importance that the time occupied in examining
it and its passengers, should be reduced to the utmost; since their
escape might depend on the saving of only a few seconds here and there. Finally, he had proposed, after anxious consideration, that Miss Pross
and Jerry, who were at liberty to leave the city, should leave it at
three orCOclock in the lightest-wheeled conveyance known to that period. Unencumbered with luggage, they would soon overtake the coach, and,
passing it and preceding it on the road, would order its horses in
advance, and greatly facilitate its progress during the precious hours of
the night, when delay was the most to be dreaded.

Seeing in this arrangement the hope of rendering real service in that
pressing emergency, Miss Pross hailed it with joy. She and Jerry had
beheld the coach start, had known who it was that Solomon brought, had
passed some ten minutes in tortures of suspense, and were now concluding
their arrangements to follow the coach, even as Madame Defarge, taking
her way through the streets, now drew nearer and nearer to the else-
deserted lodging in which they held their consultation.

rCLNow what do you think, Mr. Cruncher,rCY said Miss Pross, whose agitation was so great that she could hardly speak, or stand, or move, or live:
rCLwhat do you think of our not starting from this courtyard? Another
carriage having already gone from here to-day, it might awaken
suspicion.rCY

rCLMy opinion, miss,rCY returned Mr. Cruncher, rCLis as yourCOre right. Likewise
wot IrCOll stand by you, right or wrong.rCY

rCLI am so distracted with fear and hope for our precious creatures,rCY said Miss Pross, wildly crying, rCLthat I am incapable of forming any plan. Are
you capable of forming any plan, my dear good Mr. Cruncher?rCY

rCLRespectinrCO a future spear orCO life, miss,rCY returned Mr. Cruncher, rCLI hope
so. RespectinrCO any present use orCO this here blessed old head orCO mine, I think not. Would you do me the favour, miss, to take notice orCO two
promises and wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis?rCY

rCLOh, for gracious sake!rCY cried Miss Pross, still wildly crying, rCLrecord them at once, and get them out of the way, like an excellent man.rCY

rCLFirst,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble, and who spoke with an ashy and solemn visage, rCLthem poor things well out orCO this, never no more will I do it, never no more!rCY

rCLI am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher,rCY returned Miss Pross, rCLthat you never will do it again, whatever it is, and I beg you not to think it necessary
to mention more particularly what it is.rCY

rCLNo, miss,rCY returned Jerry, rCLit shall not be named to you. Second: them poor things well out orCO this, and never no more will I interfere with
Mrs. CruncherrCOs flopping, never no more!rCY

rCLWhatever housekeeping arrangement that may be,rCY said Miss Pross,
striving to dry her eyes and compose herself, rCLI have no doubt it is best that Mrs. Cruncher should have it entirely under her own superintendence.
rCoO my poor darlings!rCY

rCLI go so far as to say, miss, moreover,rCY proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with a most alarming tendency to hold forth as from a pulpitrCorCLand let my words
be took down and took to Mrs. Cruncher through yourselfrCothat wot my
opinions respectinrCO flopping has undergone a change, and that wot I only hope with all my heart as Mrs. Cruncher may be a flopping at the present time.rCY

rCLThere, there, there! I hope she is, my dear man,rCY cried the distracted Miss Pross, rCLand I hope she finds it answering her expectations.rCY

rCLForbid it,rCY proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with additional solemnity,
additional slowness, and additional tendency to hold forth and hold out,
rCLas anything wot I have ever said or done should be wisited on my earnest wishes for them poor creeturs now! Forbid it as we shouldnrCOt all flop (if
it was anyways conwenient) to get rCOem out orCO this here dismal risk!
Forbid it, miss! Wot I say, for-bid it!rCY This was Mr. CruncherrCOs conclusion after a protracted but vain endeavour to find a better one.

And still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer
and nearer.

rCLIf we ever get back to our native land,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLyou may rely upon my telling Mrs. Cruncher as much as I may be able to remember and understand of what you have so impressively said; and at all events you
may be sure that I shall bear witness to your being thoroughly in earnest
at this dreadful time. Now, pray let us think! My esteemed Mr. Cruncher,
let us think!rCY

Still, Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer
and nearer.

rCLIf you were to go before,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLand stop the vehicle and horses from coming here, and were to wait somewhere for me; wouldnrCOt that
be best?rCY

Mr. Cruncher thought it might be best.

rCLWhere could you wait for me?rCY asked Miss Pross.

Mr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he could think of no locality but
Temple Bar. Alas! Temple Bar was hundreds of miles away, and Madame
Defarge was drawing very near indeed.

rCLBy the cathedral door,rCY said Miss Pross. rCLWould it be much out of the way, to take me in, near the great cathedral door between the two
towers?rCY

rCLNo, miss,rCY answered Mr. Cruncher.

rCLThen, like the best of men,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLgo to the posting-house straight, and make that change.rCY

rCLI am doubtful,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, hesitating and shaking his head, rCLabout leaving of you, you see. We donrCOt know what may happen.rCY

rCLHeaven knows we donrCOt,rCY returned Miss Pross, rCLbut have no fear for me.
Take me in at the cathedral, at Three orCOClock, or as near it as you can,
and I am sure it will be better than our going from here. I feel certain
of it. There! Bless you, Mr. Cruncher! Think-not of me, but of the lives
that may depend on both of us!rCY

This exordium, and Miss ProssrCOs two hands in quite agonised entreaty clasping his, decided Mr. Cruncher. With an encouraging nod or two, he immediately went out to alter the arrangements, and left her by herself
to follow as she had proposed.

The having originated a precaution which was already in course of
execution, was a great relief to Miss Pross. The necessity of composing
her appearance so that it should attract no special notice in the
streets, was another relief. She looked at her watch, and it was twenty minutes past two. She had no time to lose, but must get ready at once.

Afraid, in her extreme perturbation, of the loneliness of the deserted
rooms, and of half-imagined faces peeping from behind every open door in
them, Miss Pross got a basin of cold water and began laving her eyes,
which were swollen and red. Haunted by her feverish apprehensions, she
could not bear to have her sight obscured for a minute at a time by the dripping water, but constantly paused and looked round to see that there
was no one watching her. In one of those pauses she recoiled and cried
out, for she saw a figure standing in the room.

The basin fell to the ground broken, and the water flowed to the feet of Madame Defarge. By strange stern ways, and through much staining blood,
those feet had come to meet that water.

Madame Defarge looked coldly at her, and said, rCLThe wife of Evr|-monde; where is she?rCY

It flashed upon Miss ProssrCOs mind that the doors were all standing open,
and would suggest the flight. Her first act was to shut them. There were
four in the room, and she shut them all. She then placed herself before
the door of the chamber which Lucie had occupied.

Madame DefargerCOs dark eyes followed her through this rapid movement, and rested on her when it was finished. Miss Pross had nothing beautiful
about her; years had not tamed the wildness, or softened the grimness, of
her appearance; but, she too was a determined woman in her different way,
and she measured Madame Defarge with her eyes, every inch.

rCLYou might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer,rCY said Miss Pross, in her breathing. rCLNevertheless, you shall not get the better of
me. I am an Englishwoman.rCY

Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully, but still with something of Miss ProssrCOs own perception that they two were at bay. She saw a tight, hard, wiry woman before her, as Mr. Lorry had seen in the same figure a woman
with a strong hand, in the years gone by. She knew full well that Miss
Pross was the familyrCOs devoted friend; Miss Pross knew full well that
Madame Defarge was the familyrCOs malevolent enemy.

rCLOn my way yonder,rCY said Madame Defarge, with a slight movement of her hand towards the fatal spot, rCLwhere they reserve my chair and my knitting for me, I am come to make my compliments to her in passing. I wish to see her.rCY

rCLI know that your intentions are evil,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLand you may depend upon it, IrCOll hold my own against them.rCY

Each spoke in her own language; neither understood the otherrCOs words;
both were very watchful, and intent to deduce from look and manner, what
the unintelligible words meant.

rCLIt will do her no good to keep herself concealed from me at this
moment,rCY said Madame Defarge. rCLGood patriots will know what that means. Let me see her. Go tell her that I wish to see her. Do you hear?rCY

rCLIf those eyes of yours were bed-winches,rCY returned Miss Pross, rCLand I was an English four-poster, they shouldnrCOt loose a splinter of me. No,
you wicked foreign woman; I am your match.rCY

Madame Defarge was not likely to follow these idiomatic remarks in
detail; but, she so far understood them as to perceive that she was set
at naught.

rCLWoman imbecile and pig-like!rCY said Madame Defarge, frowning. rCLI take no answer from you. I demand to see her. Either tell her that I demand to
see her, or stand out of the way of the door and let me go to her!rCY This, with an angry explanatory wave of her right arm.

rCLI little thought,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLthat I should ever want to understand your nonsensical language; but I would give all I have, except
the clothes I wear, to know whether you suspect the truth, or any part of it.rCY

Neither of them for a single moment released the otherrCOs eyes. Madame Defarge had not moved from the spot where she stood when Miss Pross first became aware of her; but, she now advanced one step.

rCLI am a Briton,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLI am desperate. I donrCOt care an English Twopence for myself. I know that the longer I keep you here, the greater hope there is for my Ladybird. IrCOll not leave a handful of that
dark hair upon your head, if you lay a finger on me!rCY

Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head and a flash of her eyes between every rapid sentence, and every rapid sentence a whole breath. Thus Miss Pross, who had never struck a blow in her life.

But, her courage was of that emotional nature that it brought the irrepressible tears into her eyes. This was a courage that Madame Defarge
so little comprehended as to mistake for weakness. rCLHa, ha!rCY she laughed, rCLyou poor wretch! What are you worth! I address myself to that Doctor.rCY Then she raised her voice and called out, rCLCitizen Doctor! Wife of Evr|-monde! Child of Evr|-monde! Any person but this miserable fool, answer the Citizeness Defarge!rCY

Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some latent disclosure in the expression of Miss ProssrCOs face, perhaps a sudden misgiving apart from either suggestion, whispered to Madame Defarge that they were gone. Three
of the doors she opened swiftly, and looked in.

rCLThose rooms are all in disorder, there has been hurried packing, there
are odds and ends upon the ground. There is no one in that room behind
you! Let me look.rCY

rCLNever!rCY said Miss Pross, who understood the request as perfectly as Madame Defarge understood the answer.

rCLIf they are not in that room, they are gone, and can be pursued and
brought back,rCY said Madame Defarge to herself.

rCLAs long as you donrCOt know whether they are in that room or not, you are uncertain what to do,rCY said Miss Pross to herself; rCLand you shall not
know that, if I can prevent your knowing it; and know that, or not know
that, you shall not leave here while I can hold you.rCY

rCLI have been in the streets from the first, nothing has stopped me, I
will tear you to pieces, but I will have you from that door,rCY said Madame Defarge.

rCLWe are alone at the top of a high house in a solitary courtyard, we are
not likely to be heard, and I pray for bodily strength to keep you here,
while every minute you are here is worth a hundred thousand guineas to my darling,rCY said Miss Pross.

Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the instinct of the
moment, seized her round the waist in both her arms, and held her tight.
It was in vain for Madame Defarge to struggle and to strike; Miss Pross,
with the vigorous tenacity of love, always so much stronger than hate,
clasped her tight, and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle
that they had. The two hands of Madame Defarge buffeted and tore her
face; but, Miss Pross, with her head down, held her round the waist, and
clung to her with more than the hold of a drowning woman.

Soon, Madame DefargerCOs hands ceased to strike, and felt at her encircled waist. rCLIt is under my arm,rCY said Miss Pross, in smothered tones, rCLyou shall not draw it. I am stronger than you, I bless Heaven for it. I hold
you till one or other of us faints or dies!rCY

Madame DefargerCOs hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross looked up, saw what
it was, struck at it, struck out a flash and a crash, and stood alonerCo blinded with smoke.

All this was in a second. As the smoke cleared, leaving an awful
stillness, it passed out on the air, like the soul of the furious woman
whose body lay lifeless on the ground.

In the first fright and horror of her situation, Miss Pross passed the
body as far from it as she could, and ran down the stairs to call for fruitless help. Happily, she bethought herself of the consequences of
what she did, in time to check herself and go back. It was dreadful to go
in at the door again; but, she did go in, and even went near it, to get
the bonnet and other things that she must wear. These she put on, out on
the staircase, first shutting and locking the door and taking away the
key. She then sat down on the stairs a few moments to breathe and to cry,
and then got up and hurried away.

By good fortune she had a veil on her bonnet, or she could hardly have
gone along the streets without being stopped. By good fortune, too, she
was naturally so peculiar in appearance as not to show disfigurement like
any other woman. She needed both advantages, for the marks of gripping
fingers were deep in her face, and her hair was torn, and her dress
(hastily composed with unsteady hands) was clutched and dragged a hundred ways.

In crossing the bridge, she dropped the door key in the river. Arriving
at the cathedral some few minutes before her escort, and waiting there,
she thought, what if the key were already taken in a net, what if it were identified, what if the door were opened and the remains discovered, what
if she were stopped at the gate, sent to prison, and charged with murder!
In the midst of these fluttering thoughts, the escort appeared, took her
in, and took her away.

rCLIs there any noise in the streets?rCY she asked him.

rCLThe usual noises,rCY Mr. Cruncher replied; and looked surprised by the question and by her aspect.

rCLI donrCOt hear you,rCY said Miss Pross. rCLWhat do you say?rCY

It was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat what he said; Miss Pross could
not hear him. rCLSo IrCOll nod my head,rCY thought Mr. Cruncher, amazed, rCLat all events sherCOll see that.rCY And she did.

rCLIs there any noise in the streets now?rCY asked Miss Pross again, presently.

Again Mr. Cruncher nodded his head.

rCLI donrCOt hear it.rCY

rCLGone deaf in an hour?rCY said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, with his mind much disturbed; rCLwotrCOs come to her?rCY

rCLI feel,rCY said Miss Pross, rCLas if there had been a flash and a crash, and
that crash was the last thing I should ever hear in this life.rCY

rCLBlest if she ainrCOt in a queer condition!rCY said Mr. Cruncher, more and more disturbed. rCLWot can she have been a takinrCO, to keep her courage up? Hark! ThererCOs the roll of them dreadful carts! You can hear that, miss?rCY

rCLI can hear,rCY said Miss Pross, seeing that he spoke to her, rCLnothing. O, my good man, there was first a great crash, and then a great stillness,
and that stillness seems to be fixed and unchangeable, never to be broken
any more as long as my life lasts.rCY

rCLIf she donrCOt hear the roll of those dreadful carts, now very nigh their journeyrCOs end,rCY said Mr. Cruncher, glancing over his shoulder, rCLitrCOs my
opinion that indeed she never will hear anything else in this world.rCY

And indeed she never did.

CHAPTER XV.
The Footsteps Die Out For Ever
Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrils carry the dayrCOs wine to La Guillotine. All the devouring and insatiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself, are
fused in the one realisation, Guillotine. And yet there is not in France,
with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a
sprig, a peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more
certain than those that have produced this horror. Crush humanity out of
shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the
same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and
oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according
to its kind.

Six tumbrils roll along the streets. Change these back again to what they were, thou powerful enchanter, Time, and they shall be seen to be the carriages of absolute monarchs, the equipages of feudal nobles, the
toilettes of flaring Jezebels, the churches that are not my fatherrCOs
house but dens of thieves, the huts of millions of starving peasants! No;
the great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator, never reverses his transformations. rCLIf thou be changed into
this shape by the will of God,rCY say the seers to the enchanted, in the
wise Arabian stories, rCLthen remain so! But, if thou wear this form
through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!rCY
Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrils roll along.

As the sombre wheels of the six carts go round, they seem to plough up a
long crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Ridges of faces
are thrown to this side and to that, and the ploughs go steadily onward.
So used are the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, that
in many windows there are no people, and in some the occupation of the
hands is not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the faces in the tumbrils. Here and there, the inmate has visitors to see the sight; then
he points his finger, with something of the complacency of a curator or authorised exponent, to this cart and to this, and seems to tell who sat
here yesterday, and who there the day before.

Of the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all things
on their last roadside, with an impassive stare; others, with a lingering interest in the ways of life and men. Some, seated with drooping heads,
are sunk in silent despair; again, there are some so heedful of their
looks that they cast upon the multitude such glances as they have seen in theatres, and in pictures. Several close their eyes, and think, or try to
get their straying thoughts together. Only one, and he a miserable
creature, of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by horror,
that he sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole number appeals by
look or gesture, to the pity of the people.

There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, and
faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some
question. It would seem to be always the same question, for, it is always followed by a press of people towards the third cart. The horsemen
abreast of that cart, frequently point out one man in it with their
swords. The leading curiosity is, to know which is he; he stands at the
back of the tumbril with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl
who sits on the side of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity
or care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and
there in the long street of St. Honore, cries are raised against him. If
they move him at all, it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair
a little more loosely about his face. He cannot easily touch his face,
his arms being bound.

On the steps of a church, awaiting the coming-up of the tumbrils, stands
the Spy and prison-sheep. He looks into the first of them: not there. He
looks into the second: not there. He already asks himself, rCLHas he sacrificed me?rCY when his face clears, as he looks into the third.

rCLWhich is Evr|-monde?rCY says a man behind him.

rCLThat. At the back there.rCY

rCLWith his hand in the girlrCOs?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

The man cries, rCLDown, Evr|-monde! To the Guillotine all aristocrats! Down, Evr|-monde!rCY

rCLHush, hush!rCY the Spy entreats him, timidly.

rCLAnd why not, citizen?rCY

rCLHe is going to pay the forfeit: it will be paid in five minutes more.
Let him be at peace.rCY

But the man continuing to exclaim, rCLDown, Evr|-monde!rCY the face of Evr|-monde is for a moment turned towards him. Evr|-monde then sees the
Spy, and looks attentively at him, and goes his way.

The clocks are on the stroke of three, and the furrow ploughed among the populace is turning round, to come on into the place of execution, and
end. The ridges thrown to this side and to that, now crumble in and close behind the last plough as it passes on, for all are following to the Guillotine. In front of it, seated in chairs, as in a garden of public diversion, are a number of women, busily knitting. On one of the fore-
most chairs, stands The Vengeance, looking about for her friend.

rCLTh|-r|?se!rCY she cries, in her shrill tones. rCLWho has seen her? Th|-r|?se
Defarge!rCY

rCLShe never missed before,rCY says a knitting-woman of the sisterhood.

rCLNo; nor will she miss now,rCY cries The Vengeance, petulantly. rCLTh|-r|?se.rCY

rCLLouder,rCY the woman recommends.

Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will scarcely hear
thee. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it
will hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her,
lingering somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done dread
deeds, it is questionable whether of their own wills they will go far
enough to find her!

rCLBad Fortune!rCY cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair, rCLand here are the tumbrils! And Evr|-monde will be despatched in a wink, and
she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her empty chair ready for
her. I cry with vexation and disappointment!rCY

As The Vengeance descends from her elevation to do it, the tumbrils begin
to discharge their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed
and ready. Crash!rCoA head is held up, and the knitting-women who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could think and
speak, count One.

The second tumbril empties and moves on; the third comes up. Crash!rCoAnd
the knitting-women, never faltering or pausing in their Work, count Two.

The supposed Evr|-monde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next
after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but
still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crashing engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into
his face and thanks him.

rCLBut for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am
naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been
able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have
hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven.rCY

rCLOr you to me,rCY says Sydney Carton. rCLKeep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no other object.rCY

rCLI mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I let
it go, if they are rapid.rCY

rCLThey will be rapid. Fear not!rCY

The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, but they speak as
if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to
heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home
together, and to rest in her bosom.

rCLBrave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last question? I
am very ignorant, and it troubles merCojust a little.rCY

rCLTell me what it is.rCY

rCLI have a cousin, an only relative and an orphan, like myself, whom I
love very dearly. She is five years younger than I, and she lives in a farmerrCOs house in the south country. Poverty parted us, and she knows nothing of my faterCofor I cannot writerCoand if I could, how should I tell her! It is better as it is.rCY

rCLYes, yes: better as it is.rCY

rCLWhat I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so much support,
is this:rCoIf the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to
be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time:
she may even live to be old.rCY

rCLWhat then, my gentle sister?rCY

rCLDo you think:rCY the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much endurance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and tremble: rCLthat it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the better land
where I trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?rCY

rCLIt cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.rCY

rCLYou comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to kiss you now? Is the moment come?rCY

rCLYes.rCY

She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The
spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a
sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before himrCo
is gone; the knitting-women count Twenty-Two.

rCLI am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and
believeth in me shall never die.rCY

The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing
on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells
forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three.

They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the peacefullest manrCOs face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic.

One of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axerCoa womanrCohad asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not long before, to be allowed to write
down the thoughts that were inspiring her. If he had given any utterance
to his, and they were prophetic, they would have been these:

rCLI see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge,
long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruction of the
old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease out
of its present use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising
from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their
triumphs and defeats, through long years to come, I see the evil of this
time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth,
gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.

rCLI see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful,
prosperous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see
Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father,
aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his
healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their
friend, in ten yearsrCO time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his reward.

rCLI see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of
their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping
for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their
course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know
that each was not more honoured and held sacred in the otherrCOs soul, than
I was in the souls of both.

rCLI see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man
winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him
winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light
of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, fore-most
of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a
forehead that I know and golden hair, to this placerCothen fair to look
upon, with not a trace of this dayrCOs disfigurementrCoand I hear him tell
the child my story, with a tender and a faltering voice.

rCLIt is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.rCY

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 98 ***
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