ATaleOfTwoCitiesAStoryOfTheFrenchRevolution

ByCharlesDickens

ATALEOFTWOCITIESASTORYOFTHEFRENCHREVOLUTION

BooktheFirst—RecalledtoLifeThePeriod

Itwasthebestoftimes,itwastheworstoftimes,itwastheageofwisdom,itwastheageoffoolishness,itwastheepochofbelief,itwastheepochofincredulity,itwastheseasonofLight,itwastheseasonofDarkness,itwasthespringofhope,itwasthewinterofdespair,wehadeverythingbeforeus,wehadnothingbeforeus,wewereallgoingdirecttoHeaven,wewereallgoingdirecttheotherway—inshort,theperiodwassofarlikethepresentperiod,thatsomeofitsnoisiestauthoritiesinsistedon its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree ofcomparisononly.Therewereakingwithalargejawandaqueenwithaplainface,onthethroneofEngland;therewereakingwithalargejawandaqueenwithafairface,onthe throneofFrance.Inbothcountries itwasclearer thancrystal tothelordsoftheStatepreservesofloavesandfishes,thatthingsingeneralweresettledforever.ItwastheyearofOurLordonethousandsevenhundredandseventy-five.Spiritual revelationswereconcededtoEnglandat that favouredperiod,asatthis. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessedbirthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded thesublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for theswallowing up of London andWestminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost hadbeenlaidonlyarounddozenofyears,after rappingout itsmessages,as thespiritsofthisveryyearlastpast(supernaturallydeficientinoriginality)rappedouttheirs.MeremessagesintheearthlyorderofeventshadlatelycometotheEnglishCrown andPeople, from a congress ofBritish subjects inAmerica:which,strangetorelate,haveprovedmoreimportanttothehumanracethanany communications yet received through any of the chickens of theCock-lanebrood.France,lessfavouredonthewholeastomattersspiritualthanhersisterofthe shield and trident, rolledwith exceeding smoothness down hill,makingpapermoneyandspendingit.UndertheguidanceofherChristianpastors,sheentertainedherself,besides,withsuchhumaneachievementsassentencingayouthtohavehishandscutoff,histonguetornoutwithpincers,andhisbodyburnedalive,becausehehadnotkneeleddownintheraintodohonourtoa

dirtyprocessionofmonkswhichpassedwithinhisview,atadistanceofsomefiftyorsixtyyards.Itislikelyenoughthat,rootedinthewoodsofFranceandNorway,thereweregrowingtrees,whenthatsuffererwasputtodeath,alreadymarked by theWoodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, tomake a certainmovable frameworkwith a sack and a knife in it, terrible inhistory. It is likelyenough that in the roughouthousesof some tillersof theheavylandsadjacenttoParis,therewereshelteredfromtheweatherthatveryday, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, androostedinbypoultry,whichtheFarmer,Death,hadalreadysetaparttobehistumbrilsof theRevolution.But thatWoodmanand thatFarmer, though theyworkunceasingly,work silently, and no one heard themas theywent aboutwithmuffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion thattheywereawake,wastobeatheisticalandtraitorous.InEngland,therewasscarcelyanamountoforderandprotectiontojustifymuch national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highwayrobberies, tookplace in the capital itself everynight; familieswerepubliclycautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture toupholsterers'warehousesforsecurity;thehighwaymaninthedarkwasaCitytradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesmanwhomhestopped inhischaracterof"theCaptain,"gallantlyshothimthroughtheheadandrodeaway;themailwaswaylaidbysevenrobbers,and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the otherfour,"inconsequenceofthefailureofhisammunition:"afterwhichthemailwasrobbedinpeace;thatmagnificentpotentate, theLordMayorofLondon,wasmadetostandanddeliveronTurnhamGreen,byonehighwayman,whodespoiledtheillustriouscreatureinsightofallhisretinue;prisonersinLondongaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law firedblunderbusses in among them, loadedwith rounds of shot and ball; thievessnippedoffdiamondcrossesfromthenecksofnoblelordsatCourtdrawing-rooms;musketeerswent intoSt.Giles's, tosearchforcontrabandgoods,andthemob fired on themusketeers, and themusketeers fired on themob, andnobodythoughtanyoftheseoccurrencesmuchoutofthecommonway.Inthemidst of them, thehangman, ever busy and everworse thanuseless,was inconstantrequisition;now,stringinguplongrowsofmiscellaneouscriminals;now, hanging a housebreaker onSaturdaywho had been taken onTuesday;now,burningpeople in thehandatNewgateby thedozen,andnowburningpamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of anatrociousmurderer, and to-morrowof awretchedpilfererwhohad robbedafarmer'sboyofsixpence.Allthesethings,andathousandlikethem,cametopassinandcloseuponthedearoldyearonethousandsevenhundredandseventy-five.Environedbythem,whiletheWoodmanandtheFarmerworkedunheeded,thosetwoofthelarge jaws,and thoseother twoof theplainand the fair faces, trodwithstirenough,andcarriedtheirdivinerightswithahighhand.Thusdidtheyearone

thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, andmyriadsofsmallcreatures—thecreaturesof thischronicleamong the rest—alongtheroadsthatlaybeforethem.

TheMail

ItwastheDoverroadthatlay,onaFridaynightlateinNovember,beforethefirstofthepersonswithwhomthishistoryhasbusiness.TheDoverroadlay, as to him, beyond theDovermail, as it lumberedupShooter'sHill.Hewalkeduphillinthemirebythesideofthemail,astherestofthepassengersdid; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under thecircumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and themail,wereallsoheavy,thatthehorseshadthreetimesalreadycometoastop,besidesoncedrawing thecoachacross the road,with themutinous intentoftaking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard,however,incombination,hadreadthatarticleofwarwhichforbadeapurposeotherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals areenduedwithReason;andtheteamhadcapitulatedandreturnedtotheirduty.Withdroopingheadsand tremulous tails, theymashed theirway throughthe thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they werefalling to pieces at the larger joints.As often as the driver rested them andbrought them to a stand,with awary "Wo-ho! so-ho-then!" the near leaderviolentlyshookhisheadandeverythinguponit—likeanunusuallyemphatichorse, denying that the coach couldbegot up thehill.Whenever the leadermadethisrattle,thepassengerstarted,asanervouspassengermight,andwasdisturbedinmind.There was a steamingmist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in itsforlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. Aclammyandintenselycoldmist,itmadeitsslowwaythroughtheairinripplesthat visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of anunwholesomeseamightdo.Itwasdenseenoughtoshutouteverythingfromthe lightof thecoach-lampsbut these itsownworkings, anda fewyardsofroad;andthereekofthelabouringhorsessteamedintoit,asiftheyhadmadeitall.Twoother passengers, besides the one,were ploddingup the hill by thesideofthemail.Allthreewerewrappedtothecheekbonesandovertheears,andworejack-boots.Notoneofthethreecouldhavesaid,fromanythinghesaw,whateitheroftheothertwowaslike;andeachwashiddenunderalmostasmanywrappersfromtheeyesofthemind,asfromtheeyesofthebody,ofhis two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of beingconfidentialonashortnotice,foranybodyontheroadmightbearobberorin

leaguewithrobbers.Astothelatter,wheneveryposting-houseandale-housecouldproducesomebodyin"theCaptain's"pay,rangingfromthelandlordtotheloweststablenon-descript,itwasthelikeliestthinguponthecards.Sotheguardof theDovermail thought to himself, thatFridaynight inNovember,onethousandsevenhundredandseventy-five,lumberingupShooter'sHill,ashe stood on his own particular perch behind themail, beating his feet, andkeeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loadedblunderbusslayatthetopofsixoreightloadedhorse-pistols,depositedonasubstratumofcutlass.TheDovermailwas in itsusualgenialposition that theguardsuspectedthepassengers, thepassengers suspectedoneanotherand theguard, theyallsuspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but thehorses;astowhichcattlehecouldwithaclearconsciencehavetakenhisoathonthetwoTestamentsthattheywerenotfitforthejourney."Wo-ho!"said thecoachman."So, then!Onemorepullandyou'reat thetopandbedamnedtoyou,forIhavehadtroubleenoughtogetyoutoit!—Joe!""Halloa!"theguardreplied."Whato'clockdoyoumakeit,Joe?""Tenminutes,good,pasteleven.""My blood!" ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shooter'syet!Tst!Yah!Getonwithyou!"The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative,madeadecidedscrambleforit,andthethreeotherhorsesfollowedsuit.Oncemore, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengerssquashingalongby its side.Theyhad stoppedwhen thecoach stopped, andtheykeptclosecompanywithit.Ifanyoneofthethreehadhadthehardihoodtoproposetoanothertowalkonalittleaheadintothemistanddarkness,hewould have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as ahighwayman.Thelastburstcarriedthemailtothesummitofthehill.Thehorsesstoppedtobreatheagain,andtheguardgotdowntoskidthewheelforthedescent,andopenthecoach-doortoletthepassengersin."Tst!Joe!"criedthecoachmaninawarningvoice,lookingdownfromhisbox."Whatdoyousay,Tom?"Theybothlistened."Isayahorseatacantercomingup,Joe.""Isayahorseatagallop,Tom,"returnedtheguard,leavinghisholdofthedoor,andmountingnimblytohisplace."Gentlemen!Intheking'sname,allof

you!"Withthishurriedadjuration,hecockedhisblunderbuss,andstoodontheoffensive.Thepassengerbookedby this history,wason the coach-step, getting in;the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. Heremainedonthestep,half inthecoachandhalfoutof; theyremainedintheroadbelowhim.Theyall looked from thecoachman to theguard,and fromtheguardto thecoachman,andlistened.Thecoachmanlookedbackandtheguard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears andlookedback,withoutcontradicting.Thestillnessconsequentonthecessationoftherumblingandlabouringofthecoach,added to thestillnessof thenight,made itveryquiet indeed.Thepantingofthehorsescommunicatedatremulousmotiontothecoach,asifitwere in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enoughperhapstobeheard;butatanyrate,thequietpausewasaudiblyexpressiveofpeopleoutofbreath,andholdingthebreath,andhavingthepulsesquickenedbyexpectation.Thesoundofahorseatagallopcamefastandfuriouslyupthehill."So-ho!"theguardsangout,asloudashecouldroar."Yothere!Stand!Ishallfire!"The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing andfloundering,aman'svoicecalledfromthemist,"IsthattheDovermail?""Neveryoumindwhatitis!"theguardretorted."Whatareyou?""IsthattheDovermail?""Whydoyouwanttoknow?""Iwantapassenger,ifitis.""Whatpassenger?""Mr.JarvisLorry."Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. Theguard,thecoachman,andthetwootherpassengerseyedhimdistrustfully."Keepwhereyouare,"theguardcalledtothevoiceinthemist,"because,if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime.GentlemanofthenameofLorryanswerstraight.""What is the matter?" asked the passenger, then, with mildly quaveringspeech."Whowantsme?IsitJerry?"("I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry," growled the guard to himself."He'shoarserthansuitsme,isJerry.")"Yes,Mr.Lorry."

"Whatisthematter?""Adespatchsentafteryoufromoveryonder.T.andCo.""Iknowthismessenger,guard,"saidMr.Lorry,gettingdownintotheroad—assistedfrombehindmoreswiftlythanpolitelybytheothertwopassengers,who immediately scrambled into thecoach, shut thedoor,andpulledup thewindow."Hemaycomeclose;there'snothingwrong.""Ihopethereain't,butIcan'tmakeso'Nationsureofthat,"saidtheguard,ingruffsoliloquy."Halloyou!""Well!Andhalloyou!"saidJerry,morehoarselythanbefore."Comeonatafootpace!d'yemindme?Andifyou'vegotholsterstothatsaddleo'yourn,don't letmeseeyourhandgonigh 'em.ForI'madevilataquickmistake,andwhenImakeone it takes theformofLead.Sonowlet'slookatyou."Thefiguresofahorseandridercameslowlythroughtheeddyingmist,andcame to the side of themail,where the passenger stood.The rider stooped,and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small foldedpaper. The rider's horsewas blown, and both horse and riderwere coveredwithmud,fromthehoofsofthehorsetothehatoftheman."Guard!"saidthepassenger,inatoneofquietbusinessconfidence.The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raisedblunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answeredcurtly,"Sir.""There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank. You mustknowTellson'sBankinLondon.IamgoingtoParisonbusiness.Acrowntodrink.Imayreadthis?""Ifsobeasyou'requick,sir."Heopeneditinthelightofthecoach-lamponthatside,andread—firsttohimselfandthenaloud:"'WaitatDoverforMam'selle.'It'snotlong,yousee,guard.Jerry,saythatmyanswerwas,RECALLEDTOLIFE."Jerrystartedinhissaddle."That'saBlazingstrangeanswer,too,"saidhe,athishoarsest."Takethatmessageback,andtheywillknowthatIreceivedthis,aswellasifIwrote.Makethebestofyourway.Goodnight."Withthosewordsthepassengeropenedthecoach-doorandgotin;notatall assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted theirwatchesandpursesintheirboots,andwerenowmakingageneralpretenceofbeing asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the hazard oforiginatinganyotherkindofaction.Thecoachlumberedonagain,withheavierwreathsofmistclosinground

itasitbeganthedescent.Theguardsoonreplacedhisblunderbussinhisarm-chest,and,havinglookedtotherestofitscontents,andhavinglookedtothesupplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chestbeneathhisseat,inwhichtherewereafewsmith'stools,acoupleoftorches,and a tinder-box. For he was furnished with that completeness that if thecoach-lampshadbeenblownandstormedout,whichdidoccasionallyhappen,hehadonlytoshuthimselfupinside,keeptheflintandsteelsparkswelloffthestraw,andgeta lightwithtolerablesafetyandease(ifhewerelucky)infiveminutes."Tom!"softlyoverthecoachroof."Hallo,Joe.""Didyouhearthemessage?""Idid,Joe.""Whatdidyoumakeofit,Tom?""Nothingatall,Joe.""That's a coincidence, too," theguardmused, "for Imade the sameof itmyself."Jerry,leftaloneinthemistanddarkness,dismountedmeanwhile,notonlytoeasehisspenthorse,buttowipethemudfromhisface,andshakethewetout of his hat-brim,whichmight be capable of holding about half a gallon.Afterstandingwiththebridleoverhisheavily-splashedarm,untilthewheelsofthemailwerenolongerwithinhearingandthenightwasquitestillagain,heturnedtowalkdownthehill."AfterthattheregallopfromTempleBar,oldlady,Iwon'ttrustyourfore-legs till I get you on the level," said this hoarsemessenger, glancing at hismare. "'Recalled to life.' That's a Blazing strange message. Much of thatwouldn't do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You'd be in a Blazing bad way, ifrecallingtolifewastocomeintofashion,Jerry!"

TheNightShadows

Awonderfulfacttoreflectupon,thateveryhumancreatureisconstitutedtobethatprofoundsecretandmysterytoeveryother.Asolemnconsideration,when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clusteredhousesenclosesitsownsecret;thateveryroomineveryoneofthemenclosesitsownsecret;thateverybeatingheartinthehundredsofthousandsofbreaststhere,is,insomeofitsimaginings,asecrettotheheartnearestit!Somethingoftheawfulness,evenofDeathitself,isreferabletothis.NomorecanIturntheleavesofthisdearbookthatIloved,andvainlyhopeintimetoreaditall.

Nomore can I look into the depths of this unfathomablewater,wherein, asmomentarylightsglancedintoit, Ihavehadglimpsesofburiedtreasureandother things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with aspring,foreverandforever,whenIhadreadbutapage.Itwasappointedthatthewatershouldbelockedinaneternalfrost,whenthelightwasplayingonits surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, myneighbourisdead,mylove,thedarlingofmysoul,isdead;itistheinexorableconsolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in thatindividuality,andwhich I shallcarry inmine tomy life'send. Inanyof theburial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper moreinscrutablethanitsbusyinhabitantsare,intheirinnermostpersonality,tome,orthanIamtothem?Astothis,hisnaturalandnottobealienatedinheritance,themessengeronhorsebackhadexactlythesamepossessionsastheKing,thefirstMinisterofState,ortherichestmerchantinLondon.Sowiththethreepassengersshutupinthenarrowcompassofonelumberingoldmailcoach;theyweremysteriestooneanother,ascompleteasifeachhadbeeninhisowncoachandsix,orhis owncoach and sixty,with thebreadthof a countybetweenhimand thenext.The messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at ale-housesbythewaytodrink,butevincingatendencytokeephisowncounsel,andtokeephishatcockedoverhiseyes.Hehadeyesthatassortedverywellwiththatdecoration,beingofasurfaceblack,withnodepthinthecolourorform,andmuchtooneartogether—asiftheywereafraidofbeingfoundoutinsomething, singly, if theykept too far apart.Theyhad a sinister expression,under an old cocked-hat like a three-cornered spittoon, and over a greatmufflerforthechinandthroat,whichdescendednearlytothewearer'sknees.When he stopped for drink, hemoved thismuffler with his left hand, onlywhile he poured his liquor in with his right; as soon as that was done, hemuffledagain."No,Jerry,no!"saidthemessenger,harpingononethemeasherode."Itwouldn'tdoforyou,Jerry.Jerry,youhonest tradesman, itwouldn'tsuityourlineofbusiness!Recalled—!BustmeifIdon'tthinkhe'dbeenadrinking!"Hismessage perplexedhismind to that degree that hewas fain, severaltimes,totakeoffhishattoscratchhishead.Exceptonthecrown,whichwasraggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, andgrowingdownhillalmosttohisbroad,bluntnose.ItwassolikeSmith'swork,somuchmorelikethetopofastronglyspikedwall thanaheadofhair, thatthe best of players at leap-frog might have declined him, as the mostdangerousmanintheworldtogoover.While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the nightwatchmaninhisboxatthedoorofTellson'sBank,byTempleBar,whowastodeliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night took such

shapestohimasaroseoutofthemessage,andtooksuchshapestothemareasaroseoutofherprivatetopicsofuneasiness.Theyseemedtobenumerous,forsheshiedateveryshadowontheroad.Whattime,themail-coachlumbered,jolted,rattled,andbumpeduponitstediousway,withitsthreefellow-inscrutablesinside.Towhom,likewise,theshadowsofthenightrevealedthemselves,intheformstheirdozingeyesandwanderingthoughtssuggested.Tellson'sBankhadarunuponitinthemail.Asthebankpassenger—withanarmdrawnthroughtheleathernstrap,whichdidwhatlayinittokeephimfrom pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his corner,whenever the coach got a special jolt—nodded in his place, with half-shuteyes, the little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly gleaming throughthem,andthebulkybundleofoppositepassenger,becamethebank,anddidagreatstrokeofbusiness.Therattleoftheharnesswasthechinkofmoney,andmore drafts were honoured in fiveminutes than even Tellson's, with all itsforeign andhome connection, ever paid in thrice the time.Then the strong-roomsunderground,atTellson's,withsuchoftheirvaluablestoresandsecretsaswere known to the passenger (and itwas not a little that he knew aboutthem),openedbeforehim,andhewentinamongthemwiththegreatkeysandthe feebly-burning candle, and found them safe, and strong, and sound, andstill,justashehadlastseenthem.But, thoughthebankwasalmostalwayswithhim,andthoughthecoach(inaconfusedway,likethepresenceofpainunderanopiate)wasalwayswithhim, there was another current of impression that never ceased to run, allthroughthenight.Hewasonhiswaytodigsomeoneoutofagrave.Now,whichofthemultitudeoffacesthatshowedthemselvesbeforehimwas the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did notindicate;buttheywereall thefacesofamanoffive-and-fortybyyears,andtheydifferedprincipallyinthepassionstheyexpressed,andintheghastlinessof their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness,submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so did varieties of sunkencheek,cadaverouscolour,emaciatedhandsandfigures.Butthefacewasinthemainone face, and everyheadwasprematurelywhite.Ahundred times thedozingpassengerinquiredofthisspectre:"Buriedhowlong?"Theanswerwasalwaysthesame:"Almosteighteenyears.""Youhadabandonedallhopeofbeingdugout?""Longago.""Youknowthatyouarerecalledtolife?""Theytellmeso.""Ihopeyoucaretolive?"

"Ican'tsay.""ShallIshowhertoyou?Willyoucomeandseeher?"The answers to this questionwere various and contradictory.Sometimesthe broken reply was, "Wait! It would kill me if I saw her too soon."Sometimes,itwasgiveninatenderrainoftears,andthenitwas,"Takemetoher."Sometimesitwasstaringandbewildered,andthenitwas,"Idon'tknowher.Idon'tunderstand."Aftersuchimaginarydiscourse,thepassengerinhisfancywoulddig,anddig,dig—nowwithaspade,nowwithagreatkey,nowwithhishands—todigthiswretchedcreatureout.Gotoutat last,withearthhangingabouthis faceandhair,hewouldsuddenlyfanawaytodust.Thepassengerwouldthenstartto himself, and lower thewindow, to get the reality ofmist and rain on hischeek.Yetevenwhenhiseyeswereopenedonthemistandrain,onthemovingpatchoflightfromthelamps,andthehedgeattheroadsideretreatingbyjerks,the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the train of the nightshadowswithin.TherealBanking-housebyTempleBar,therealbusinessofthepastday,therealstrongrooms,therealexpresssentafterhim,andtherealmessage returned,would all be there.Out of themidst of them, the ghostlyfacewouldrise,andhewouldaccostitagain."Buriedhowlong?""Almosteighteenyears.""Ihopeyoucaretolive?""Ican'tsay."Dig—dig—dig—until an impatient movement from one of the twopassengerswouldadmonishhimtopullupthewindow,drawhisarmsecurelythroughtheleathernstrap,andspeculateuponthetwoslumberingforms,untilhismindlostitsholdofthem,andtheyagainslidawayintothebankandthegrave."Buriedhowlong?""Almosteighteenyears.""Youhadabandonedallhopeofbeingdugout?""Longago."The words were still in his hearing as just spoken—distinctly in hishearingaseverspokenwordshadbeeninhislife—whenthewearypassengerstarted to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the shadows of thenightweregone.He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was aridgeofploughedland,withaploughuponitwhereithadbeenleftlastnight

whenthehorseswereunyoked;beyond,aquietcoppice-wood,inwhichmanyleavesofburningredandgoldenyellowstillremaineduponthetrees.Thoughtheearthwascoldandwet,theskywasclear,andthesunrosebright,placid,andbeautiful."Eighteenyears!"saidthepassenger,lookingatthesun."GraciousCreatorofday!Tobeburiedaliveforeighteenyears!"

ThePreparation

WhenthemailgotsuccessfullytoDover,inthecourseoftheforenoon,theheaddrawerattheRoyalGeorgeHotelopenedthecoach-doorashiscustomwas. He did it with some flourish of ceremony, for a mail journey fromLondoninwinterwasanachievementtocongratulateanadventuroustravellerupon.By that time, there was only one adventurous traveller left becongratulated: for the two others had been set down at their respectiveroadside destinations. The mildewy inside of the coach, with its damp anddirty straw, its disagreeable smell, and its obscurity,was rather like a largerdog-kennel.Mr. Lorry, the passenger, shaking himself out of it in chains ofstraw, a tangleof shaggywrapper, flappinghat, andmuddy legs,was ratherlikealargersortofdog."TherewillbeapackettoCalais,tomorrow,drawer?""Yes,sir,iftheweatherholdsandthewindsetstolerablefair.Thetidewillserveprettynicelyatabouttwointheafternoon,sir.Bed,sir?""Ishallnotgotobedtillnight;butIwantabedroom,andabarber.""And then breakfast, sir? Yes, sir. That way, sir, if you please. ShowConcord!Gentleman'svaliseandhotwater toConcord.Pulloffgentleman'sboots in Concord. (You will find a fine sea-coal fire, sir.) Fetch barber toConcord.Stiraboutthere,now,forConcord!"The Concord bed-chamber being always assigned to a passenger by themail,andpassengersbythemailbeingalwaysheavilywrappedupfromheadto foot, the room had the odd interest for the establishment of the RoyalGeorge,thatalthoughbutonekindofmanwasseentogointoit,allkindsandvarietiesofmencameoutofit.Consequently,anotherdrawer,andtwoporters,andseveralmaidsand the landlady,wereall loiteringbyaccidentatvariouspoints of the road between the Concord and the coffee-room, when agentleman of sixty, formally dressed in a brown suit of clothes, prettywellworn,butverywellkept,withlargesquarecuffsandlargeflapstothepockets,passedalongonhiswaytohisbreakfast.

Thecoffee-roomhadnootheroccupant,thatforenoon,thanthegentlemaninbrown.Hisbreakfast-tablewasdrawnbeforethefire,andashesat,withitslightshiningonhim,waitingforthemeal,hesatsostill, thathemighthavebeensittingforhisportrait.Veryorderlyandmethodicalhe looked,withahandoneachknee,andaloudwatchtickingasonoroussermonunderhisflappedwaist-coat,asthoughit pitted its gravity and longevity against the levity and evanescence of thebrisk fire. He had a good leg, and was a little vain of it, for his brownstockings fitted sleek and close, and were of a fine texture; his shoes andbuckles,too,thoughplain,weretrim.Heworeanoddlittlesleekcrispflaxenwig,settingveryclosetohishead:whichwig,itistobepresumed,wasmadeofhair,butwhich lookedfarmoreas though itwerespunfromfilamentsofsilk or glass. His linen, though not of a fineness in accordance with hisstockings, was as white as the tops of the waves that broke upon theneighbouringbeach,orthespecksofsailthatglintedinthesunlightfaratsea.Afacehabituallysuppressedandquieted,wasstilllightedupunderthequaintwigbyapairofmoistbrighteyesthatitmusthavecosttheirowner,inyearsgone by, some pains to drill to the composed and reserved expression ofTellson'sBank.He had a healthy colour in his cheeks, and his face, thoughlined,borefewtracesofanxiety.But,perhapstheconfidentialbachelorclerksinTellson'sBankwereprincipallyoccupiedwiththecaresofotherpeople;andperhapssecond-handcares,likesecond-handclothes,comeeasilyoffandon.Completinghisresemblancetoamanwhowassittingforhisportrait,Mr.Lorrydroppedofftosleep.Thearrivalofhisbreakfastrousedhim,andhesaidtothedrawer,ashemovedhischairtoit:"Iwishaccommodationpreparedforayoungladywhomaycomehereatanytimeto-day.ShemayaskforMr.JarvisLorry,orshemayonlyaskforagentlemanfromTellson'sBank.Pleasetoletmeknow.""Yes,sir.Tellson'sBankinLondon,sir?""Yes.""Yes, sir.We have oftentimes the honour to entertain your gentlemen intheirtravellingbackwardsandforwardsbetwixtLondonandParis,sir.Avastdealoftravelling,sir,inTellsonandCompany'sHouse.""Yes.WearequiteaFrenchHouse,aswellasanEnglishone.""Yes,sir.Notmuchinthehabitofsuchtravellingyourself,Ithink,sir?""Not of late years. It is fifteenyears sincewe—since I—came last fromFrance.""Indeed,sir?Thatwasbeforemytimehere,sir.Beforeourpeople's timehere,sir.TheGeorgewasinotherhandsatthattime,sir.""Ibelieveso."

"But I would hold a pretty wager, sir, that a House like Tellson andCompanywasflourishing,amatteroffifty,nottospeakoffifteenyearsago?""Youmighttreblethat,andsayahundredandfifty,yetnotbefarfromthetruth.""Indeed,sir!"Roundinghismouthandbothhiseyes,ashesteppedbackwardfromthetable,thewaitershiftedhisnapkinfromhisrightarmtohisleft,droppedintoacomfortableattitude,andstoodsurveyingtheguestwhileheateanddrank,asfromanobservatoryorwatchtower.Accordingtotheimmemorialusageofwaitersinallages.WhenMr.Lorryhadfinishedhisbreakfast,hewentoutforastrollonthebeach. The little narrow, crooked town of Dover hid itself away from thebeach,andranitsheadintothechalkcliffs,likeamarineostrich.Thebeachwasadesertofheapsofseaandstonestumblingwildlyabout,andtheseadidwhatitliked,andwhatitlikedwasdestruction.Itthunderedatthetown,andthunderedatthecliffs,andbroughtthecoastdown,madly.Theairamongthehouseswasofsostrongapiscatoryflavourthatonemighthavesupposedsickfishwentuptobedippedinit,assickpeoplewentdowntobedippedinthesea.Alittlefishingwasdoneintheport,andaquantityofstrollingaboutbynight, and looking seaward: particularly at those timeswhen the tidemade,and was near flood. Small tradesmen, who did no business whatever,sometimesunaccountably realised large fortunes, and itwas remarkable thatnobodyintheneighbourhoodcouldendurealamplighter.As the day declined into the afternoon, and the air, which had been atintervals clear enough to allow the French coast to be seen, became againcharged with mist and vapour, Mr. Lorry's thoughts seemed to cloud too.Whenitwasdark,andhesatbeforethecoffee-roomfire,awaitinghisdinnerashehadawaitedhisbreakfast,hismindwasbusilydigging,digging,digging,intheliveredcoals.Abottleofgoodclaretafterdinnerdoesadiggerintheredcoalsnoharm,otherwisethanasithasatendencytothrowhimoutofwork.Mr.Lorryhadbeenidlealongtime,andhadjustpouredouthislastglassfulofwinewithascomplete an appearance of satisfaction as is ever to be found in an elderlygentlemanofa freshcomplexionwhohasgot to theendofabottle,whenarattlingofwheelscameupthenarrowstreet,andrumbledintotheinn-yard.Hesetdownhisglassuntouched."ThisisMam'selle!"saidhe.Inaveryfewminutes thewaitercamein toannouncethatMissManettehad arrived from London, and would be happy to see the gentleman fromTellson's."Sosoon?"MissManettehadtakensomerefreshmentontheroad,andrequirednone

then, and was extremely anxious to see the gentleman from Tellson'simmediately,ifitsuitedhispleasureandconvenience.ThegentlemanfromTellson'shadnothingleftforitbuttoemptyhisglasswithanairofstoliddesperation,settlehisoddlittleflaxenwigattheears,andfollow the waiter to Miss Manette's apartment. It was a large, dark room,furnished in a funerealmannerwith blackhorsehair, and loadedwith heavydarktables.Thesehadbeenoiledandoiled,until thetwotallcandlesonthetable in themiddleof the roomweregloomily reflectedon every leaf; as iftheywereburied,indeepgravesofblackmahogany,andnolighttospeakofcouldbeexpectedfromthemuntiltheyweredugout.TheobscuritywassodifficulttopenetratethatMr.Lorry,pickinghiswayover the well-worn Turkey carpet, supposed Miss Manette to be, for themoment,insomeadjacentroom,until,havinggotpastthetwotallcandles,hesawstandingtoreceivehimbythetablebetweenthemandthefire,ayoungladyofnotmorethanseventeen,inariding-cloak,andstillholdingherstrawtravelling-hatbyitsribboninherhand.Ashiseyesrestedonashort,slight,pretty figure,aquantityofgoldenhair,apairofblueeyes thatmethisownwithaninquiringlook,andaforeheadwithasingularcapacity(rememberinghowyoungandsmoothitwas),ofriftingandknittingitselfintoanexpressionthatwasnotquiteoneofperplexity,orwonder,oralarm,ormerelyofabrightfixedattention,thoughitincludedallthefourexpressions—ashiseyesrestedonthesethings,asuddenvividlikenesspassedbeforehim,ofachildwhomhehadheldinhisarmsonthepassageacrossthatveryChannel,onecoldtime,whenthehaildriftedheavilyandthesearanhigh.Thelikenesspassedaway,likeabreathalongthesurfaceofthegauntpier-glassbehindher,ontheframeof which, a hospital procession of negro cupids, several headless and allcripples,wereofferingblackbasketsofDeadSea fruit toblackdivinitiesofthefemininegender—andhemadehisformalbowtoMissManette."Pray take a seat, sir." In a very clear and pleasant young voice; a littleforeigninitsaccent,butaverylittleindeed."I kiss your hand,miss," saidMr. Lorry,with themanners of an earlierdate,ashemadehisformalbowagain,andtookhisseat."IreceivedaletterfromtheBank,sir,yesterday,informingmethatsomeintelligence—ordiscovery—""Thewordisnotmaterial,miss;eitherwordwilldo.""—respectingthesmallpropertyofmypoorfather,whomIneversaw—solongdead—"Mr.Lorrymovedinhischair,andcastatroubledlooktowardsthehospitalprocession of negro cupids. As if they had any help for anybody in theirabsurdbaskets!"—rendered it necessary that I shouldgo toParis, there to communicate

with a gentleman of theBank, so good as to be despatched toParis for thepurpose.""Myself.""AsIwaspreparedtohear,sir."Shecurtseyed tohim(young ladiesmadecurtseys in thosedays),withaprettydesiretoconveytohimthatshefelthowmucholderandwiserhewasthanshe.Hemadeheranotherbow."I replied to theBank, sir, that as itwas considered necessary, by thosewhoknow,andwhoaresokindas toadviseme, thatIshouldgotoFrance,andthatasIamanorphanandhavenofriendwhocouldgowithme,Ishouldesteem ithighly if Imightbepermitted toplacemyself,during the journey,underthatworthygentleman'sprotection.ThegentlemanhadleftLondon,butIthinkamessengerwassentafterhimtobegthefavourofhiswaitingformehere.""Iwashappy,"saidMr.Lorry,"tobeentrustedwiththecharge.Ishallbemorehappytoexecuteit.""Sir,Ithankyouindeed.Ithankyouverygratefully.ItwastoldmebytheBankthatthegentlemanwouldexplaintomethedetailsofthebusiness,andthatImustpreparemyselftofindthemofasurprisingnature.Ihavedonemybesttopreparemyself,andInaturallyhaveastrongandeagerinteresttoknowwhattheyare.""Naturally,"saidMr.Lorry."Yes—I—"Afterapause,headded,againsettlingthecrispflaxenwigattheears,"Itisverydifficulttobegin."He did not begin, but, in his indecision, met her glance. The youngforehead lifted itself into that singular expression—but it was pretty andcharacteristic,besidesbeingsingular—andsheraisedherhand,as ifwithaninvoluntaryactionshecaughtat,orstayedsomepassingshadow."Areyouquiteastrangertome,sir?""Am I not?"Mr. Lorry opened his hands, and extended them outwardswithanargumentativesmile.Between the eyebrows and just over the little feminine nose, the line ofwhich was as delicate and fine as it was possible to be, the expressiondeepeneditselfasshetookherseatthoughtfullyinthechairbywhichshehadhithertoremainedstanding.Hewatchedherasshemused,andthemomentsheraisedhereyesagain,wenton:"Inyouradoptedcountry,Ipresume,IcannotdobetterthanaddressyouasayoungEnglishlady,MissManette?""Ifyouplease,sir."

"MissManette,Iamamanofbusiness.Ihaveabusinesschargetoacquitmyself of. In your reception of it, don't heedme anymore than if I was aspeakingmachine—truly,Iamnotmuchelse.Iwill,withyourleave,relatetoyou,miss,thestoryofoneofourcustomers.""Story!"Heseemedwilfullytomistakethewordshehadrepeated,whenheadded,in a hurry, "Yes, customers; in the banking business we usually call ourconnectionourcustomers.HewasaFrenchgentleman;ascientificgentleman;amanofgreatacquirements—aDoctor.""NotofBeauvais?""Why, yes, of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, thegentleman was of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, thegentlemanwasofreputeinParis.Ihadthehonourofknowinghimthere.Ourrelationswere business relations, but confidential. I was at that time in ourFrenchHouse,andhadbeen—oh!twentyyears.""Atthattime—Imayask,atwhattime,sir?""Ispeak,miss,oftwentyyearsago.Hemarried—anEnglishlady—andIwas one of the trustees. His affairs, like the affairs of many other FrenchgentlemenandFrenchfamilies,wereentirely inTellson'shands. Inasimilarway I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or other for scores of ourcustomers.Thesearemerebusiness relations,miss; there isno friendship inthem,noparticularinterest,nothinglikesentiment.Ihavepassedfromonetoanother, in the course of my business life, just as I pass from one of ourcustomers to another in the course ofmy business day; in short, I have nofeelings;Iamameremachine.Togoon—""But this is my father's story, sir; and I begin to think"—the curiouslyroughened forehead was very intent upon him—"that when I was left anorphan throughmymother's survivingmy fatheronly twoyears, itwasyouwhobroughtmetoEngland.Iamalmostsureitwasyou."Mr.Lorrytookthehesitatinglittlehandthatconfidinglyadvancedtotakehis,andheputitwithsomeceremonytohislips.Hethenconductedtheyoungladystraightway toherchairagain,and,holding thechair-backwithhis lefthand,andusinghisrightbyturnstorubhischin,pullhiswigattheears,orpointwhathesaid,stoodlookingdownintoherfacewhileshesatlookingupintohis."MissManette,itwasI.AndyouwillseehowtrulyIspokeofmyselfjustnow, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold with myfellow-creatures are mere business relations, when you reflect that I haveneverseenyousince.No;youhavebeen thewardofTellson'sHousesince,and I have been busy with the other business of Tellson's House since.Feelings! Ihaveno timefor them,nochanceof them.Ipassmywhole life,

miss,inturninganimmensepecuniaryMangle."After thisodddescriptionofhisdaily routineof employment,Mr.Lorryflattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which was mostunnecessary,fornothingcouldbeflatterthanitsshiningsurfacewasbefore),andresumedhisformerattitude."So far,miss (as you have remarked), this is the story of your regrettedfather.Nowcomesthedifference.Ifyourfatherhadnotdiedwhenhedid—Don'tbefrightened!Howyoustart!"Shedid,indeed,start.Andshecaughthiswristwithbothherhands."Pray,"saidMr.Lorry,inasoothingtone,bringinghislefthandfromthebackof thechair to lay iton the supplicatory fingers that claspedhim in soviolentatremble:"praycontrolyouragitation—amatterofbusiness.AsIwassaying—"Herlooksodiscomposedhimthathestopped,wandered,andbegananew:"As Iwas saying; ifMonsieurManettehadnotdied; ifhehad suddenlyand silently disappeared; if he had been spirited away; if it had not beendifficulttoguesstowhatdreadfulplace,thoughnoartcouldtracehim;ifhehadanenemyinsomecompatriotwhocouldexerciseaprivilegethatIinmyown time have known the boldest people afraid to speak of in a whisper,acrossthewaterthere;forinstance,theprivilegeoffillingupblankformsfortheconsignmentofanyonetotheoblivionofaprisonforanylengthoftime;if his wife had implored the king, the queen, the court, the clergy, for anytidingsofhim, andall quite invain;—then thehistoryofyour fatherwouldhavebeenthehistoryofthisunfortunategentleman,theDoctorofBeauvais.""Ientreatyoutotellmemore,sir.""Iwill.Iamgoingto.Youcanbearit?""Icanbearanythingbuttheuncertaintyyouleavemeinatthismoment.""Youspeakcollectedly,andyou—arecollected.That'sgood!"(Thoughhismannerwaslesssatisfiedthanhiswords.)"Amatterofbusiness.Regarditasamatterofbusiness—business thatmustbedone.Nowif thisdoctor'swife,thoughaladyofgreatcourageandspirit,hadsufferedsointenselyfromthiscausebeforeherlittlechildwasborn—""Thelittlechildwasadaughter,sir.""Adaughter.A-a-matterofbusiness—don'tbedistressed.Miss,ifthepoorladyhadsufferedsointenselybeforeherlittlechildwasborn,thatshecametothedeterminationofsparingthepoorchild the inheritanceofanypartof theagonyshehadknownthepainsof,byrearingherinthebeliefthatherfatherwasdead—No,don'tkneel!InHeaven'snamewhyshouldyoukneeltome!""Forthetruth.Odear,good,compassionatesir,forthetruth!"

"A—a matter of business. You confuse me, and how can I transactbusinessifIamconfused?Letusbeclear-headed.Ifyoucouldkindlymentionnow, for instance,what nine times ninepence are, or howmany shillings intwentyguineas,itwouldbesoencouraging.Ishouldbesomuchmoreatmyeaseaboutyourstateofmind."Withoutdirectlyansweringtothisappeal,shesatsostillwhenhehadverygentlyraisedher,andthehandsthathadnotceasedtoclasphiswristsweresomuch more steady than they had been, that she communicated somereassurancetoMr.JarvisLorry."That's right, that's right. Courage! Business! You have business beforeyou; useful business.MissManette, yourmother took this coursewith you.Andwhen she died—I believe broken-hearted—having never slackened herunavailingsearchforyourfather,sheleftyou,attwoyearsold,togrowtobeblooming,beautiful,andhappy,withoutthedarkclouduponyouoflivinginuncertaintywhetheryour fathersoonworehisheartout inprison,orwastedtherethroughmanylingeringyears."As he said the words he looked down, with an admiring pity, on theflowing golden hair; as if he pictured to himself that it might have beenalreadytingedwithgrey."Youknowthatyourparentshadnogreatpossession,andthatwhattheyhadwassecuredtoyourmotherandtoyou.Therehasbeennonewdiscovery,ofmoney,orofanyotherproperty;but—"He felt his wrist held closer, and he stopped. The expression in theforehead,whichhad soparticularlyattractedhisnotice, andwhichwasnowimmovable,haddeepenedintooneofpainandhorror."But he has been—been found. He is alive. Greatly changed, it is tooprobable; almost awreck, it is possible; thoughwewill hope thebest.Still,alive.YourfatherhasbeentakentothehouseofanoldservantinParis,andwearegoingthere:I,toidentifyhimifIcan:you,torestorehimtolife,love,duty,rest,comfort."Ashiverranthroughherframe,andfromitthroughhis.Shesaid,inalow,distinct,awe-strickenvoice,asifsheweresayingitinadream,"IamgoingtoseehisGhost!ItwillbehisGhost—nothim!"Mr.Lorryquietlychafedthehandsthatheldhisarm."There,there,there!Seenow, see now!Thebest and theworst are known to you, now.You arewellonyourwaytothepoorwrongedgentleman,and,withafairseavoyage,andafairlandjourney,youwillbesoonathisdearside."Sherepeatedinthesametone,sunktoawhisper,"Ihavebeenfree,Ihavebeenhappy,yethisGhosthasneverhauntedme!""Only one thing more," said Mr. Lorry, laying stress upon it as awholesome means of enforcing her attention: "he has been found under

anothername;hisown, long forgottenor longconcealed. Itwouldbeworsethanuselessnowtoinquirewhich;worsethanuselesstoseektoknowwhetherhehasbeenforyearsoverlooked,oralwaysdesignedlyheldprisoner.Itwouldbe worse than useless now to make any inquiries, because it would bedangerous.Betternottomentionthesubject,anywhereorinanyway,andtoremove him—for a while at all events—out of France. Even I, safe as anEnglishman,andevenTellson's,importantastheyaretoFrenchcredit,avoidall naming of the matter. I carry about me, not a scrap of writing openlyreferringtoit.Thisisasecretservicealtogether.Mycredentials,entries,andmemoranda, are all comprehended in the one line, 'Recalled toLife;'whichmaymeananything.Butwhatisthematter!Shedoesn'tnoticeaword!MissManette!"Perfectly still and silent, and not even fallen back in her chair, she satunderhishand,utterlyinsensible;withhereyesopenandfixeduponhim,andwith that last expression looking as if it were carved or branded into herforehead.Soclosewasherholduponhisarm,thathefearedtodetachhimselflest he shouldhurt her; thereforehe calledout loudly for assistancewithoutmoving.Awild-lookingwoman,whomeveninhisagitation,Mr.Lorryobservedtobe all of a red colour, and to have red hair, and to be dressed in someextraordinarytight-fittingfashion,andtohaveonherheadamostwonderfulbonnet like aGrenadierwoodenmeasure, and goodmeasure too, or a greatStiltoncheese,camerunningintotheroominadvanceoftheinnservants,andsoon settled the question of his detachment from the poor young lady, bylayingabrawnyhanduponhischest,andsendinghimflyingbackagainstthenearestwall.("Ireallythinkthismustbeaman!"wasMr.Lorry'sbreathlessreflection,simultaneouslywithhiscomingagainstthewall.)"Why, look at you all!" bawled this figure, addressing the inn servants."Whydon'tyougoandfetchthings,insteadofstandingtherestaringatme?Iamnotsomuchtolookat,amI?Whydon'tyougoandfetchthings?I'll letyouknow,ifyoudon'tbringsmelling-salts,coldwater,andvinegar,quick,Iwill."Therewasanimmediatedispersalfortheserestoratives,andshesoftlylaidthepatientonasofa,andtendedherwithgreatskillandgentleness:callingher"myprecious!"and"mybird!"andspreadinghergoldenhairasideoverhershoulderswithgreatprideandcare."Andyouinbrown!"shesaid,indignantlyturningtoMr.Lorry;"couldn'tyoutellherwhatyouhadtotellher,withoutfrighteninghertodeath?Lookather,with her pretty pale face and her cold hands.Do you call that being aBanker?"Mr. Lorry was so exceedingly disconcerted by a question so hard to

answer,thathecouldonlylookon,atadistance,withmuchfeeblersympathyandhumility,whilethestrongwoman,havingbanishedtheinnservantsunderthe mysterious penalty of "letting them know" something not mentioned ifthey stayed there, staring, recovered her charge by a regular series ofgradations,andcoaxedhertolayherdroopingheaduponhershoulder."Ihopeshewilldowellnow,"saidMr.Lorry."Nothankstoyouinbrown,ifshedoes.Mydarlingpretty!""I hope," said Mr. Lorry, after another pause of feeble sympathy andhumility,"thatyouaccompanyMissManettetoFrance?""A likely thing, too!" replied the strongwoman. "If itwasever intendedthatIshouldgoacrosssaltwater,doyousupposeProvidencewouldhavecastmylotinanisland?"Thisbeinganotherquestionhardtoanswer,Mr.JarvisLorrywithdrewtoconsiderit.

TheWine-shop

A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken, in the street. Theaccidenthadhappenedingettingitoutofacart;thecaskhadtumbledoutwitharun,thehoopshadburst,anditlayonthestonesjustoutsidethedoorofthewine-shop,shatteredlikeawalnut-shell.Allthepeoplewithinreachhadsuspendedtheirbusiness,ortheiridleness,toruntothespotanddrinkthewine.Therough,irregularstonesofthestreet,pointingeveryway,anddesigned,onemighthavethought,expresslytolameall living creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little pools;theseweresurrounded,eachbyitsownjostlinggrouporcrowd,accordingtoitssize.Somemenkneeleddown,madescoopsoftheirtwohandsjoined,andsipped,or tried tohelpwomen,whobentover theirshoulders, tosip,beforethe wine had all run out between their fingers. Others, men and women,dippedinthepuddleswithlittlemugsofmutilatedearthenware,orevenwithhandkerchiefs from women's heads, which were squeezed dry into infants'mouths; others made small mud-embankments, to stem the wine as it ran;others,directedby lookers-onupathighwindows,dartedhereand there, tocut off little streams of wine that started away in new directions; othersdevotedthemselvestothesoddenandlee-dyedpiecesofthecask,licking,andevenchampingthemoisterwine-rottedfragmentswitheagerrelish.Therewasnodrainagetocarryoffthewine,andnotonlydiditallgettakenup,butsomuchmudgottakenupalongwithit,thattheremighthavebeenascavengerin the street, if anybody acquainted with it could have believed in such amiraculouspresence.

Ashrillsoundoflaughterandofamusedvoices—voicesofmen,women,andchildren—resoundedinthestreetwhilethiswinegamelasted.Therewaslittle roughness in the sport, and much playfulness. There was a specialcompanionshipinit,anobservableinclinationonthepartofeveryonetojoinsomeotherone,whichled,especiallyamongtheluckierorlighter-hearted,tofrolicsomeembraces,drinkingofhealths,shakingofhands,andevenjoiningof hands and dancing, a dozen together.When thewinewas gone, and theplaceswhereithadbeenmostabundantwererakedintoagridiron-patternbyfingers,thesedemonstrationsceased,assuddenlyastheyhadbrokenout.Themanwho had left his saw sticking in the firewood hewas cutting, set it inmotion again; the women who had left on a door-step the little pot of hotashes, at which she had been trying to soften the pain in her own starvedfingersandtoes,orinthoseofherchild,returnedtoit;menwithbarearms,matted locks, and cadaverous faces, who had emerged into the winter lightfrom cellars, moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on thescenethatappearedmorenaturaltoitthansunshine.Thewinewasredwine,andhadstainedthegroundofthenarrowstreetinthesuburbofSaintAntoine,inParis,whereitwasspilled.Ithadstainedmanyhands, too, andmany faces, andmanynaked feet, andmanywooden shoes.Thehandsofthemanwhosawedthewood,leftredmarksonthebillets;andtheforeheadofthewomanwhonursedherbaby,wasstainedwiththestainoftheoldragshewoundaboutherheadagain.Thosewhohadbeengreedywiththestavesofthecask,hadacquiredatigerishsmearaboutthemouth;andonetalljokersobesmirched,hisheadmoreoutofalongsqualidbagofanightcapthaninit,scrawleduponawallwithhisfingerdippedinmuddywine-lees—BLOOD.Thetimewastocome,whenthatwinetoowouldbespilledonthestreet-stones,andwhenthestainofitwouldbereduponmanythere.And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentarygleamhaddrivenfromhissacredcountenance,thedarknessofitwasheavy—cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want, were the lords in waiting on thesaintlypresence—noblesofgreatpowerallofthem;but,mostespeciallythelast.Samplesofapeoplethathadundergoneaterriblegrindingandregrindingin themill, and certainly not in the fabulousmill which ground old peopleyoung,shiveredateverycorner,passed inandoutateverydoorway, lookedfrom every window, fluttered in every vestige of a garment that the windshook.Themillwhichhadworkedthemdown,wasthemillthatgrindsyoungpeopleold; thechildrenhadancient facesandgravevoices;andupon them,anduponthegrownfaces,andploughedintoeveryfurrowofageandcomingup afresh, was the sigh, Hunger. It was prevalent everywhere. Hunger waspushedoutof the tallhouses, in thewretchedclothing thathunguponpolesand lines;Hungerwas patched into themwith straw and rag andwood andpaper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum of

firewood that the man sawed off; Hunger stared down from the smokelesschimneys, and started up from the filthy street that had no offal, among itsrefuse,ofanythingtoeat.Hungerwastheinscriptiononthebaker'sshelves,written in every small loafofhis scanty stockofbadbread; at the sausage-shop, ineverydead-dogpreparationthatwasofferedforsale.Hungerrattleditsdrybonesamongtheroastingchestnutsintheturnedcylinder;Hungerwasshredintoatomicsineveryfarthingporringerofhuskychipsofpotato,friedwithsomereluctantdropsofoil.Itsabidingplacewasinallthingsfittedtoit.Anarrowwindingstreet,fullofoffenceandstench,withothernarrowwindingstreetsdiverging,allpeopledbyragsandnightcaps,andallsmellingofragsandnightcaps,andallvisiblethingswithabroodinglookuponthemthatlookedill.Inthehuntedairofthepeople therewasyetsomewild-beast thoughtof thepossibilityof turningatbay.Depressedandslinkingthoughtheywere,eyesoffirewerenotwantingamong them; nor compressed lips, white with what they suppressed; norforeheads knitted into the likeness of the gallows-rope they mused aboutenduring,orinflicting.Thetradesigns(andtheywerealmostasmanyastheshops) were, all, grim illustrations of Want. The butcher and the porkmanpaintedup,onlytheleanestscragsofmeat;thebaker,thecoarsestofmeagreloaves.Thepeoplerudelypicturedasdrinkinginthewine-shops,croakedovertheirscantymeasuresofthinwineandbeer,andweregloweringlyconfidentialtogether.Nothingwas represented in a flourishing condition, save tools andweapons;but, thecutler'sknivesandaxesweresharpandbright, thesmith'shammerswereheavy,andthegunmaker'sstockwasmurderous.Thecripplingstonesofthepavement,withtheirmanylittlereservoirsofmudandwater,hadnofootways,butbrokeoffabruptlyatthedoors.Thekennel,tomakeamends,randown themiddle of the street—when it ran at all:whichwasonly afterheavyrains,andthenitran,bymanyeccentricfits,intothehouses.Acrossthestreets,atwideintervals,oneclumsylampwasslungbyaropeandpulley;atnight,whenthelamplighterhadletthesedown,andlighted,andhoistedthemagain,afeeblegroveofdimwicksswunginasicklymanneroverhead,asiftheywereatsea.Indeedtheywereatsea,andtheshipandcrewwereinperiloftempest.For, the time was to come, when the gaunt scarecrows of that regionshouldhavewatchedthelamplighter,intheiridlenessandhunger,solong,astoconceivetheideaofimprovingonhismethod,andhaulingupmenbythoseropesandpulleys,toflareuponthedarknessoftheircondition.But,thetimewasnotcomeyet;andeverywindthatblewoverFranceshooktheragsofthescarecrowsinvain,forthebirds,fineofsongandfeather,tooknowarning.Thewine-shopwasacornershop,betterthanmostothersinitsappearanceanddegree,andthemasterofthewine-shophadstoodoutsideit,inayellowwaistcoatandgreenbreeches,lookingonatthestruggleforthelostwine."It'snotmyaffair,"saidhe,withafinalshrugoftheshoulders."Thepeoplefrom

themarketdidit.Letthembringanother."There, his eyes happening to catch the tall jokerwriting up his joke, hecalledtohimacrosstheway:"Say,then,myGaspard,whatdoyoudothere?"Thefellowpointedtohisjokewithimmensesignificance,asisoftenthewaywithhis tribe. Itmissed itsmark,andcompletely failed,as isoften thewaywithhistribetoo."Whatnow?Areyouasubjectforthemadhospital?"saidthewine-shopkeeper, crossing the road, and obliterating the jest with a handful of mud,picked up for the purpose, and smeared over it. "Why do you write in thepublic streets? Is there—tellme thou—is there no other place towrite suchwordsin?"In his expostulation he dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accidentally,perhapsnot)uponthejoker'sheart.Thejokerrappeditwithhisown,tookanimblespringupward,andcamedowninafantasticdancingattitude,withoneofhisstainedshoesjerkedoffhisfootintohishand,andheldout.Ajokerofanextremely,nottosaywolfishlypracticalcharacter,helooked,underthosecircumstances."Put iton,put iton," said theother. "Callwine,wine; and finish there."With thatadvice,hewipedhis soiledhandupon the joker'sdress, suchas itwas—quitedeliberately, as havingdirtied thehandonhis account; and thenrecrossedtheroadandenteredthewine-shop.Thiswine-shopkeeperwas a bull-necked,martial-lookingmanof thirty,andhe shouldhavebeenof ahot temperament, for, although itwas abitterday,heworenocoat,butcarriedoneslungoverhisshoulder.Hisshirt-sleeveswererolledup,too,andhisbrownarmswerebaretotheelbows.Neitherdidhewear anythingmore on his head than his own crisply-curling short darkhair.Hewasadarkmanaltogether,withgoodeyesandagoodboldbreadthbetweenthem.Good-humouredlookingonthewhole,butimplacable-looking,too; evidently a man of a strong resolution and a set purpose; a man notdesirabletobemet,rushingdownanarrowpasswithagulfoneitherside,fornothingwouldturntheman.MadameDefarge,hiswife,satintheshopbehindthecounterashecamein.MadameDefargewasastoutwomanofabouthisownage,withawatchfuleye that seldom seemed to look at anything, a large hand heavily ringed, asteady face, strong features, and great composure of manner. There was acharacteraboutMadameDefarge,fromwhichonemighthavepredicatedthatshedidnotoftenmakemistakesagainstherselfinanyofthereckoningsoverwhichshepresided.MadameDefargebeingsensitivetocold,waswrappedinfur,andhadaquantityofbrightshawl twinedaboutherhead, thoughnot totheconcealmentofherlargeearrings.Herknittingwasbeforeher,butshehadlaid itdowntopickher teethwitha toothpick.Thusengaged,withherright

elbow supported by her left hand,Madame Defarge said nothing when herlordcamein,butcoughedjustonegrainofcough.This,incombinationwiththeliftingofherdarklydefinedeyebrowsoverhertoothpickbythebreadthofaline,suggestedtoherhusbandthathewoulddowelltolookroundtheshopamong the customers, for any new customer who had dropped in while hesteppedovertheway.Thewine-shopkeeperaccordinglyrolledhiseyesabout,untiltheyrestedupon an elderly gentleman and a young lady,whowere seated in a corner.Other companywere there: two playing cards, two playing dominoes, threestandingbythecounterlengtheningoutashortsupplyofwine.Ashepassedbehindthecounter,hetooknoticethattheelderlygentlemansaidinalooktotheyounglady,"Thisisourman.""Whatthedevildoyoudointhatgalleythere?"saidMonsieurDefargetohimself;"Idon'tknowyou."But,hefeignednottonoticethetwostrangers,andfellintodiscoursewiththetriumvirateofcustomerswhoweredrinkingatthecounter."Howgoesit,Jacques?"saidoneofthesethreetoMonsieurDefarge."Isallthespiltwineswallowed?""Everydrop,Jacques,"answeredMonsieurDefarge.WhenthisinterchangeofChristiannamewaseffected,MadameDefarge,picking her teeth with her toothpick, coughed another grain of cough, andraisedhereyebrowsbythebreadthofanotherline."It is not often," said the second of the three, addressing MonsieurDefarge, "thatmanyof thesemiserablebeastsknow the tasteofwine,orofanythingbutblackbreadanddeath.Isitnotso,Jacques?""Itisso,Jacques,"MonsieurDefargereturned.At this second interchangeof theChristianname,MadameDefarge, stillusing her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another grain ofcough,andraisedhereyebrowsbythebreadthofanotherline.Thelastofthethreenowsaidhissay,asheputdownhisemptydrinkingvesselandsmackedhislips."Ah!Somuch theworse!Abitter taste it is that suchpoorcattlealwayshaveintheirmouths,andhardlivestheylive,Jacques.AmIright,Jacques?""Youareright,Jacques,"wastheresponseofMonsieurDefarge.ThisthirdinterchangeoftheChristiannamewascompletedatthemomentwhen Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, andslightlyrustledinherseat."Holdthen!True!"mutteredherhusband."Gentlemen—mywife!"The threecustomerspulledoff theirhats toMadameDefarge,with three

flourishes.Sheacknowledged theirhomagebybendingherhead,andgivingthemaquicklook.Thensheglancedinacasualmannerroundthewine-shop,took up her knittingwith great apparent calmness and repose of spirit, andbecameabsorbedinit."Gentlemen," saidherhusband,whohadkepthisbright eyeobservantlyupon her, "good day. The chamber, furnished bachelor-fashion, that youwishedtosee,andwereinquiringforwhenIsteppedout,isonthefifthfloor.The doorway of the staircase gives on the little courtyard close to the lefthere,"pointingwithhishand,"neartothewindowofmyestablishment.But,now that I remember, one of you has already been there, and can show theway.Gentlemen,adieu!"Theypaidfortheirwine,andlefttheplace.TheeyesofMonsieurDefargewere studyinghiswife atherknittingwhen the elderlygentlemanadvancedfromhiscorner,andbeggedthefavourofaword."Willingly, sir," saidMonsieurDefarge, and quietly steppedwith him tothedoor.Their conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the firstword,MonsieurDefargestartedandbecamedeeplyattentive.Ithadnotlastedaminute,whenhenoddedandwentout.Thegentlemanthenbeckonedtotheyoung lady, and they, too, went out. Madame Defarge knitted with nimblefingersandsteadyeyebrows,andsawnothing.Mr. Jarvis Lorry andMissManette, emerging from the wine-shop thus,joinedMonsieurDefarge in the doorway towhich he had directed his owncompanyjustbefore.Itopenedfromastinkinglittleblackcourtyard,andwasthe general public entrance to a great pile of houses, inhabited by a greatnumber of people. In the gloomy tile-paved entry to the gloomy tile-pavedstaircase,Monsieur Defarge bent down on one knee to the child of his oldmaster,andputherhandtohislips.Itwasagentleaction,butnotatallgentlydone;averyremarkabletransformationhadcomeoverhiminafewseconds.Hehadnogood-humourinhisface,noranyopennessofaspectleft,buthadbecomeasecret,angry,dangerousman."It is very high; it is a little difficult. Better to begin slowly." Thus,MonsieurDefarge,inasternvoice,toMr.Lorry,astheybeganascendingthestairs."Ishealone?"thelatterwhispered."Alone!God help him,who should bewith him!" said the other, in thesamelowvoice."Ishealwaysalone,then?""Yes.""Ofhisowndesire?"

"Ofhisownnecessity.Ashewas,whenI firstsawhimafter theyfoundmeanddemandedtoknowifIwouldtakehim,and,atmyperilbediscreet—ashewasthen,soheisnow.""Heisgreatlychanged?""Changed!"Thekeeperofthewine-shopstoppedtostrikethewallwithhishand,andmutteratremendouscurse.Nodirectanswercouldhavebeenhalfsoforcible.Mr.Lorry's spirits grewheavier and heavier, as he and his two companionsascendedhigherandhigher.Suchastaircase,withitsaccessories,intheolderandmorecrowdedpartsof Paris,would be bad enough now; but, at that time, itwas vile indeed tounaccustomedandunhardenedsenses.Everylittlehabitationwithinthegreatfoulnestofonehighbuilding—thatistosay,theroomorroomswithineverydoor thatopenedon thegeneral staircase—left itsownheapof refuseon itsown landing, besides flinging other refuse from its own windows. Theuncontrollable and hopeless mass of decomposition so engendered, wouldhavepolluted theair, even ifpovertyanddeprivationhadnot loaded itwiththeir intangible impurities; the two bad sources combined made it almostinsupportable.Throughsuchanatmosphere,byasteepdarkshaftofdirtandpoison,thewaylay.Yieldingtohisowndisturbanceofmind,andtohisyoungcompanion's agitation,whichbecamegreater every instant,Mr. JarvisLorrytwicestoppedtorest.Eachofthesestoppageswasmadeatadolefulgrating,by which any languishing good airs that were left uncorrupted, seemed toescape, and all spoilt and sickly vapours seemed to crawl in. Through therusted bars, tastes, rather than glimpses, were caught of the jumbledneighbourhood;andnothingwithinrange,nearerorlowerthanthesummitsofthetwogreattowersofNotre-Dame,hadanypromiseonitofhealthylifeorwholesomeaspirations.Atlast,thetopofthestaircasewasgained,andtheystoppedforthethirdtime. There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination and ofcontracted dimensions, to be ascended, before the garret storywas reached.The keeper of the wine-shop, always going a little in advance, and alwaysgoingonthesidewhichMr.Lorrytook,asthoughhedreadedtobeaskedanyquestionbytheyounglady,turnedhimselfabouthere,and,carefullyfeelinginthepocketsofthecoathecarriedoverhisshoulder,tookoutakey."Thedoorislockedthen,myfriend?"saidMr.Lorry,surprised."Ay.Yes,"wasthegrimreplyofMonsieurDefarge."Youthinkitnecessarytokeeptheunfortunategentlemansoretired?""Ithinkitnecessarytoturnthekey."MonsieurDefargewhispereditcloserinhisear,andfrownedheavily."Why?"

"Why! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he would befrightened—rave—tear himself to pieces—die—come to I know not whatharm—ifhisdoorwasleftopen.""Isitpossible!"exclaimedMr.Lorry."Isitpossible!"repeatedDefarge,bitterly."Yes.Andabeautifulworldwelivein,whenitispossible,andwhenmanyothersuchthingsarepossible,andnotonlypossible,butdone—done,seeyou!—underthatskythere,everyday.LonglivetheDevil.Letusgoon."Thisdialoguehadbeenheldinsoverylowawhisper,thatnotawordofithadreachedtheyounglady'sears.But,bythistimeshetrembledundersuchstrongemotion,andherfaceexpressedsuchdeepanxiety,and,aboveall,suchdreadand terror, thatMr.Lorryfelt it incumbentonhimtospeakawordortwoofreassurance."Courage, dear miss! Courage! Business! The worst will be over in amoment; it isbutpassingtheroom-door,andtheworst isover.Then,all thegoodyoubringtohim,alltherelief,allthehappinessyoubringtohim,begin.Letourgoodfriendhere,assistyouonthatside.That'swell,friendDefarge.Come,now.Business,business!"Theywent up slowly and softly.The staircasewas short, and theyweresoonatthetop.There,asithadanabruptturninit,theycameallatonceinsightofthreemen,whoseheadswerebentdownclosetogetheratthesideofadoor,andwhowereintentlylookingintotheroomtowhichthedoorbelonged,throughsomechinksorholesinthewall.Onhearingfootstepscloseathand,these three turned, and rose, and showed themselves to be the three of onenamewhohadbeendrinkinginthewine-shop."Iforgottheminthesurpriseofyourvisit,"explainedMonsieurDefarge."Leaveus,goodboys;wehavebusinesshere."Thethreeglidedby,andwentsilentlydown.There appearing tobenootherdooron that floor, and thekeeperof thewine-shop going straight to this one when they were left alone, Mr. Lorryaskedhiminawhisper,withalittleanger:"DoyoumakeashowofMonsieurManette?""Ishowhim,inthewayyouhaveseen,toachosenfew.""Isthatwell?""Ithinkitiswell.""Whoarethefew?Howdoyouchoosethem?""Ichoosethemasrealmen,ofmyname—Jacquesismyname—towhomthesightislikelytodogood.Enough;youareEnglish;thatisanotherthing.Staythere,ifyouplease,alittlemoment."

Withanadmonitorygesturetokeepthemback,hestooped,andlookedinthroughthecreviceinthewall.Soonraisinghisheadagain,hestrucktwiceorthrice upon the door—evidently with no other object than to make a noisethere.Withthesameintention,hedrewthekeyacrossit,threeorfourtimes,beforeheputitclumsilyintothelock,andturneditasheavilyashecould.The door slowly opened inward under his hand, and he looked into theroomandsaidsomething.Afaintvoiceansweredsomething.Littlemorethanasinglesyllablecouldhavebeenspokenoneitherside.Helookedbackoverhisshoulder,andbeckonedthemtoenter.Mr.Lorrygothisarmsecurelyroundthedaughter'swaist,andheldher;forhefeltthatshewassinking."A-a-a-business, business!" he urged, with a moisture that was not ofbusinessshiningonhischeek."Comein,comein!""Iamafraidofit,"sheanswered,shuddering."Ofit?What?""Imeanofhim.Ofmyfather."Renderedinamannerdesperate,byherstateandbythebeckoningoftheirconductor,hedrewoverhisneckthearmthatshookuponhisshoulder,liftedheralittle,andhurriedherintotheroom.Hesatherdownjustwithinthedoor,andheldher,clingingtohim.Defargedrewoutthekey,closedthedoor,lockeditontheinside,tookoutthekeyagain,andhelditinhishand.Allthishedid,methodically,andwithasloud and harsh an accompaniment of noise as he could make. Finally, hewalkedacrosstheroomwithameasuredtreadtowherethewindowwas.Hestoppedthere,andfacedround.Thegarret,builttobeadepositoryforfirewoodandthelike,wasdimanddark:for,thewindowofdormershape,wasintruthadoorintheroof,withalittlecraneoveritforthehoistingupofstoresfromthestreet:unglazed,andclosing up the middle in two pieces, like any other door of Frenchconstruction.Toexclude thecold,onehalfof thisdoorwas fast closed,andtheotherwasopenedbutaverylittleway.Suchascantyportionoflightwasadmittedthroughthesemeans,thatitwasdifficult,onfirstcomingin,toseeanything; and long habit alone could have slowly formed in any one, theability to do anywork requiring nicety in such obscurity.Yet,work of thatkindwasbeingdoneinthegarret;for,withhisbacktowardsthedoor,andhisfacetowardsthewindowwherethekeeperofthewine-shopstoodlookingathim,awhite-hairedmansatonalowbench,stoopingforwardandverybusy,makingshoes.

TheShoemaker

"Goodday!"saidMonsieurDefarge,lookingdownatthewhiteheadthatbentlowovertheshoemaking.It was raised for a moment, and a very faint voice responded to thesalutation,asifitwereatadistance:"Goodday!""Youarestillhardatwork,Isee?"Afteralongsilence,theheadwasliftedforanothermoment,andthevoicereplied,"Yes—Iamworking."Thistime,apairofhaggardeyeshadlookedatthequestioner,beforethefacehaddroppedagain.The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not thefaintness of physicalweakness, though confinement and hard fare no doubthadtheirpartinit.Itsdeplorablepeculiaritywas,thatitwasthefaintnessofsolitudeanddisuse.Itwaslikethelastfeebleechoofasoundmadelongandlongago.Soentirelyhaditlostthelifeandresonanceofthehumanvoice,thatitaffectedthesenseslikeaoncebeautifulcolourfadedawayintoapoorweakstain.Sosunkenandsuppresseditwas,thatitwaslikeavoiceunderground.Soexpressiveitwas,ofahopelessandlostcreature,thatafamishedtraveller,wearied out by lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have rememberedhomeandfriendsinsuchatonebeforelyingdowntodie.Someminutesofsilentworkhadpassed:andthehaggardeyeshadlookedup again: not with any interest or curiosity, but with a dull mechanicalperception,beforehand,thatthespotwheretheonlyvisitortheywereawareofhadstood,wasnotyetempty."Iwant,"saidDefarge,whohadnotremovedhisgazefromtheshoemaker,"toletinalittlemorelighthere.Youcanbearalittlemore?"Theshoemakerstoppedhiswork;lookedwithavacantairoflistening,atthe floorononesideofhim; thensimilarly,at the flooron theothersideofhim;then,upwardatthespeaker."Whatdidyousay?""Youcanbearalittlemorelight?""Imustbearit,ifyouletitin."(Layingthepalestshadowofastressuponthesecondword.)Theopenedhalf-doorwasopenedalittlefurther,andsecuredatthatangleforthetime.Abroadrayoflightfellintothegarret,andshowedtheworkmanwithanunfinishedshoeuponhislap,pausinginhislabour.Hisfewcommontoolsandvariousscrapsofleatherwereathisfeetandonhisbench.Hehadawhitebeard, raggedlycut,butnotvery long,ahollowface,andexceedinglybrighteyes.Thehollownessandthinnessofhisfacewouldhavecausedthemtolooklarge,underhisyetdarkeyebrowsandhisconfusedwhitehair,though

they had been really otherwise; but, they were naturally large, and lookedunnaturallyso.Hisyellowragsofshirtlayopenatthethroat,andshowedhisbody to bewithered andworn.He, and his old canvas frock, and his loosestockings, and all his poor tatters of clothes, had, in a long seclusion fromdirectlightandair,fadeddowntosuchadulluniformityofparchment-yellow,thatitwouldhavebeenhardtosaywhichwaswhich.Hehadputupahandbetweenhiseyesandthelight,andtheverybonesofitseemedtransparent.Sohesat,withasteadfastlyvacantgaze,pausinginhiswork.Heneverlookedatthefigurebeforehim,withoutfirstlookingdownonthissideofhimself,thenonthat,asifhehadlostthehabitofassociatingplacewith sound; he never spoke, without first wandering in this manner, andforgettingtospeak."Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?" asked Defarge,motioningtoMr.Lorrytocomeforward."Whatdidyousay?""Doyoumeantofinishthatpairofshoesto-day?""Ican'tsaythatImeanto.Isupposeso.Idon'tknow."But,thequestionremindedhimofhiswork,andhebentoveritagain.Mr.Lorrycamesilentlyforward,leavingthedaughterbythedoor.Whenhe had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoemakerlookedup.Heshowednosurpriseat seeinganother figure,but theunsteadyfingersofoneofhishandsstrayedtohislipsashelookedatit(hislipsandhisnails were of the same pale lead-colour), and then the hand dropped to hiswork, and he once more bent over the shoe. The look and the action hadoccupiedbutaninstant."Youhaveavisitor,yousee,"saidMonsieurDefarge."Whatdidyousay?""Hereisavisitor."Theshoemakerlookedupasbefore,butwithoutremovingahandfromhiswork."Come!" saidDefarge. "Here ismonsieur,whoknowsawell-made shoewhenheseesone.Showhimthatshoeyouareworkingat.Takeit,monsieur."Mr.Lorrytookitinhishand."Tellmonsieurwhatkindofshoeitis,andthemaker'sname."Therewasalongerpausethanusual,beforetheshoemakerreplied:"Iforgetwhatitwasyouaskedme.Whatdidyousay?""I said, couldn't you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieur'sinformation?"

"It isa lady'sshoe. It isayoung lady'swalking-shoe. It is in thepresentmode.Ineversawthemode.Ihavehadapatterninmyhand."Heglancedattheshoewithsomelittlepassingtouchofpride."Andthemaker'sname?"saidDefarge.Nowthathehadnoworktohold,helaidtheknucklesoftherighthandinthehollowoftheleft,andthentheknucklesofthelefthandinthehollowoftheright,andthenpassedahandacrosshisbeardedchin,andsooninregularchanges,withoutamoment'sintermission.Thetaskofrecallinghimfromthevagrancy intowhichhealwayssankwhenhehadspoken,was likerecallingsomeveryweakpersonfromaswoon,orendeavouring,inthehopeofsomedisclosure,tostaythespiritofafast-dyingman."Didyouaskmeformyname?""AssuredlyIdid.""OneHundredandFive,NorthTower.""Isthatall?""OneHundredandFive,NorthTower."With a weary sound that was not a sigh, nor a groan, he bent to workagain,untilthesilencewasagainbroken."Youarenotashoemakerbytrade?"saidMr.Lorry,lookingsteadfastlyathim.His haggard eyes turned toDefarge as if hewould have transferred thequestiontohim:butasnohelpcamefromthatquarter,theyturnedbackonthequestionerwhentheyhadsoughttheground."Iamnotashoemakerbytrade?No,Iwasnotashoemakerbytrade.I-Ilearntithere.Itaughtmyself.Iaskedleaveto—"Helapsedaway,evenforminutes,ringingthosemeasuredchangesonhishands thewhole time.His eyes came slowly back, at last, to the face fromwhichtheyhadwandered;whentheyrestedonit,hestarted,andresumed,inthemannerofasleeperthatmomentawake,revertingtoasubjectoflastnight."Iaskedleavetoteachmyself,andIgotitwithmuchdifficultyafteralongwhile,andIhavemadeshoeseversince."Asheheldouthishand for the shoe that hadbeen taken fromhim,Mr.Lorrysaid,stilllookingsteadfastlyinhisface:"MonsieurManette,doyouremembernothingofme?"The shoe dropped to the ground, and he sat looking fixedly at thequestioner."MonsieurManette";Mr.LorrylaidhishanduponDefarge'sarm;"doyouremember 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,MonsieurManette?"As the captiveofmanyyears sat looking fixedly, by turns, atMr.LorryandatDefarge,somelongobliteratedmarksofanactivelyintentintelligenceinthemiddleof theforehead,graduallyforcedthemselvesthroughtheblackmistthathadfallenonhim.Theywereovercloudedagain,theywerefainter,theyweregone;but theyhadbeen there.Andsoexactlywas theexpressionrepeatedonthefairyoungfaceofherwhohadcreptalongthewalltoapointwhereshecouldseehim,andwhereshenowstoodlookingathim,withhandswhich at first hadbeenonly raised in frightened compassion, if not even tokeep him off and shut out the sight of him, butwhichwere now extendingtowardshim,tremblingwitheagernesstolaythespectralfaceuponherwarmyoungbreast,andloveitbacktolifeandhope—soexactlywastheexpressionrepeated(thoughinstrongercharacters)onherfairyoungface,thatitlookedasthoughithadpassedlikeamovinglight,fromhimtoher.Darknesshadfallenonhiminitsplace.Helookedatthetwo,lessandlessattentively,andhiseyesingloomyabstractionsoughtthegroundandlookedabouthimintheoldway.Finally,withadeeplongsigh,hetooktheshoeup,andresumedhiswork."Haveyourecognisedhim,monsieur?"askedDefargeinawhisper."Yes; for a moment. At first I thought it quite hopeless, but I haveunquestionablyseen,forasinglemoment,thefacethatIonceknewsowell.Hush!Letusdrawfurtherback.Hush!"She had moved from the wall of the garret, very near to the bench onwhichhesat.Therewassomethingawfulinhisunconsciousnessofthefigurethatcouldhaveputoutitshandandtouchedhimashestoopedoverhislabour.Not awordwas spoken, not a soundwasmade.She stood, like a spirit,besidehim,andhebentoverhiswork.Ithappened,atlength,thathehadoccasiontochangetheinstrumentinhishand,forhisshoemaker'sknife.It layonthatsideofhimwhichwasnotthesideonwhichshestood.Hehadtakenitup,andwasstoopingtoworkagain,whenhiseyescaughttheskirtofherdress.Heraisedthem,andsawherface.Thetwospectatorsstartedforward,butshestayedthemwithamotionofherhand.Shehadnofearofhisstrikingatherwiththeknife,thoughtheyhad.He stared at herwith a fearful look, and after awhile his lips began toformsomewords,thoughnosoundproceededfromthem.Bydegrees,inthepausesofhisquickandlabouredbreathing,hewasheardtosay:"Whatisthis?"Withthetearsstreamingdownherface,sheputhertwohandstoherlips,and kissed them to him; then clasped them on her breast, as if she laid hisruinedheadthere.

"Youarenotthegaoler'sdaughter?"Shesighed"No.""Whoareyou?"Notyettrustingthetonesofhervoice,shesatdownonthebenchbesidehim.Herecoiled,butshe laidherhanduponhisarm.Astrange thrill struckhimwhenshedidso,andvisiblypassedoverhisframe;helaidtheknifedownsoftly,ashesatstaringather.Hergoldenhair,whichsheworeinlongcurls,hadbeenhurriedlypushedaside,andfelldownoverherneck.Advancinghishandbylittleandlittle,hetookitupandlookedatit.Inthemidstoftheactionhewentastray,and,withanotherdeepsigh,felltoworkathisshoemaking.Butnotforlong.Releasinghisarm,shelaidherhanduponhisshoulder.After lookingdoubtfullyat it, twoor three times,as if tobesure that itwasreally there,he laiddownhiswork,puthishand tohisneck,and tookoffablackened string with a scrap of folded rag attached to it. He opened this,carefully,onhisknee,anditcontainedaverylittlequantityofhair:notmorethanoneortwolonggoldenhairs,whichhehad,insomeoldday,woundoffuponhisfinger.He took her hair into his hand again, and looked closely at it. "It is thesame.Howcanitbe!Whenwasit!Howwasit!"As the concentrated expression returned to his forehead, he seemed tobecomeconsciousthatitwasinherstoo.Heturnedherfull tothelight,andlookedather."She had laid her head upon my shoulder, that night when I wassummonedout—shehadafearofmygoing,thoughIhadnone—andwhenIwasbrought to theNorthTower theyfound theseuponmysleeve. 'Youwillleaveme them?Theycanneverhelpme toescape in thebody, though theymayinthespirit.'ThosewerethewordsIsaid.Irememberthemverywell."He formed this speechwithhis lipsmany timesbeforehecouldutter it.Butwhenhedidfindspokenwordsforit,theycametohimcoherently,thoughslowly."Howwasthis?—Wasityou?"Once more, the two spectators started, as he turned upon her with afrightfulsuddenness.Butshesatperfectlystillinhisgrasp,andonlysaid,inalowvoice,"Ientreatyou,goodgentlemen,donotcomenearus,donotspeak,donotmove!""Hark!"heexclaimed."Whosevoicewasthat?"Hishandsreleasedherasheutteredthiscry,andwentuptohiswhitehair,whichtheytoreinafrenzy.Itdiedout,aseverythingbuthisshoemakingdiddie out of him, andhe refoldedhis little packet and tried to secure it in his

breast;buthestilllookedather,andgloomilyshookhishead."No, no, no; you are too young, too blooming. It can't be. Seewhat theprisoner is.Thesearenot thehandssheknew, this isnot the facesheknew,thisisnotavoicesheeverheard.No,no.Shewas—andHewas—beforetheslow years of the North Tower—ages ago. What is your name, my gentleangel?"Hailing his softened tone andmanner, his daughter fell upon her kneesbeforehim,withherappealinghandsuponhisbreast."O,sir,atanothertimeyoushallknowmyname,andwhomymotherwas,and who my father, and how I never knew their hard, hard history. But Icannottellyouatthistime,andIcannottellyouhere.AllthatImaytellyou,hereandnow,is,thatIpraytoyoutotouchmeandtoblessme.Kissme,kissme!Omydear,mydear!"His cold white head mingled with her radiant hair, which warmed andlighteditasthoughitwerethelightofFreedomshiningonhim."Ifyouhearinmyvoice—Idon'tknowthatitisso,butIhopeitis—ifyouhear inmy voice any resemblance to a voice that oncewas sweetmusic inyourears,weepforit,weepforit!Ifyoutouch,intouchingmyhair,anythingthatrecallsabelovedheadthatlayonyourbreastwhenyouwereyoungandfree,weepforit,weepforit!If,whenIhinttoyouofaHomethatisbeforeus, where I will be true to you with all my duty and with all my faithfulservice, I bringback the remembranceof aHome longdesolate,whileyourpoorheartpinedaway,weepforit,weepforit!"Sheheldhimcloser round theneck,androckedhimonherbreast likeachild."If,whenItellyou,dearestdear,thatyouragonyisover,andthatIhavecomeheretotakeyoufromit,andthatwegotoEnglandtobeatpeaceandatrest, I cause you to think of your useful life laid waste, and of our nativeFrancesowickedtoyou,weepforit,weepforit!Andif,whenIshalltellyouofmyname,andofmyfatherwhoisliving,andofmymotherwhoisdead,youlearnthatIhavetokneeltomyhonouredfather,andimplorehispardonforhavingneverforhissakestrivenalldayandlainawakeandweptallnight,becausetheloveofmypoormotherhidhistorturefromme,weepforit,weepforit!Weepforher,then,andforme!Goodgentlemen,thankGod!Ifeelhissacredtearsuponmyface,andhissobsstrikeagainstmyheart.O,see!ThankGodforus,thankGod!"Hehad sunk inher arms, andhis facedroppedonherbreast: a sight sotouching, yet so terrible in the tremendous wrong and suffering which hadgonebeforeit,thatthetwobeholderscoveredtheirfaces.When thequietof thegarrethadbeen longundisturbed,andhisheavingbreast and shaken form had long yielded to the calm that must follow all

storms—emblem to humanity, of the rest and silence into which the stormcalled Life must hush at last—they came forward to raise the father anddaughterfromtheground.Hehadgraduallydroppedtothefloor,andlaythereinalethargy,wornout.Shehadnestleddownwithhim,thathisheadmightlieuponherarm;andherhairdroopingoverhimcurtainedhimfromthelight."If,withoutdisturbinghim,"shesaid,raisingherhandtoMr.Lorryashestoopedoverthem,afterrepeatedblowingsofhisnose,"allcouldbearrangedforour leavingParisatonce, so that, from theverydoor,hecouldbe takenaway—""But,consider.Ishefitforthejourney?"askedMr.Lorry."Morefitforthat,Ithink,thantoremaininthiscity,sodreadfultohim.""It is true," saidDefarge,whowas kneeling to lookon andhear. "Morethanthat;MonsieurManetteis,forallreasons,bestoutofFrance.Say,shallIhireacarriageandpost-horses?""That's business," said Mr. Lorry, resuming on the shortest notice hismethodicalmanners;"andifbusinessistobedone,Ihadbetterdoit.""Thenbesokind,"urgedMissManette,"astoleaveushere.Youseehowcomposedhehasbecome,andyoucannotbeafraidtoleavehimwithmenow.Whyshouldyoube?Ifyouwilllockthedoortosecureusfrominterruption,Ido not doubt that youwill find him,when you come back, as quiet as youleavehim.Inanycase,Iwill takecareofhimuntilyoureturn,andthenwewillremovehimstraight."BothMr.LorryandDefargewereratherdisinclinedtothiscourse,andinfavour of one of them remaining. But, as there were not only carriage andhorsestobeseento,buttravellingpapers;andastimepressed,forthedaywasdrawingtoanend,itcameatlasttotheirhastilydividingthebusinessthatwasnecessarytobedone,andhurryingawaytodoit.Then, as thedarkness closed in, thedaughter laidherheaddownon thehard ground close at the father's side, and watched him. The darknessdeepenedanddeepened,andtheybothlayquiet,untilalightgleamedthroughthechinksinthewall.Mr.LorryandMonsieurDefargehadmadeallreadyforthejourney,andhad brought with them, besides travelling cloaks and wrappers, bread andmeat,wine,andhotcoffee.MonsieurDefargeputthisprovender,andthelamphecarried,ontheshoemaker'sbench(therewasnothingelseinthegarretbutapalletbed),andheandMr.Lorryrousedthecaptive,andassistedhimtohisfeet.Nohuman intelligencecouldhave read themysteriesofhismind, in thescared blank wonder of his face. Whether he knew what had happened,whether he recollectedwhat they had said to him,whether he knew that hewas free, were questions which no sagacity could have solved. They tried

speaking to him; but, hewas so confused, and so very slow to answer, thatthey tookfrightathisbewilderment,andagreed for the time to tamperwithhimnomore.Hehadawild,lostmannerofoccasionallyclaspinghisheadinhishands,thathadnotbeenseeninhimbefore;yet,hehadsomepleasureinthemeresoundofhisdaughter'svoice,and invariably turned to itwhenshespoke.Inthesubmissivewayofonelongaccustomedtoobeyundercoercion,heateanddrankwhattheygavehimtoeatanddrink,andputonthecloakandother wrappings, that they gave him to wear. He readily responded to hisdaughter's drawing her arm through his, and took—and kept—her hand inbothhisown.Theybegantodescend;MonsieurDefargegoingfirstwith the lamp,Mr.Lorryclosingthelittleprocession.Theyhadnot traversedmanystepsof thelongmainstaircasewhenhestopped,andstaredat theroofandroundat thewalls."Youremembertheplace,myfather?Youremembercominguphere?""Whatdidyousay?"But,beforeshecouldrepeatthequestion,hemurmuredananswerasifshehadrepeatedit."Remember?No,Idon'tremember.Itwassoverylongago."Thathehadnorecollectionwhateverofhishavingbeenbroughtfromhisprison to that house, was apparent to them. They heard him mutter, "OneHundredandFive,NorthTower;"andwhenhelookedabouthim,itevidentlywasfor thestrongfortress-wallswhichhad longencompassedhim.On theirreaching the courtyard he instinctively altered his tread, as being inexpectationofadrawbridge;andwhentherewasnodrawbridge,andhesawthe carriage waiting in the open street, he dropped his daughter's hand andclaspedhisheadagain.No crowdwas about the door; no peoplewere discernible at any of themanywindows; not even a chance passerbywas in the street.An unnaturalsilenceanddesertionreignedthere.Onlyonesoulwastobeseen,andthatwasMadame Defarge—who leaned against the door-post, knitting, and sawnothing.The prisoner had got into a coach, and his daughter had followed him,whenMr.Lorry'sfeetwerearrestedonthestepbyhisasking,miserably,forhisshoemakingtoolsandtheunfinishedshoes.MadameDefargeimmediatelycalledtoherhusbandthatshewouldgetthem,andwent,knitting,outofthelamplight,throughthecourtyard.Shequicklybroughtthemdownandhandedthemin;—and immediatelyafterwards leanedagainst thedoor-post,knitting,andsawnothing.Defarge got upon the box, and gave the word "To the Barrier!" The

postilion cracked his whip, and they clattered away under the feeble over-swinginglamps.Under the over-swinging lamps—swinging ever brighter in the betterstreets, and ever dimmer in the worse—and by lighted shops, gay crowds,illuminatedcoffee-houses,andtheatre-doors,tooneofthecitygates.Soldierswith lanterns, at the guard-house there. "Your papers, travellers!" "See herethen, Monsieur the Officer," said Defarge, getting down, and taking himgravelyapart, "theseare thepapersofmonsieur inside,with thewhitehead.Theywereconsignedtome,withhim,atthe—"Hedroppedhisvoice,therewasaflutteramongthemilitarylanterns,andoneofthembeinghandedintothecoachbyanarminuniform,theeyesconnectedwiththearmlooked,notaneverydayoraneverynight look,atmonsieurwith thewhitehead. "It iswell. Forward!" from the uniform. "Adieu!" fromDefarge.And so, under ashort grove of feebler and feebler over-swinging lamps, out under the greatgroveofstars.Beneath that arch of unmoved and eternal lights; some, so remote fromthis little earth that the learned tell us it is doubtfulwhether their rays haveevenyetdiscoveredit,asapointinspacewhereanythingissufferedordone:the shadows of the night were broad and black. All through the cold andrestless interval, until dawn, they once more whispered in the ears of Mr.Jarvis Lorry—sitting opposite the buried man who had been dug out, andwondering what subtle powers were for ever lost to him, and what werecapableofrestoration—theoldinquiry:"Ihopeyoucaretoberecalledtolife?"Andtheoldanswer:"Ican'tsay."Theendofthefirstbook.

BooktheSecond—theGoldenThreadFiveYearsLater

Tellson'sBankbyTempleBarwasanold-fashionedplace,evenintheyearone thousand seven hundred and eighty. It was very small, very dark, veryugly, very incommodious. It was an old-fashioned place, moreover, in themoral attribute that the partners in the House were proud of its smallness,proudof itsdarkness, proudof itsugliness, proudof its incommodiousness.Theywereevenboastfulofitseminenceinthoseparticulars,andwerefiredbyan express conviction that, if it were less objectionable, it would be lessrespectable. This was no passive belief, but an active weapon which theyflashedatmoreconvenientplacesofbusiness.Tellson's(theysaid)wantednoelbow-room, Tellson's wanted no light, Tellson's wanted no embellishment.Noakes and Co.'s might, or Snooks Brothers' might; but Tellson's, thankHeaven—!AnyoneofthesepartnerswouldhavedisinheritedhissononthequestionofrebuildingTellson's.InthisrespecttheHousewasmuchonaparwiththeCountry;whichdidveryoftendisinherititssonsforsuggestingimprovementsinlawsandcustomsthathadlongbeenhighlyobjectionable,butwereonlythemorerespectable.Thusithadcometopass, thatTellson'swasthetriumphantperfectionofinconvenience.After bursting open a door of idiotic obstinacywith aweakrattle in its throat, you fell intoTellson's down two steps, and came toyoursensesinamiserablelittleshop,withtwolittlecounters,wheretheoldestofmenmadeyourchequeshakeasifthewindrustledit,whiletheyexaminedthesignaturebythedingiestofwindows,whichwerealwaysunderashower-bathofmudfromFleet-street,andwhichweremadethedingierbytheirownironbars proper, and the heavy shadow of Temple Bar. If your businessnecessitated your seeing "the House," you were put into a species ofCondemnedHoldat theback,whereyoumeditatedonamisspent life,untiltheHousecamewithitshandsinitspockets,andyoucouldhardlyblinkatitin the dismal twilight. Your money came out of, or went into, wormy oldwoodendrawers,particlesofwhichflewupyournoseanddownyourthroatwhen theywereopened and shut.Yourbank-noteshad amustyodour, as ifthey were fast decomposing into rags again. Your plate was stowed awayamong the neighbouring cesspools, and evil communications corrupted itsgoodpolishinadayor two.Yourdeedsgot intoextemporisedstrong-roomsmadeofkitchensandsculleries,andfrettedallthefatoutoftheirparchmentsintothebanking-houseair.Yourlighterboxesoffamilypaperswentup-stairsinto aBarmecide room, that alwayshad a great dining-table in it andneverhad a dinner, andwhere, even in the year one thousand seven hundred andeighty, the first letters written to you by your old love, or by your little

children,werebutnewlyreleasedfromthehorrorofbeingogledthroughthewindows,bytheheadsexposedonTempleBarwithaninsensatebrutalityandferocityworthyofAbyssiniaorAshantee.Butindeed,atthattime,puttingtodeathwasarecipemuchinvoguewithalltradesandprofessions,andnotleastofallwithTellson's.DeathisNature'sremedyforallthings,andwhynotLegislation's?Accordingly,theforgerwasputtoDeath;theuttererofabadnotewasputtoDeath;theunlawfulopenerofaletterwasputtoDeath;thepurloineroffortyshillingsandsixpencewasputtoDeath;theholderofahorseatTellson'sdoor,whomadeoffwithit,wasputtoDeath;thecoinerofabadshillingwasputtoDeath;thesoundersofthree-fourthsofthenotesinthewholegamutofCrime,wereputtoDeath.Notthatit did the least good in the way of prevention—it might almost have beenworthremarkingthatthefactwasexactlythereverse—but,itclearedoff(astothisworld)thetroubleofeachparticularcase,andleftnothingelseconnectedwith it to be looked after. Thus, Tellson's, in its day, like greater places ofbusiness, its contemporaries,had taken somany lives, that, if theheads laidlow before it had been ranged on Temple Bar instead of being privatelydisposedof, theywouldprobablyhaveexcludedwhat little light thegroundfloorhad,inarathersignificantmanner.CrampedinallkindsofdimcupboardsandhutchesatTellson's,theoldestofmen carried on the business gravely.When they took a youngman intoTellson'sLondonhouse, theyhidhimsomewhere tillhewasold.Theykepthim in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the fullTellson flavour andblue-moulduponhim.Thenonlywashepermitted tobe seen, spectacularlyporingoverlargebooks,andcastinghisbreechesandgaitersintothegeneralweightoftheestablishment.Outside Tellson's—never by any means in it, unless called in—was anodd-job-man,anoccasionalporterandmessenger,whoservedasthelivesignof the house. He was never absent during business hours, unless upon anerrand,andthenhewasrepresentedbyhisson:agrislyurchinoftwelve,whowas his express image. People understood that Tellson's, in a stately way,toleratedtheodd-job-man.Thehousehadalwaystoleratedsomepersoninthatcapacity, and time and tide had drifted this person to the post.His surnamewasCruncher, andon theyouthful occasionof his renouncingbyproxy theworks of darkness, in the easterly parish church of Hounsditch, he hadreceivedtheaddedappellationofJerry.The scene was Mr. Cruncher's private lodging in Hanging-sword-alley,Whitefriars:thetime,half-pastsevenoftheclockonawindyMarchmorning,AnnoDomini seventeen hundred and eighty. (Mr. Cruncher himself alwaysspoke of the year of our Lord as Anna Dominoes: apparently under theimpressionthattheChristianeradatedfromtheinventionofapopulargame,byaladywhohadbestowedhernameuponit.)Mr.Cruncher'sapartmentswerenotinasavouryneighbourhood,andwere

buttwoinnumber,evenifaclosetwithasinglepaneofglassinitmightbecounted as one. But they were very decently kept. Early as it was, on thewindyMarchmorning, theroominwhichhelayabedwasalreadyscrubbedthroughout;andbetweenthecupsandsaucersarrangedforbreakfast,andthelumberingdealtable,averycleanwhiteclothwasspread.Mr.Cruncherreposedunderapatchworkcounterpane,likeaHarlequinathome.Atfirst,hesleptheavily,but,bydegrees,begantorollandsurgeinbed,untilheroseabovethesurface,withhisspikyhairlookingasifitmusttearthesheets to ribbons. At which juncture, he exclaimed, in a voice of direexasperation:"Bustme,ifsheain'tatitagin!"Awomanoforderlyandindustriousappearancerosefromherkneesinacorner,with sufficienthasteand trepidation to show that shewas thepersonreferredto."What!" saidMr. Cruncher, looking out of bed for a boot. "You're at itagin,areyou?"Afterhailingthemornwiththissecondsalutation,hethrewabootatthewoman as a third. It was a very muddy boot, and may introduce the oddcircumstanceconnectedwithMr.Cruncher'sdomesticeconomy,that,whereasheoftencamehomeafterbankinghourswithcleanboots,heoftengotupnextmorningtofindthesamebootscoveredwithclay."What,"saidMr.Cruncher,varyinghisapostropheaftermissinghismark—"whatareyouupto,Aggerawayter?""Iwasonlysayingmyprayers.""Saying your prayers! You're a nice woman! What do you mean byfloppingyourselfdownandprayingaginme?""Iwasnotprayingagainstyou;Iwasprayingforyou.""Youweren't.Andifyouwere,Iwon'tbetookthelibertywith.Here!yourmother's a nice woman, young Jerry, going a praying agin your father'sprosperity. You've got a dutiful mother, you have, my son. You've got areligious mother, you have, my boy: going and flopping herself down, andpraying that the bread-and-butter may be snatched out of the mouth of heronlychild."MasterCruncher(whowas inhisshirt) took thisvery ill,and, turning tohismother,stronglydeprecatedanyprayingawayofhispersonalboard."And what do you suppose, you conceited female," said Mr. Cruncher,with unconscious inconsistency, "that the worth of your prayers may be?Namethepricethatyouputyourprayersat!""Theyonlycomefromtheheart,Jerry.Theyareworthnomorethanthat."

"Worth no more than that," repeated Mr. Cruncher. "They ain't worthmuch,then.Whetherorno,Iwon'tbeprayedagin,Itellyou.Ican'taffordit.I'mnotagoingtobemadeunluckybyyoursneaking.Ifyoumustgofloppingyourselfdown,flopinfavourofyourhusbandandchild,andnotinoppositionto'em.IfIhadhadanybutaunnat'ralwife,andthispoorboyhadhadanybutaunnat'ralmother,Imighthavemadesomemoneylastweekinsteadofbeingcounter-prayedandcounterminedandreligiouslycircumwentedintotheworstofluck.B-u-u-ustme!"saidMr.Cruncher,whoallthistimehadbeenputtingonhisclothes,"if Iain't,whatwithpietyandoneblowedthingandanother,beenchousedthislastweekintoasbadluckaseverapoordevilofahonesttradesmanmetwith!Young Jerry,dressyourself,myboy, andwhile I cleanmybootskeepaeyeuponyourmothernowandthen,andifyouseeanysignsofmoreflopping,givemeacall.For,I tellyou,"hereheaddressedhiswifeoncemore,"Iwon'tbegoneagin,inthismanner.Iamasricketyasahackney-coach, I'm as sleepy as laudanum,my lines is strained to that degree that Ishouldn't know, if it wasn't for the pain in 'em, which was me and whichsomebodyelse,yetI'mnonethebetterforit inpocket;andit'smysuspicionthat you've been at it frommorning to night to preventme from being thebetterforitinpocket,andIwon'tputupwithit,Aggerawayter,andwhatdoyousaynow!"Growling,inaddition,suchphrasesas"Ah!yes!You'rereligious,too.Youwouldn'tputyourselfinoppositiontotheinterestsofyourhusbandandchild,would you? Not you!" and throwing off other sarcastic sparks from thewhirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Cruncher betook himself to hisboot-cleaning andhis general preparation for business. In themeantime, hisson,whoseheadwasgarnishedwith tenderer spikes, andwhoseyoungeyesstoodclosebyoneanother,ashis father'sdid,kept the requiredwatchuponhismother.Hegreatlydisturbedthatpoorwomanatintervals,bydartingoutofhissleepingcloset,wherehemadehistoilet,withasuppressedcryof"Youare going to flop,mother.—Halloa, father!" and, after raising this fictitiousalarm,dartinginagainwithanundutifulgrin.Mr. Cruncher's temper was not at all improved when he came to hisbreakfast.HeresentedMrs.Cruncher'ssayinggracewithparticularanimosity."Now,Aggerawayter!Whatareyouupto?Atitagain?"Hiswifeexplainedthatshehadmerely"askedablessing.""Don'tdoit!"saidMr.Cruncheslookingabout,asifheratherexpectedtoseetheloafdisappearundertheefficacyofhiswife'spetitions."Iain'tagoingtobeblestoutofhouseandhome.Iwon'thavemywittlesblestoffmytable.Keepstill!"Exceedingly red-eyedandgrim,as ifhehadbeenupallnightatapartywhich had taken anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncher worried hisbreakfast rather thanate it,growlingover it likeanyfour-footed inmateofa

menagerie. Towards nine o'clock he smoothed his ruffled aspect, and,presentingasrespectableandbusiness-likeanexteriorashecouldoverlayhisnaturalselfwith,issuedforthtotheoccupationoftheday.Itcouldscarcelybecalledatrade, inspiteofhisfavouritedescriptionofhimselfas"ahonesttradesman."Hisstockconsistedofawoodenstool,madeoutofabroken-backedchaircutdown,whichstool,youngJerry,walkingathisfather'sside,carriedeverymorningtobeneaththebanking-housewindowthatwasnearestTempleBar:where,with theadditionof thefirsthandfulofstrawthatcouldbegleanedfromanypassingvehicletokeepthecoldandwetfrom theodd-job-man's feet, it formed the encampment for theday.On thispostofhis,Mr.CruncherwasaswellknowntoFleet-streetandtheTemple,astheBaritself,—andwasalmostasin-looking.Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to touch his three-corneredhattotheoldestofmenastheypassedintoTellson's,JerrytookuphisstationonthiswindyMarchmorning,withyoungJerrystandingbyhim,when not engaged in making forays through the Bar, to inflict bodily andmental injuries of an acute description on passing boys who were smallenough for his amiable purpose. Father and son, extremely like each other,lookingsilentlyonatthemorningtrafficinFleet-street,withtheirtwoheadsas near to one another as the two eyes of each were, bore a considerableresemblancetoapairofmonkeys.Theresemblancewasnot lessenedbytheaccidentalcircumstance,thatthematureJerrybitandspatoutstraw,whilethetwinklingeyesof theyouthfulJerrywereasrestlesslywatchfulofhimasofeverythingelseinFleet-street.The head of one of the regular indoor messengers attached to Tellson'sestablishmentwasputthroughthedoor,andthewordwasgiven:"Porterwanted!""Hooray,father!Here'sanearlyjobtobeginwith!"HavingthusgivenhisparentGodspeed,youngJerryseatedhimselfonthestool, entered on his reversionary interest in the straw his father had beenchewing,andcogitated."Al-ways rusty! His fingers is al-ways rusty!" muttered young Jerry."Wheredoesmy fathergetall that iron rust from?Hedon'tgetno iron rusthere!"

ASight

"YouknowtheOldBaileywell,nodoubt?"saidoneoftheoldestofclerkstoJerrythemessenger.

"Ye-es,sir,"returnedJerry,insomethingofadoggedmanner."IdoknowtheBailey.""Justso.AndyouknowMr.Lorry.""IknowMr.Lorry,sir,muchbetterthanIknowtheBailey.Muchbetter,"saidJerry,notunlikeareluctantwitnessattheestablishmentinquestion,"thanI,asahonesttradesman,wishtoknowtheBailey.""Verywell.Find thedoorwhere thewitnessesgo in,andshowthedoor-keeperthisnoteforMr.Lorry.Hewillthenletyouin.""Intothecourt,sir?""Intothecourt."Mr. Cruncher's eyes seemed to get a little closer to one another, and tointerchangetheinquiry,"Whatdoyouthinkofthis?""AmItowaitinthecourt,sir?"heasked,astheresultofthatconference."Iamgoingto tellyou.Thedoor-keeperwillpass thenote toMr.Lorry,anddoyoumakeanygesturethatwillattractMr.Lorry'sattention,andshowhimwhereyoustand.Thenwhatyouhavetodo,is, toremainthereuntilhewantsyou.""Isthatall,sir?""That'sall.Hewishestohaveamessengerathand.Thisistotellhimyouarethere."As the ancient clerk deliberately folded and superscribed the note, Mr.Cruncher, after surveying him in silence until he came to the blotting-paperstage,remarked:"Isupposethey'llbetryingForgeriesthismorning?""Treason!""That'squartering,"saidJerry."Barbarous!""Itisthelaw,"remarkedtheancientclerk,turninghissurprisedspectaclesuponhim."Itisthelaw.""It'shardinthelawtospileaman,Ithink.It'shardenoughtokillhim,butit'sweryhardtospilehim,sir.""Notatall,"retainedtheancientclerk."Speakwellofthelaw.Takecareofyourchestandvoice,mygoodfriend,andleavethelawtotakecareofitself.Igiveyouthatadvice.""It'sthedamp,sir,whatsettlesonmychestandvoice,"saidJerry."Ileaveyoutojudgewhatadampwayofearningalivingmineis.""Well,well,"saidtheoldclerk;"weallhaveourvariouswaysofgainingalivelihood.Someofushavedampways,andsomeofushavedryways.Hereistheletter.Goalong."

Jerrytooktheletter,and,remarkingtohimselfwithlessinternaldeferencethan hemade an outward showof, "You are a lean old one, too,"made hisbow,informedhisson,inpassing,ofhisdestination,andwenthisway.TheyhangedatTyburn, in thosedays,so thestreetoutsideNewgatehadnotobtainedoneinfamousnotorietythathassinceattachedtoit.But,thegaolwas a vile place, in which most kinds of debauchery and villainy werepractised, andwhere dire diseaseswere bred, that came into courtwith theprisoners, and sometimes rushed straight from the dock at my Lord ChiefJusticehimself,andpulledhimoffthebench.Ithadmorethanoncehappened,thattheJudgeintheblackcappronouncedhisowndoomascertainlyastheprisoner's,andevendiedbeforehim.Fortherest,theOldBaileywasfamousasakindofdeadlyinn-yard,fromwhichpaletravellerssetoutcontinually,incartsandcoaches,onaviolentpassageintotheotherworld:traversingsometwomilesandahalfofpublicstreetandroad,andshamingfewgoodcitizens,ifany.Sopowerfulisuse,andsodesirabletobegooduseinthebeginning.Itwas famous, too, for the pillory, a wise old institution, that inflicted apunishmentofwhichnoonecouldforeseetheextent;also,forthewhipping-post,anotherdearoldinstitution,veryhumanisingandsofteningtobeholdinaction; also, for extensive transactions in blood-money, another fragment ofancestral wisdom, systematically leading to the most frightful mercenarycrimesthatcouldbecommittedunderHeaven.Altogether,theOldBailey,atthatdate,wasachoiceillustrationoftheprecept,that"Whateverisisright;"an aphorism that would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include thetroublesomeconsequence,thatnothingthateverwas,waswrong.Making hisway through the tainted crowd, dispersed up and down thishideoussceneofaction,withtheskillofamanaccustomedtomakehiswayquietly,themessengerfoundoutthedoorhesought,andhandedinhisletterthroughatrapinit.For,peoplethenpaidtoseetheplayattheOldBailey,justas they paid to see the play inBedlam—only the former entertainmentwasmuch the dearer. Therefore, all the Old Bailey doors were well guarded—except, indeed, the social doors bywhich the criminals got there, and thosewerealwaysleftwideopen.After somedelay anddemur, thedoor grudgingly turnedon its hinges averylittleway,andallowedMr.JerryCrunchertosqueezehimselfintocourt."What'son?"heasked,inawhisper,ofthemanhefoundhimselfnextto."Nothingyet.""What'scomingon?""TheTreasoncase.""Thequarteringone,eh?""Ah!" returned theman,with a relish; "he'll bedrawnon ahurdle tobehalfhanged,andthenhe'llbetakendownandslicedbeforehisownface,and

thenhisinsidewillbetakenoutandburntwhilehelookson,andthenhisheadwillbechoppedoff,andhe'llbecutintoquarters.That'sthesentence.""Ifhe'sfoundGuilty,youmeantosay?"Jerryadded,bywayofproviso."Oh!they'llfindhimguilty,"saidtheother."Don'tyoubeafraidofthat."Mr.Cruncher's attentionwas here diverted to the door-keeper,whomhesawmakinghiswaytoMr.Lorry,withthenoteinhishand.Mr.Lorrysatatatable, among the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged gentleman, theprisoner's counsel,whohadagreatbundleofpapersbeforehim:andnearlyopposite another wigged gentleman with his hands in his pockets, whosewholeattention,whenMr.Cruncherlookedathimthenorafterwards,seemedtobeconcentratedontheceilingofthecourt.Aftersomegruffcoughingandrubbingofhischinandsigningwithhishand,JerryattractedthenoticeofMr.Lorry, who had stood up to look for him, and who quietly nodded and satdownagain."What'shegottodowiththecase?"askedthemanhehadspokenwith."BlestifIknow,"saidJerry."Whathaveyougottodowithit,then,ifapersonmayinquire?""BlestifIknowthateither,"saidJerry.TheentranceoftheJudge,andaconsequentgreatstirandsettlingdowninthecourt,stoppedthedialogue.Presently,thedockbecamethecentralpointofinterest.Twogaolers,whohadbeenstandingthere,wentout,andtheprisonerwasbroughtin,andputtothebar.Everybodypresent, except the onewigged gentlemanwho looked at theceiling,staredathim.Allthehumanbreathintheplace,rolledathim,likeasea,orawind,orafire.Eagerfacesstrainedroundpillarsandcorners,togetasight of him; spectators in back rows stood up, not to miss a hair of him;peopleonthefloorofthecourt,laidtheirhandsontheshouldersofthepeoplebeforethem,tohelpthemselves,atanybody'scost,toaviewofhim—stooda-tiptoe,gotuponledges,stooduponnexttonothing,toseeeveryinchofhim.Conspicuous among these latter, like an animated bit of the spiked wall ofNewgate,Jerrystood:aimingattheprisonerthebeerybreathofawhethehadtakenashecamealong,anddischargingittominglewiththewavesofotherbeer, and gin, and tea, and coffee, and what not, that flowed at him, andalreadybrokeuponthegreatwindowsbehindhiminanimpuremistandrain.Theobjectofallthisstaringandblaring,wasayoungmanofaboutfive-and-twenty,well-grownandwell-looking,with a sunburnt cheek and a darkeye.Hisconditionwasthatofayounggentleman.Hewasplainlydressedinblack,orverydarkgrey,andhishair,whichwaslonganddark,wasgatheredin a ribbon at the back of his neck; more to be out of his way than forornament.Asanemotionofthemindwillexpressitselfthroughanycoveringofthebody,sothepalenesswhichhissituationengenderedcamethroughthe

brownuponhischeek,showingthesoultobestrongerthanthesun.Hewasotherwisequiteself-possessed,bowedtotheJudge,andstoodquiet.Thesortof interestwithwhich thismanwasstaredandbreathedat,wasnot a sort that elevated humanity. Had he stood in peril of a less horriblesentence—had there been a chance of any one of its savage details beingspared—byjustsomuchwouldhehavelostinhisfascination.Theformthatwastobedoomedtobesoshamefullymangled,wasthesight; the immortalcreature thatwas tobesobutcheredand tornasunder,yielded thesensation.Whateverglossthevariousspectatorsputupontheinterest,accordingtotheirseveral arts and powers of self-deceit, the interest was, at the root of it,Ogreish.Silenceinthecourt!CharlesDarnayhadyesterdaypleadedNotGuiltytoanindictmentdenouncinghim(withinfinitejingleandjangle)forthathewasafalsetraitortoourserene,illustrious,excellent,andsoforth,prince,ourLordtheKing,byreasonofhishaving,ondiversoccasions,andbydiversmeansandways,assistedLewis,theFrenchKing,inhiswarsagainstoursaidserene,illustrious, excellent, and so forth; that was to say, by coming and going,betweenthedominionsofoursaidserene,illustrious,excellent,andsoforth,and those of the said French Lewis, andwickedly, falsely, traitorously, andotherwise evil-adverbiously, revealing to the said French Lewiswhat forcesoursaidserene,illustrious,excellent,andsoforth,hadinpreparationtosendtoCanadaandNorthAmerica.Thismuch,Jerry,withhisheadbecomingmoreandmorespikyas the lawtermsbristledit,madeoutwithhugesatisfaction,and so arrived circuitously at the understanding that the aforesaid, and overand over again aforesaid, Charles Darnay, stood there before him upon histrial; that the jury were swearing in; and that Mr. Attorney-General wasmakingreadytospeak.The accused, whowas (andwho knew hewas) beingmentally hanged,beheaded, and quartered, by everybody there, neither flinched from thesituation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it. He was quiet and attentive;watched the opening proceedings with a grave interest; and stood with hishands restingon the slabofwoodbeforehim, socomposedly, that theyhadnotdisplacedaleafoftheherbswithwhichitwasstrewn.Thecourtwasallbestrewnwithherbsandsprinkledwithvinegar,asaprecautionagainstgaolairandgaolfever.Overtheprisoner'sheadtherewasamirror,tothrowthelightdownuponhim.Crowdsofthewickedandthewretchedhadbeenreflectedinit,andhadpassed from its surface and this earth's together.Haunted in amost ghastlymanner thatabominableplacewouldhavebeen, if theglasscouldeverhaverenderedbackitsreflections,astheoceanisonedaytogiveupitsdead.Somepassing thought of the infamy and disgrace forwhich it had been reserved,mayhavestrucktheprisoner'smind.Bethatasitmay,achangeinhispositionmakinghimconsciousofabaroflightacrosshisface,helookedup;andwhen

hesawtheglasshisfaceflushed,andhisrighthandpushedtheherbsaway.Ithappened,thattheactionturnedhisfacetothatsideofthecourtwhichwasonhisleft.Aboutonalevelwithhiseyes,theresat,inthatcorneroftheJudge's bench, two persons upon whom his look immediately rested; soimmediately,andsomuchtothechangingofhisaspect,thatalltheeyesthatwereturneduponhim,turnedtothem.The spectators saw in the two figures, a young lady of littlemore thantwenty, and a gentleman who was evidently her father; a man of a veryremarkableappearanceinrespectoftheabsolutewhitenessofhishair,andacertainindescribableintensityofface:notofanactivekind,butponderingandself-communing.Whenthisexpressionwasuponhim,helookedasifhewereold;butwhenitwasstirredandbrokenup—asitwasnow,inamoment,onhisspeakingtohisdaughter—hebecameahandsomeman,notpasttheprimeoflife.Hisdaughterhadoneofherhandsdrawn throughhisarm,as shesatbyhim,andtheotherpresseduponit.Shehaddrawnclosetohim,inherdreadofthe scene, and inherpity for theprisoner.Her foreheadhadbeen strikinglyexpressive of an engrossing terror and compassion that saw nothing but theperiloftheaccused.Thishadbeensoverynoticeable,soverypowerfullyandnaturallyshown,thatstarerswhohadhadnopityforhimweretouchedbyher;andthewhisperwentabout,"Whoarethey?"Jerry, the messenger, who had made his own observations, in his ownmanner,andwhohadbeensucking therustoffhis fingers inhisabsorption,stretchedhisneck tohearwhotheywere.Thecrowdabouthimhadpressedandpassedthe inquiryonto thenearestattendant,andfromhimithadbeenmoreslowlypressedandpassedback;atlastitgottoJerry:"Witnesses.""Forwhichside?""Against.""Againstwhatside?""Theprisoner's."The Judge,whoseeyeshadgone in thegeneraldirection, recalled them,leanedbackinhisseat,andlookedsteadilyatthemanwhoselifewasinhishand, as Mr. Attorney-General rose to spin the rope, grind the axe, andhammerthenailsintothescaffold.

ADisappointment

Mr.Attorney-Generalhadtoinformthejury,thattheprisonerbeforethem,

thoughyounginyears,wasoldinthetreasonablepracticeswhichclaimedtheforfeitofhis life.That thiscorrespondencewith thepublicenemywasnotacorrespondenceofto-day,orofyesterday,orevenoflastyear,oroftheyearbefore.That,itwascertaintheprisonerhad,forlongerthanthat,beeninthehabitofpassingandrepassingbetweenFranceandEngland,onsecretbusinessofwhich he could give no honest account. That, if itwere in the nature oftraitorouswaystothrive(whichhappilyitneverwas),therealwickednessandguilt of his business might have remained undiscovered. That Providence,however,hadputitintotheheartofapersonwhowasbeyondfearandbeyondreproach, to ferret out thenatureof theprisoner's schemes, and, struckwithhorror, to disclose them to hisMajesty's Chief Secretary of State andmosthonourablePrivyCouncil.That, thispatriotwouldbeproducedbeforethem.That,hispositionandattitudewere,onthewhole,sublime.That,hehadbeentheprisoner'sfriend,but,atonceinanauspiciousandanevilhourdetectinghisinfamy,hadresolvedtoimmolatethetraitorhecouldnolongercherishinhisbosom,onthesacredaltarofhiscountry.That,ifstatuesweredecreedinBritain, as in ancient Greece and Rome, to public benefactors, this shiningcitizenwouldassuredlyhavehadone.That,as theywerenotsodecreed,heprobablywouldnothaveone.That,Virtue,ashadbeenobservedbythepoets(inmanypassageswhichhewellknewthejurywouldhave,wordforword,atthe tips of their tongues;whereat the jury's countenances displayed a guiltyconsciousness that theyknewnothing about the passages),was in amannercontagious;moreespecially thebrightvirtueknownaspatriotism,or loveofcountry. That, the lofty example of this immaculate and unimpeachablewitnessfortheCrown,torefertowhomhoweverunworthilywasanhonour,hadcommunicateditselftotheprisoner'sservant,andhadengenderedinhimaholy determination to examine his master's table-drawers and pockets, andsecretehispapers.That,he(Mr.Attorney-General)waspreparedtohearsomedisparagementattemptedofthisadmirableservant;butthat,inageneralway,he preferred him to his (Mr. Attorney-General's) brothers and sisters, andhonouredhimmorethanhis(Mr.Attorney-General's)fatherandmother.That,he called with confidence on the jury to come and do likewise. That, theevidence of these two witnesses, coupled with the documents of theirdiscovering thatwould be produced,would show the prisoner to have beenfurnished with lists of his Majesty's forces, and of their disposition andpreparation, both by sea and land, and would leave no doubt that he hadhabitually conveyed such information to a hostile power. That, these listscouldnotbeprovedtobeintheprisoner'shandwriting;butthatitwasallthesame;that,indeed,itwasratherthebetterfortheprosecution,asshowingtheprisoner to be artful in his precautions. That, the proofwould go back fiveyears, and would show the prisoner already engaged in these perniciousmissions,within a fewweeks before the date of the very first action foughtbetweentheBritishtroopsandtheAmericans.That,forthesereasons,thejury,being a loyal jury (as he knew theywere), and being a responsible jury (as

theyknewtheywere),mustpositivelyfind theprisonerGuilty,andmakeanendofhim,whethertheylikeditornot.That,theynevercouldlaytheirheadsupontheirpillows;that,theynevercouldtoleratetheideaoftheirwiveslayingtheirheadsupontheirpillows;that,theynevercouldendurethenotionoftheirchildrenlayingtheirheadsupontheirpillows;inshort,thattherenevermorecouldbe,forthemortheirs,anylayingofheadsuponpillowsatall,unlesstheprisoner'sheadwas takenoff.ThatheadMr.Attorney-Generalconcludedbydemandingofthem,inthenameofeverythinghecouldthinkofwitharoundturn in it, and on the faith of his solemn asseveration that he alreadyconsideredtheprisonerasgoodasdeadandgone.WhentheAttorney-Generalceased,abuzzaroseinthecourtasifacloudofgreatblue-flieswereswarmingabout theprisoner, inanticipationofwhathewassoon tobecome.When toneddownagain, theunimpeachablepatriotappearedinthewitness-box.Mr. Solicitor-General then, following his leader's lead, examined thepatriot: John Barsad, gentleman, by name. The story of his pure soul wasexactlywhatMr.Attorney-Generalhaddescribedittobe—perhaps,ifithadafault, a little too exactly.Having releasedhis noblebosomof its burden, hewouldhavemodestlywithdrawnhimself,butthatthewiggedgentlemanwiththepapersbeforehim,sittingnotfarfromMr.Lorry,beggedtoaskhimafewquestions.Thewiggedgentlemansittingopposite, still lookingat theceilingofthecourt.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 didn'tpreciselyrememberwhereitwas.Whatwasit?Nobusinessofanybody's.Hadhe inherited it? Yes, he had. From whom? Distant relation. Very distant?Rather.Everbeeninprison?Certainlynot.Neverinadebtors'prison?Didn'tsee what that had to do with it. Never in a debtors' prison?—Come, onceagain. Never?Yes. Howmany times? Two or three times. Not five or six?Perhaps.Ofwhatprofession?Gentleman.Everbeenkicked?Mighthavebeen.Frequently?No.Everkickeddownstairs?Decidedlynot;oncereceivedakickonthetopofastaircase,andfelldownstairsofhisownaccord.Kickedonthatoccasion for cheating at dice? Something to that effect was said by theintoxicated liarwhocommitted theassault,but itwasnot true.Swear itwasnottrue?Positively.Everlivebycheatingatplay?Never.Everlivebyplay?Notmorethanothergentlemendo.Everborrowmoneyoftheprisoner?Yes.Everpayhim?No.Wasnot this intimacywith theprisoner, inrealityaveryslightone,forcedupontheprisonerincoaches,inns,andpackets?No.Surehesawtheprisonerwiththeselists?Certain.Knewnomoreaboutthelists?No.Hadnotprocured themhimself, for instance?No.Expect togetanythingbythis evidence? No. Not in regular government pay and employment, to laytraps?Ohdearno.Ortodoanything?Ohdearno.Swearthat?Overandoveragain.Nomotivesbutmotivesofsheerpatriotism?Nonewhatever.

Thevirtuousservant,RogerCly,sworehiswaythroughthecaseatagreatrate.Hehadtakenservicewiththeprisoner,ingoodfaithandsimplicity,fouryearsago.Hehadaskedtheprisoner,aboardtheCalaispacket,ifhewantedahandy fellow, and the prisoner had engaged him. He had not asked theprisonertotakethehandyfellowasanactofcharity—neverthoughtofsuchathing.Hebegan tohavesuspicionsof theprisoner,and tokeepaneyeuponhim, soonafterwards. In arranginghis clothes,while travelling,hehad seensimilar lists to these in the prisoner's pockets, over and over again.He hadtakentheselistsfromthedraweroftheprisoner'sdesk.Hehadnotputthemthere first. He had seen the prisoner show these identical lists to FrenchgentlemenatCalais,andsimilarliststoFrenchgentlemen,bothatCalaisandBoulogne. He loved his country, and couldn't bear it, and had giveninformation.Hehadneverbeensuspectedofstealingasilvertea-pot;hehadbeenmalignedrespectingamustard-pot,butitturnedouttobeonlyaplatedone.Hehadknown the lastwitness sevenor eight years; thatwasmerely acoincidence. He didn't call it a particularly curious coincidence; mostcoincidenceswere curious.Neither did he call it a curious coincidence thattruepatriotismwashisonlymotivetoo.HewasatrueBriton,andhopedthereweremanylikehim.The blue-flies buzzed again, andMr.Attorney-General calledMr. JarvisLorry."Mr.JarvisLorry,areyouaclerkinTellson'sbank?""Iam.""OnacertainFridaynightinNovemberonethousandsevenhundredandseventy-five,didbusinessoccasionyoutotravelbetweenLondonandDoverbythemail?""Itdid.""Werethereanyotherpassengersinthemail?""Two.""Didtheyalightontheroadinthecourseofthenight?""Theydid.""Mr.Lorry,lookupontheprisoner.Washeoneofthosetwopassengers?""Icannotundertaketosaythathewas.""Doesheresembleeitherofthesetwopassengers?""Bothweresowrappedup,andthenightwassodark,andwewereallsoreserved,thatIcannotundertaketosayeventhat.""Mr.Lorry, look againupon theprisoner.Supposinghimwrappedup asthosetwopassengerswere,isthereanythinginhisbulkandstaturetorenderitunlikelythathewasoneofthem?"

"No.""Youwillnotswear,Mr.Lorry,thathewasnotoneofthem?""No.""Soatleastyousayhemayhavebeenoneofthem?""Yes. Except that I remember them both to have been—like myself—timorousofhighwaymen,andtheprisonerhasnotatimorousair.""Didyoueverseeacounterfeitoftimidity,Mr.Lorry?""Icertainlyhaveseenthat.""Mr.Lorry,lookoncemoreupontheprisoner.Haveyouseenhim,toyourcertainknowledge,before?""Ihave.""When?""I was returning from France a few days afterwards, and, at Calais, theprisoner came on board the packet-ship in which I returned, and made thevoyagewithme.""Atwhathourdidhecomeonboard?""Atalittleaftermidnight.""Inthedeadofthenight.Washetheonlypassengerwhocameonboardatthatuntimelyhour?""Hehappenedtobetheonlyone.""Nevermindabout'happening,'Mr.Lorry.Hewastheonlypassengerwhocameonboardinthedeadofthenight?""Hewas.""Wereyoutravellingalone,Mr.Lorry,orwithanycompanion?""Withtwocompanions.Agentlemanandlady.Theyarehere.""Theyarehere.Hadyouanyconversationwiththeprisoner?""Hardlyany.Theweatherwasstormy,andthepassagelongandrough,andIlayonasofa,almostfromshoretoshore.""MissManette!"Theyounglady,towhomalleyeshadbeenturnedbefore,andwerenowturnedagain, stoodupwhereshehadsat.Her father rosewithher,andkeptherhanddrawnthroughhisarm."MissManette,lookupontheprisoner."Tobeconfrontedwithsuchpity,andsuchearnestyouthandbeauty,wasfar more trying to the accused than to be confronted with all the crowd.Standing,asitwere,apartwithherontheedgeofhisgrave,notallthestaring

curiosity that looked on, could, for themoment, nerve him to remain quitestill.Hishurriedrighthandparcelledouttheherbsbeforehimintoimaginarybedsofflowersinagarden;andhiseffortstocontrolandsteadyhisbreathingshookthelipsfromwhichthecolourrushedtohisheart.Thebuzzofthegreatflieswasloudagain."MissManette,haveyouseentheprisonerbefore?""Yes,sir.""Where?""On board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on the sameoccasion.""Youaretheyoungladyjustnowreferredto?""O!mostunhappily,Iam!"Theplaintivetoneofhercompassionmergedintothelessmusicalvoiceofthe Judge, as he said something fiercely: "Answer the questions put to you,andmakenoremarkuponthem.""MissManette,hadyouanyconversationwiththeprisoneronthatpassageacrosstheChannel?""Yes,sir.""Recallit."In the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: "When thegentlemancameonboard—""Doyoumeantheprisoner?"inquiredtheJudge,knittinghisbrows."Yes,myLord.""Thensaytheprisoner.""Whentheprisonercameonboard,henoticedthatmyfather,"turninghereyeslovinglytohimashestoodbesideher,"wasmuchfatiguedandinaveryweakstateofhealth.MyfatherwassoreducedthatIwasafraidtotakehimoutoftheair,andIhadmadeabedforhimonthedecknearthecabinsteps,and I sat on the deck at his side to take care of him. There were no otherpassengers that night, but we four. The prisoner was so good as to begpermission to advise me how I could shelter my father from the wind andweather, better than I had done. I had not known how to do it well, notunderstandinghowthewindwouldsetwhenwewereoutoftheharbour.Hediditforme.Heexpressedgreatgentlenessandkindnessformyfather'sstate,and I am sure he felt it. That was the manner of our beginning to speaktogether.""Letmeinterruptyouforamoment.Hadhecomeonboardalone?""No."

"Howmanywerewithhim?""TwoFrenchgentlemen.""Hadtheyconferredtogether?""Theyhadconferredtogetheruntilthelastmoment,whenitwasnecessaryfortheFrenchgentlementobelandedintheirboat.""Hadanypapersbeenhandedaboutamongthem,similartotheselists?""Somepapershadbeenhandedaboutamongthem,butIdon'tknowwhatpapers.""Liketheseinshapeandsize?""Possibly, but indeed I don't know, although they stoodwhispering veryneartome:becausetheystoodatthetopofthecabinstepstohavethelightofthelampthatwashangingthere;itwasadulllamp,andtheyspokeverylow,andIdidnothearwhattheysaid,andsawonlythattheylookedatpapers.""Now,totheprisoner'sconversation,MissManette.""Theprisonerwasasopeninhisconfidencewithme—whicharoseoutofmyhelpless situation—ashewaskind, andgood, anduseful tomy father. Ihope,"burstingintotears,"Imaynotrepayhimbydoinghimharmto-day."Buzzingfromtheblue-flies."MissManette,iftheprisonerdoesnotperfectlyunderstandthatyougivetheevidencewhichitisyourdutytogive—whichyoumustgive—andwhichyou cannot escape from giving—with great unwillingness, he is the onlypersonpresentinthatcondition.Pleasetogoon.""Hetoldmethathewas travellingonbusinessofadelicateanddifficultnature, which might get people into trouble, and that he was thereforetravellingunderanassumedname.Hesaidthatthisbusinesshad,withinafewdays, taken him to France, andmight, at intervals, take him backwards andforwardsbetweenFranceandEnglandforalongtimetocome.""DidhesayanythingaboutAmerica,MissManette?Beparticular.""Hetriedtoexplaintomehowthatquarrelhadarisen,andhesaidthat,sofarashecould judge, itwasawrongand foolishoneonEngland'spart.Headded,inajestingway,thatperhapsGeorgeWashingtonmightgainalmostasgreatanameinhistoryasGeorgetheThird.Buttherewasnoharminhiswayofsayingthis:itwassaidlaughingly,andtobeguilethetime."Anystronglymarkedexpressionof faceon thepartofachiefactor inasceneofgreatinteresttowhommanyeyesaredirected,willbeunconsciouslyimitatedby the spectators.Her foreheadwaspainfullyanxiousand intent asshegavethisevidence,and,inthepauseswhenshestoppedfortheJudgetowriteitdown,watcheditseffectuponthecounselforandagainst.Amongthelookers-on there was the same expression in all quarters of the court;

insomuch, that a great majority of the foreheads there, might have beenmirrors reflecting thewitness, when the Judge looked up from his notes toglareatthattremendousheresyaboutGeorgeWashington.Mr. Attorney-General now signified to my Lord, that he deemed itnecessary,asamatterofprecautionandform,tocalltheyounglady'sfather,DoctorManette.Whowascalledaccordingly."DoctorManette,lookupontheprisoner.Haveyoueverseenhimbefore?""Once.Whenhe called atmy lodgings inLondon.Some three years, orthreeyearsandahalfago.""Can you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet, orspeaktohisconversationwithyourdaughter?""Sir,Icandoneither.""Is there any particular and special reason for your being unable to doeither?"Heanswered,inalowvoice,"Thereis.""Has it been your misfortune to undergo a long imprisonment, withouttrial,orevenaccusation,inyournativecountry,DoctorManette?"Heanswered,inatonethatwenttoeveryheart,"Alongimprisonment.""Wereyounewlyreleasedontheoccasioninquestion?""Theytellmeso.""Haveyounoremembranceoftheoccasion?""None.Mymindisablank,fromsometime—Icannotevensaywhattime—whenIemployedmyself,inmycaptivity,inmakingshoes,tothetimewhenIfoundmyselflivinginLondonwithmydeardaughterhere.Shehadbecomefamiliar tome,when a graciousGod restoredmy faculties; but, I am quiteunableeventosayhowshehadbecomefamiliar. Ihavenoremembranceoftheprocess."Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the father and daughter sat downtogether.Asingularcircumstancethenaroseinthecase.Theobjectinhandbeingtoshowthattheprisonerwentdown,withsomefellow-plotteruntracked,intheDovermailonthatFridaynightinNovemberfiveyearsago,andgotoutofthemail in the night, as a blind, at a placewhere he did not remain, but fromwhich he travelled back some dozen miles or more, to a garrison anddockyard,andtherecollectedinformation;awitnesswascalledtoidentifyhimashavingbeenattheprecisetimerequired,inthecoffee-roomofanhotelinthat garrison-and-dockyard town,waiting for another person. The prisoner'scounselwas cross-examining thiswitnesswith no result, except that he hadnever seen the prisoner on any other occasion,when thewigged gentleman

whohadallthistimebeenlookingattheceilingofthecourt,wroteawordortwoonalittlepieceofpaper,screweditup,andtossedittohim.Openingthispieceofpaper in thenextpause, thecounsel lookedwithgreatattentionandcuriosityattheprisoner."Yousayagainyouarequitesurethatitwastheprisoner?"Thewitnesswasquitesure."Didyoueverseeanybodyveryliketheprisoner?"Notsolike(thewitnesssaid)asthathecouldbemistaken."Lookwelluponthatgentleman,mylearnedfriendthere,"pointingtohimwhohad tossed thepaperover, "and then lookwell upon theprisoner.Howsayyou?Aretheyverylikeeachother?"Allowingformylearnedfriend'sappearancebeingcarelessandslovenlyifnotdebauched,theyweresufficientlylikeeachothertosurprise,notonlythewitness,buteverybodypresent,whentheywerethusbroughtintocomparison.MyLordbeingprayedtobidmylearnedfriendlayasidehiswig,andgivingno very gracious consent, the likeness becamemuchmore remarkable.MyLordinquiredofMr.Stryver(theprisoner'scounsel),whethertheywerenextto tryMr.Carton (nameofmy learned friend) for treason?But,Mr.StryverrepliedtomyLord,no;buthewouldaskthewitnesstotellhimwhetherwhathappenedonce,mighthappentwice;whetherhewouldhavebeensoconfidentifhehadseenthisillustrationofhisrashnesssooner,whetherhewouldbesoconfident,havingseenit;andmore.Theupshotofwhich,was,tosmashthiswitness like a crockery vessel, and shiver his part of the case to uselesslumber.Mr.Cruncherhadbythistimetakenquitealunchofrustoffhisfingersinhisfollowingof theevidence.HehadnowtoattendwhileMr.Stryverfittedtheprisoner'scaseon the jury, likeacompact suitofclothes; showing themhowthepatriot,Barsad,wasahiredspyandtraitor,anunblushingtraffickerinblood,andoneof thegreatest scoundrelsuponearth sinceaccursedJudas—whichhecertainlydidlookratherlike.Howthevirtuousservant,Cly,washisfriend and partner, and was worthy to be; how the watchful eyes of thoseforgersandfalseswearershadrestedontheprisonerasavictim,becausesomefamilyaffairsinFrance,hebeingofFrenchextraction,didrequirehismakingthose passages across the Channel—though what those affairs were, aconsiderationforotherswhowerenearanddeartohim,forbadehim,evenforhislife,todisclose.Howtheevidencethathadbeenwarpedandwrestedfromthe young lady, whose anguish in giving it they had witnessed, came tonothing, involving themere little innocentgallantriesandpolitenesses likelytopassbetweenanyyounggentlemanandyoungladysothrowntogether;—with the exception of that reference to George Washington, which wasaltogether too extravagant and impossible to be regarded in any other lightthanasamonstrousjoke.Howitwouldbeaweaknessinthegovernmentto

break down in this attempt to practise for popularity on the lowest nationalantipathiesandfears,andthereforeMr.Attorney-Generalhadmadethemostof it; how, nevertheless, it rested upon nothing, save that vile and infamouscharacterofevidencetoooftendisfiguringsuchcases,andofwhichtheStateTrialsofthiscountrywerefull.But,theremyLordinterposed(withasgraveafaceas if ithadnotbeen true),saying thathecouldnotsitupon thatBenchandsufferthoseallusions.Mr.Stryver thencalledhis fewwitnesses, andMr.Cruncherhadnext toattendwhileMr.Attorney-GeneralturnedthewholesuitofclothesMr.Stryverhad fittedon the jury, insideout; showinghowBarsadandClywereevenahundred times better than he had thought them, and the prisoner a hundredtimesworse.Lastly, camemyLordhimself, turning the suitofclothes,nowinsideout,nowoutsidein,butonthewholedecidedlytrimmingandshapingthemintograve-clothesfortheprisoner.Andnow,thejuryturnedtoconsider,andthegreatfliesswarmedagain.Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the court,changedneitherhisplacenorhisattitude,evenin thisexcitement.Whilehislearned friend,Mr. Stryver, massing his papers before him, whispered withthosewhosatnear,andfromtimetotimeglancedanxiouslyatthejury;whileall the spectatorsmovedmore or less, and grouped themselves anew;whileevenmyLordhimselfarosefromhisseat,andslowlypacedupanddownhisplatform,notunattendedbyasuspicioninthemindsoftheaudiencethathisstatewasfeverish;thisonemansatleaningback,withhistorngownhalfoffhim,hisuntidywigputonjustasithadhappenedtolightonhisheadafteritsremoval,hishandsinhispockets,andhiseyesontheceilingastheyhadbeenallday.Somethingespeciallyrecklessinhisdemeanour,notonlygavehimadisreputable look, but so diminished the strong resemblance he undoubtedlybore to the prisoner (which his momentary earnestness, when they werecomparedtogether,hadstrengthened),thatmanyofthelookers-on,takingnoteofhimnow,saidtooneanothertheywouldhardlyhavethoughtthetwoweresoalike.Mr.Crunchermadetheobservationtohisnextneighbour,andadded,"I'dholdhalfaguineathathedon'tgetnolaw-worktodo.Don'tlooklikethesortofonetogetany,dohe?"Yet, this Mr. Carton took in more of the details of the scene than heappeared to take in; for now, whenMissManette's head dropped upon herfather'sbreast,hewasthefirsttoseeit,andtosayaudibly:"Officer!looktothat young lady.Help thegentleman to takeher out.Don't you see shewillfall!"Therewasmuch commiseration for her as shewas removed, andmuchsympathywithherfather.Ithadevidentlybeenagreatdistresstohim,tohavethedaysofhisimprisonmentrecalled.Hehadshownstronginternalagitationwhen hewas questioned, and that pondering or brooding lookwhichmadehimold,hadbeenuponhim,likeaheavycloud,eversince.Ashepassedout,

the jury, who had turned back and paused a moment, spoke, through theirforeman.Theywerenotagreed,andwishedtoretire.MyLord(perhapswithGeorgeWashingtononhismind)showedsomesurprisethattheywerenotagreed,butsignifiedhispleasurethattheyshouldretireunderwatchandward,andretiredhimself.Thetrialhadlastedallday,andthelampsinthecourtwerenowbeinglighted.Itbegantoberumouredthatthejurywouldbeoutalongwhile.Thespectators dropped off to get refreshment, and the prisonerwithdrew to thebackofthedock,andsatdown.Mr.Lorry,whohadgoneoutwhentheyoungladyandherfatherwentout,nowreappeared,andbeckonedtoJerry:who,intheslackenedinterest,couldeasilygetnearhim."Jerry,ifyouwishtotakesomethingtoeat,youcan.But,keepintheway.Youwill be sure tohearwhen the jury come in.Don't be amomentbehindthem,forIwantyoutotaketheverdictbacktothebank.YouarethequickestmessengerIknow,andwillgettoTempleBarlongbeforeIcan."Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and he knuckled it inacknowledgmentofthiscommunicationandashilling.Mr.Cartoncameupatthemoment,andtouchedMr.Lorryonthearm."Howistheyounglady?""She isgreatlydistressed;buther father is comfortingher, and she feelsthebetterforbeingoutofcourt.""I'lltelltheprisonerso.Itwon'tdoforarespectablebankgentlemanlikeyou,tobeseenspeakingtohimpublicly,youknow."Mr.Lorryreddenedasifhewereconsciousofhavingdebatedthepointinhismind,andMr.Cartonmadehiswaytotheoutsideofthebar.Thewayoutofcourtlayinthatdirection,andJerryfollowedhim,alleyes,ears,andspikes."Mr.Darnay!"Theprisonercameforwarddirectly."Youwillnaturallybeanxioustohearof thewitness,MissManette.Shewilldoverywell.Youhaveseentheworstofheragitation.""Iamdeeplysorrytohavebeenthecauseofit.Couldyoutellhersoforme,withmyferventacknowledgments?""Yes,Icould.Iwill,ifyouaskit."Mr.Carton'smannerwas so careless as to be almost insolent.He stood,halfturnedfromtheprisoner,loungingwithhiselbowagainstthebar."Idoaskit.Acceptmycordialthanks.""What," saidCarton, still only half turned towards him, "doyou expect,Mr.Darnay?"

"Theworst.""It's the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think theirwithdrawingisinyourfavour."Loiteringonthewayoutofcourtnotbeingallowed,Jerryheardnomore:butleftthem—solikeeachotherinfeature,sounlikeeachotherinmanner—standingsidebyside,bothreflectedintheglassabovethem.Anhour andahalf limpedheavily away in the thief-and-rascal crowdedpassagesbelow,eventhoughassistedoffwithmuttonpiesandale.Thehoarsemessenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking that refection, haddroppedintoadoze,whenaloudmurmurandarapidtideofpeoplesettingupthestairsthatledtothecourt,carriedhimalongwiththem."Jerry!Jerry!"Mr.Lorrywasalreadycallingatthedoorwhenhegotthere."Here,sir!It'safighttogetbackagain.HereIam,sir!"Mr.Lorryhandedhimapaperthroughthethrong."Quick!Haveyougotit?""Yes,sir."Hastilywrittenonthepaperwastheword"ACQUITTED.""Ifyouhadsentthemessage,'RecalledtoLife,'again,"mutteredJerry,asheturned,"Ishouldhaveknownwhatyoumeant,thistime."Hehadnoopportunityof saying, or somuchas thinking, anything else,untilhewasclearoftheOldBailey;for, thecrowdcamepouringoutwithavehemence thatnearly tookhimoffhis legs,anda loudbuzzswept into thestreetasifthebaffledblue-fliesweredispersinginsearchofothercarrion.

Congratulatory

From the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of thehumanstewthathadbeenboilingthereallday,wasstrainingoff,whenDoctorManette,LucieManette,hisdaughter,Mr.Lorry,thesolicitorforthedefence,and itscounsel,Mr.Stryver,stoodgatheredroundMr.CharlesDarnay—justreleased—congratulatinghimonhisescapefromdeath.Itwouldhavebeendifficultbyafarbrighterlight,torecogniseinDoctorManette, intellectual of face and upright of bearing, the shoemaker of thegarret inParis.Yet,noonecouldhave lookedathimtwice,without lookingagain: even though the opportunity of observation had not extended to themournful cadence of his low grave voice, and to the abstraction thatoverclouded him fitfully, without any apparent reason. While one externalcause,andthatareferencetohislonglingeringagony,wouldalways—ason

the trial—evoke thiscondition from thedepthsofhis soul, itwasalso in itsnaturetoariseofitself,andtodrawagloomoverhim,asincomprehensibletothoseunacquaintedwithhisstoryasiftheyhadseentheshadowoftheactualBastille thrown upon him by a summer sun, when the substance was threehundredmilesaway.Onlyhisdaughterhadthepowerofcharmingthisblackbroodingfromhismind.ShewasthegoldenthreadthatunitedhimtoaPastbeyondhismisery,andtoaPresentbeyondhismisery:andthesoundofhervoice,thelightofherface,thetouchofherhand,hadastrongbeneficialinfluencewithhimalmostalways.Notabsolutelyalways,forshecouldrecallsomeoccasionsonwhichher power had failed; but theywere few and slight, and she believed themover.Mr.Darnayhadkissedherhandferventlyandgratefully,andhadturnedtoMr.Stryver,whomhewarmlythanked.Mr.Stryver,amanoflittlemorethanthirty,butlookingtwentyyearsolderthanhewas,stout,loud,red,bluff,andfreefromanydrawbackofdelicacy,hadapushingwayofshoulderinghimself(morally andphysically) into companies andconversations, that arguedwellforhisshoulderinghiswayupinlife.Hestillhadhiswigandgownon,andhesaid,squaringhimselfathislateclienttothatdegreethathesqueezedtheinnocentMr.Lorrycleanoutofthegroup:"Iamgladtohavebroughtyouoffwithhonour,Mr.Darnay.Itwasaninfamousprosecution,grosslyinfamous;butnotthelesslikelytosucceedonthataccount.""Youhavelaidmeunderanobligationtoyouforlife—intwosenses,"saidhislateclient,takinghishand."I have done my best for you,Mr. Darnay; and my best is as good asanotherman's,Ibelieve."Itclearlybeing incumbentonsomeone tosay,"Muchbetter,"Mr.Lorrysaid it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but with the interested object ofsqueezinghimselfbackagain."Youthinkso?"saidMr.Stryver."Well!youhavebeenpresentallday,andyououghttoknow.Youareamanofbusiness,too.""Andassuch,"quothMr.Lorry,whomthecounsellearnedinthelawhadnowshoulderedbackintothegroup,justashehadpreviouslyshoulderedhimout of it—"as such I will appeal to Doctor Manette, to break up thisconferenceandorderusalltoourhomes.MissLucielooksill,Mr.Darnayhashadaterribleday,wearewornout.""Speakforyourself,Mr.Lorry,"saidStryver;"Ihaveanight'sworktodoyet.Speakforyourself.""I speak formyself," answeredMr. Lorry, "and forMr.Darnay, and forMissLucie,and—MissLucie,doyounot think Imayspeakforusall?"He

askedherthequestionpointedly,andwithaglanceatherfather.Hisfacehadbecomefrozen,asitwere,inaverycuriouslookatDarnay:an intent look, deepening into a frown of dislike and distrust, not evenunmixed with fear. With this strange expression on him his thoughts hadwanderedaway."Myfather,"saidLucie,softlylayingherhandonhis.Heslowlyshooktheshadowoff,andturnedtoher."Shallwegohome,myfather?"Withalongbreath,heanswered"Yes."Thefriendsof theacquittedprisonerhaddispersed,undertheimpression—whichhehimselfhadoriginated—thathewouldnotbereleasedthatnight.The lightswere nearly all extinguished in the passages, the iron gateswerebeingclosedwithajarandarattle,andthedismalplacewasdeserteduntilto-morrowmorning's interest of gallows, pillory,whipping-post, and branding-iron, should repeople it.Walking between her father andMr.Darnay,LucieManettepassedintotheopenair.Ahackney-coachwascalled,andthefatheranddaughterdepartedinit.Mr.Stryverhadlefttheminthepassages,toshoulderhiswaybacktotherobing-room.Anotherperson,whohadnotjoinedthegroup,orinterchangedawordwithanyoneofthem,butwhohadbeenleaningagainstthewallwhereitsshadowwasdarkest,hadsilentlystrolledoutaftertherest,andhadlookedonuntilthecoachdroveaway.HenowsteppeduptowhereMr.LorryandMr.Darnaystooduponthepavement."So,Mr.Lorry!MenofbusinessmayspeaktoMr.Darnaynow?"NobodyhadmadeanyacknowledgmentofMr.Carton'spart in theday'sproceedings; nobody had known of it. He was unrobed, and was none thebetterforitinappearance."If you knew what a conflict goes on in the business mind, when thebusiness mind is divided between good-natured impulse and businessappearances,youwouldbeamused,Mr.Darnay."Mr.Lorryreddened,andsaid,warmly,"Youhavementioned thatbefore,sir.Wemenofbusiness,whoserveaHouse,arenotourownmasters.WehavetothinkoftheHousemorethanourselves.""Iknow,I know," rejoinedMr.Carton, carelessly. "Don't be nettled,Mr.Lorry.Youareasgoodasanother,Ihavenodoubt:better,Idaresay.""And indeed, sir," pursued Mr. Lorry, not minding him, "I really don'tknowwhatyouhavetodowiththematter.Ifyou'llexcuseme,asverymuchyourelder,forsayingso,Ireallydon'tknowthatitisyourbusiness.""Business!Blessyou,Ihavenobusiness,"saidMr.Carton.

"Itisapityyouhavenot,sir.""Ithinkso,too.""Ifyouhad,"pursuedMr.Lorry,"perhapsyouwouldattendtoit.""Lordloveyou,no!—Ishouldn't,"saidMr.Carton."Well, sir!" cried Mr. Lorry, thoroughly heated by his indifference,"business is a very good thing, and a very respectable thing. And, sir, ifbusiness imposes its restraintsand its silencesand impediments,Mr.Darnayas a young gentleman of generosity knows how tomake allowance for thatcircumstance.Mr.Darnay, good night,God bless you, sir! I hope you havebeenthisdaypreservedforaprosperousandhappylife.—Chairthere!"Perhapsalittleangrywithhimself,aswellaswiththebarrister,Mr.Lorrybustled into thechair,andwascarriedoff toTellson's.Carton,whosmeltofportwine, anddidnot appear tobequite sober, laughed then, and turned toDarnay:"Thisisastrangechancethatthrowsyouandmetogether.Thismustbeastrangenighttoyou,standingaloneherewithyourcounterpartonthesestreetstones?""I hardly seem yet," returned Charles Darnay, "to belong to this worldagain.""Idon'twonderatit;it'snotsolongsinceyouwereprettyfaradvancedonyourwaytoanother.Youspeakfaintly.""IbegintothinkIamfaint.""Then why the devil don't you dine? I dined, myself, while thosenumskullsweredeliberatingwhichworldyoushouldbelongto—this,orsomeother.Letmeshowyouthenearesttaverntodinewellat."Drawinghisarmthroughhisown,hetookhimdownLudgate-hilltoFleet-street,andso,upacoveredway,intoatavern.Here,theywereshownintoalittleroom,whereCharlesDarnaywassoonrecruitinghisstrengthwithagoodplain dinner and good wine: while Carton sat opposite to him at the sametable,with his separate bottle of port before him, and his fully half-insolentmanneruponhim."Do you feel, yet, that you belong to this terrestrial scheme again, Mr.Darnay?""I am frightfully confused regarding time and place; but I am so farmendedastofeelthat.""Itmustbeanimmensesatisfaction!"Hesaiditbitterly,andfilleduphisglassagain:whichwasalargeone."Astome,thegreatestdesireIhave,istoforgetthatIbelongtoit.Ithasnogoodinitforme—exceptwinelikethis—norIforit.Sowearenotmuch

alikeinthatparticular.Indeed,Ibegintothinkwearenotmuchalikeinanyparticular,youandI."Confusedbytheemotionoftheday,andfeelinghisbeingtherewiththisDoubleofcoarsedeportment,tobelikeadream,CharlesDarnaywasatalosshowtoanswer;finally,answerednotatall."Nowyourdinner isdone,"Cartonpresently said, "whydon'tyoucall ahealth,Mr.Darnay;whydon'tyougiveyourtoast?""Whathealth?Whattoast?""Why,it'sonthetipofyourtongue.Itoughttobe,itmustbe,I'llswearit'sthere.""MissManette,then!""MissManette,then!"Lookinghis companion full in the facewhile hedrank the toast,Cartonflunghisglassoverhisshoulderagainstthewall,whereitshiveredtopieces;then,rangthebell,andorderedinanother."That'safairyoungladytohandtoacoachinthedark,Mr.Darnay!"hesaid,fillinghisnewgoblet.Aslightfrownandalaconic"Yes,"weretheanswer."That'safairyoungladytobepitiedbyandweptforby!Howdoesitfeel?Is itworth being tried for one's life, to be the object of such sympathy andcompassion,Mr.Darnay?"AgainDarnayanswerednotaword."Shewasmightilypleasedtohaveyourmessage,whenIgaveither.Notthatsheshowedshewaspleased,butIsupposeshewas."TheallusionservedasatimelyremindertoDarnaythatthisdisagreeablecompanionhad,ofhisownfreewill,assistedhiminthestraitoftheday.Heturnedthedialoguetothatpoint,andthankedhimforit."Ineitherwantanythanks,normeritany,"wasthecarelessrejoinder."Itwas nothing to do, in the first place; and I don't knowwhy I did it, in thesecond.Mr.Darnay,letmeaskyouaquestion.""Willingly,andasmallreturnforyourgoodoffices.""DoyouthinkIparticularlylikeyou?""Really,Mr.Carton," returned the other, oddly disconcerted, "I have notaskedmyselfthequestion.""Butaskyourselfthequestionnow.""Youhaveactedasifyoudo;butIdon'tthinkyoudo.""Idon't thinkIdo,"saidCarton."Ibegintohaveaverygoodopinionof

yourunderstanding.""Nevertheless,"pursuedDarnay,risingtoringthebell,"thereisnothinginthat,Ihope,topreventmycallingthereckoning,andourpartingwithoutill-bloodoneitherside."Cartonrejoining,"Nothinginlife!"Darnayrang."Doyoucall thewholereckoning?"saidCarton.Onhisansweringintheaffirmative,"Thenbringmeanotherpintofthissamewine,drawer,andcomeandwakemeatten."The bill being paid, Charles Darnay rose and wished him good night.Without returning the wish, Carton rose too, with something of a threat ofdefiance inhismanner, and said, "A lastword,Mr.Darnay:you think I amdrunk?""Ithinkyouhavebeendrinking,Mr.Carton.""Think?YouknowIhavebeendrinking.""SinceImustsayso,Iknowit.""Thenyoushalllikewiseknowwhy.Iamadisappointeddrudge,sir.Icarefornomanonearth,andnomanonearthcaresforme.""Muchtoberegretted.Youmighthaveusedyourtalentsbetter.""Maybeso,Mr.Darnay;maybenot.Don'tletyoursoberfaceelateyou,however;youdon'tknowwhatitmaycometo.Goodnight!"When hewas left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to aglassthathungagainstthewall,andsurveyedhimselfminutelyinit."Doyouparticularlyliketheman?"hemuttered,athisownimage;"whyshould you particularly like amanwho resembles you?There is nothing inyoutolike;youknowthat.Ah,confoundyou!Whatachangeyouhavemadeinyourself!Agoodreasonfor takingtoaman, thatheshowsyouwhatyouhave fallen away from, andwhatyoumighthavebeen!Changeplaceswithhim, andwouldyouhavebeen lookedatby thoseblueeyesashewas, andcommiserated by that agitated face as hewas?Comeon, and have it out inplainwords!Youhatethefellow."He resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it all in a fewminutes, and fell asleeponhis arms,withhis hair stragglingover the table,andalongwinding-sheetinthecandledrippingdownuponhim.

TheJackal

Thoseweredrinkingdays,andmostmendrankhard.SoverygreatistheimprovementTimehasbroughtaboutinsuchhabits,thatamoderatestatementofthequantityofwineandpunchwhichonemanwouldswallowinthecourse

of a night, without any detriment to his reputation as a perfect gentleman,wouldseem,inthesedays,aridiculousexaggeration.Thelearnedprofessionof the law was certainly not behind any other learned profession in itsBacchanalian propensities; neitherwasMr. Stryver, already fast shoulderinghis way to a large and lucrative practice, behind his compeers in thisparticular,anymorethaninthedrierpartsofthelegalrace.A favourite at theOld Bailey, and eke at the Sessions,Mr. Stryver hadbegun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which hemounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favourite,specially, to their longingarms; and shouldering itself towards thevisageoftheLordChiefJusticeintheCourtofKing'sBench,thefloridcountenanceofMr.Stryvermightbedailyseen,burstingoutofthebedofwigs,likeagreatsunflowerpushingitswayatthesunfromamongarankgarden-fullofflaringcompanions.IthadoncebeennotedattheBar,thatwhileMr.Stryverwasaglibman,and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that faculty ofextracting the essence from a heap of statements,which is among themoststrikingandnecessaryof theadvocate'saccomplishments.But,a remarkableimprovementcameuponhimastothis.Themorebusinesshegot,thegreaterhispowerseemedtogrowofgettingatitspithandmarrow;andhoweverlateatnighthesatcarousingwithSydneyCarton,healwayshadhispointsathisfingers'endsinthemorning.SydneyCarton, idlest andmostunpromisingofmen,wasStryver'sgreatally. What the two drank together, between Hilary Term and Michaelmas,mighthavefloatedaking'sship.Stryverneverhadacaseinhand,anywhere,butCartonwasthere,withhishandsinhispockets,staringattheceilingofthecourt; theywent thesameCircuit,andeven there theyprolonged theirusualorgies late into thenight,andCartonwasrumoured tobeseenatbroadday,goinghomestealthilyandunsteadilytohislodgings,likeadissipatedcat.Atlast, itbegan togetabout, amongsuchaswere interested in thematter, thatalthough SydneyCartonwould never be a lion, hewas an amazingly goodjackal,andthatherenderedsuitandservicetoStryverinthathumblecapacity."Ten o'clock, sir," said theman at the tavern, whom he had charged towakehim—"teno'clock,sir.""What'sthematter?""Teno'clock,sir.""Whatdoyoumean?Teno'clockatnight?""Yes,sir.Yourhonourtoldmetocallyou.""Oh!Iremember.Verywell,verywell."Aftera fewdullefforts toget tosleepagain,which themandexterouslycombatedbystirringthefirecontinuouslyforfiveminutes,hegotup,tossed

his hat on, andwalked out.He turned into theTemple, and, having revivedhimself by twice pacing the pavements of King's Bench-walk and Paper-buildings,turnedintotheStryverchambers.The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had gonehome,andtheStryverprincipalopenedthedoor.Hehadhisslipperson,andaloosebed-gown,andhisthroatwasbareforhisgreaterease.Hehadthatratherwild, strained, searedmarkingabout theeyes,whichmaybeobserved inallfreeliversofhisclass,fromtheportraitofJeffriesdownward,andwhichcanbe traced, under various disguises of Art, through the portraits of everyDrinkingAge."Youarealittlelate,Memory,"saidStryver."Abouttheusualtime;itmaybeaquarterofanhourlater."Theywent into a dingy room linedwith books and litteredwith papers,wheretherewasablazingfire.Akettlesteameduponthehob,andinthemidstofthewreckofpapersatableshone,withplentyofwineuponit,andbrandy,andrum,andsugar,andlemons."Youhavehadyourbottle,Iperceive,Sydney.""Twoto-night,Ithink.Ihavebeendiningwiththeday'sclient;orseeinghimdine—it'sallone!""That was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to bear upon theidentification.Howdidyoucomebyit?Whendiditstrikeyou?""I thoughthewasratherahandsomefellow,andI thoughtIshouldhavebeenmuchthesamesortoffellow,ifIhadhadanyluck."Mr.Stryverlaughedtillheshookhisprecociouspaunch."Youandyourluck,Sydney!Gettowork,gettowork."Sullenly enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an adjoiningroom,andcamebackwitha large jugofcoldwater,abasin,anda towelortwo. Steeping the towels in the water, and partially wringing them out, hefoldedthemonhisheadinamannerhideoustobehold,satdownatthetable,andsaid,"NowIamready!""Notmuchboilingdowntobedoneto-night,Memory,"saidMr.Stryver,gaily,ashelookedamonghispapers."Howmuch?""Onlytwosetsofthem.""Givemetheworstfirst.""Theretheyare,Sydney.Fireaway!"Thelionthencomposedhimselfonhisbackonasofaononesideofthedrinking-table,whilethejackalsatathisownpaper-bestrewntableproper,on

the other side of it, with the bottles and glasses ready to his hand. Bothresorted to the drinking-tablewithout stint, but each in a differentway; thelionforthemostpartrecliningwithhishandsinhiswaistband,lookingatthefire, or occasionally flirting with some lighter document; the jackal, withknittedbrowsand intent face,sodeep inhis task, thathiseyesdidnotevenfollowthehandhestretchedoutforhisglass—whichoftengropedabout,foraminuteormore,beforeitfoundtheglassforhislips.Twoorthreetimes,thematterinhandbecamesoknotty,thatthejackalfounditimperativeonhimtogetup,andsteephistowelsanew.Fromthesepilgrimagestothejugandbasin,he returned with such eccentricities of damp headgear as no words candescribe;whichweremadethemoreludicrousbyhisanxiousgravity.At length the jackal had got together a compact repast for the lion, andproceededtoofferittohim.Theliontookitwithcareandcaution,madehisselectionsfromit,andhisremarksuponit,andthejackalassistedboth.Whentherepastwasfullydiscussed, the lionputhishands inhiswaistbandagain,andlaydowntomeditate.Thejackaltheninvigoratedhimselfwithabumperforhisthrottle,andafreshapplicationtohishead,andappliedhimselftothecollection of a second meal; this was administered to the lion in the samemanner,andwasnotdisposedofuntiltheclocksstruckthreeinthemorning."And now we have done, Sydney, fill a bumper of punch," said Mr.Stryver.The jackal removed the towels fromhis head,which had been steamingagain,shookhimself,yawned,shivered,andcomplied."Youwereverysound,Sydney,inthematterofthosecrownwitnessesto-day.Everyquestiontold.""Ialwaysamsound;amInot?""Idon'tgainsayit.Whathasroughenedyourtemper?Putsomepunchtoitandsmoothitagain."Withadeprecatorygrunt,thejackalagaincomplied."TheoldSydneyCartonofoldShrewsburySchool,"saidStryver,noddinghis head over him as he reviewed him in the present and the past, "the oldseesawSydney.Uponeminuteanddownthenext;nowinspiritsandnowindespondency!""Ah!"returnedtheother,sighing:"yes!ThesameSydney,withthesameluck.Eventhen,Ididexercisesforotherboys,andseldomdidmyown.""Andwhynot?""Godknows.Itwasmyway,Isuppose."Hesat,withhishandsinhispocketsandhislegsstretchedoutbeforehim,lookingatthefire."Carton,"saidhisfriend,squaringhimselfathimwithabullyingair,asif

thefire-gratehadbeenthefurnaceinwhichsustainedendeavourwasforged,and the one delicate thing to be done for the old Sydney Carton of oldShrewsburySchoolwastoshoulderhimintoit,"yourwayis,andalwayswas,alameway.Yousummonnoenergyandpurpose.Lookatme.""Oh, botheration!" returned Sydney, with a lighter and more good-humouredlaugh,"don'tyoubemoral!""HowhaveIdonewhatIhavedone?"saidStryver;"howdoIdowhatIdo?""Partlythroughpayingmetohelpyou,Isuppose.Butit'snotworthyourwhile to apostrophiseme,or theair, about it;whatyouwant todo,youdo.Youwerealwaysinthefrontrank,andIwasalwaysbehind.""Ihadtogetintothefrontrank;Iwasnotbornthere,wasI?""I was not present at the ceremony; but my opinion is you were," saidCarton.Atthis,helaughedagain,andtheybothlaughed."Before Shrewsbury, and at Shrewsbury, and ever since Shrewsbury,"pursuedCarton,"youhavefallenintoyourrank,andIhavefallenintomine.Evenwhenwewere fellow-students in theStudent-QuarterofParis,pickingupFrench,andFrenchlaw,andotherFrenchcrumbsthatwedidn'tgetmuchgoodof,youwerealwayssomewhere,andIwasalwaysnowhere.""Andwhosefaultwasthat?""Upon my soul, I am not sure that it was not yours. You were alwaysdrivingand rivingandshoulderingandpassing, to that restlessdegree that Ihadnochanceformylifebutinrustandrepose.It'sagloomything,however,to talk aboutone's ownpast,with thedaybreaking.Turnme in someotherdirectionbeforeIgo.""Wellthen!Pledgemetotheprettywitness,"saidStryver,holdinguphisglass."Areyouturnedinapleasantdirection?"Apparentlynot,forhebecamegloomyagain."Pretty witness," hemuttered, looking down into his glass. "I have hadenoughofwitnessesto-dayandto-night;who'syourprettywitness?""Thepicturesquedoctor'sdaughter,MissManette.""Shepretty?""Isshenot?""No.""Why,manalive,shewastheadmirationofthewholeCourt!""RottheadmirationofthewholeCourt!WhomadetheOldBaileyajudgeofbeauty?Shewasagolden-haireddoll!""Doyouknow,Sydney,"saidMr.Stryver,lookingathimwithsharpeyes,

and slowly drawing a hand across his florid face: "do you know, I ratherthought, at the time, that you sympathisedwith the golden-haired doll, andwerequicktoseewhathappenedtothegolden-haireddoll?""Quick to seewhathappened! If agirl, doll ornodoll, swoonswithin ayardortwoofaman'snose,hecanseeitwithoutaperspective-glass.Ipledgeyou,butIdenythebeauty.AndnowI'llhavenomoredrink;I'llgettobed."Whenhishostfollowedhimoutonthestaircasewithacandle,tolighthimdown the stairs, the daywas coldly looking in through its grimywindows.Whenhegotoutofthehouse,theairwascoldandsad,thedullskyovercast,theriverdarkanddim,thewholescenelikealifelessdesert.Andwreathsofdustwerespinningroundandroundbeforethemorningblast,asifthedesert-sandhadrisenfaraway,andthefirstsprayof it in itsadvancehadbeguntooverwhelmthecity.Wasteforceswithinhim,andadesertallaround,thismanstoodstillonhisway across a silent terrace, and saw for amoment, lying in the wildernessbeforehim,amirageofhonourableambition,self-denial,andperseverance.Inthefaircityofthisvision,therewereairygalleriesfromwhichthelovesandgraces 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.Climbingtoahighchamberinawellofhouses,hethrewhimselfdowninhisclothesonaneglectedbed,anditspillowwaswetwithwastedtears.Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than theman ofgood abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise,incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight onhim,andresigninghimselftoletiteathimaway.

HundredsofPeople

ThequietlodgingsofDoctorManettewereinaquietstreet-cornernotfarfromSoho-square.OntheafternoonofacertainfineSundaywhenthewavesof fourmonthshad rolledover the trial for treason, and carried it, as to thepublicinterestandmemory,farouttosea,Mr.JarvisLorrywalkedalongthesunny streets fromClerkenwellwherehe lived, onhisway todinewith theDoctor.Afterseveralrelapsesintobusiness-absorption,Mr.LorryhadbecometheDoctor'sfriend,andthequietstreet-cornerwasthesunnypartofhislife.OnthiscertainfineSunday,Mr.LorrywalkedtowardsSoho,earlyintheafternoon, for three reasons of habit. Firstly, because, on fine Sundays, heoftenwalkedout,beforedinner,withtheDoctorandLucie;secondly,because,onunfavourableSundays,hewasaccustomed tobewith themas the familyfriend,talking,reading,lookingoutofwindow,andgenerallygettingthrough

theday;thirdly,becausehehappenedtohavehisownlittleshrewddoubtstosolve,andknewhowthewaysoftheDoctor'shouseholdpointedtothattimeasalikelytimeforsolvingthem.Aquainter corner than the cornerwhere theDoctor lived,wasnot tobefoundinLondon.Therewasnowaythroughit,andthefrontwindowsoftheDoctor's lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of street that had acongenialairofretirementonit.Therewerefewbuildingsthen,northoftheOxford-road, and forest-trees flourished, and wild flowers grew, and thehawthornblossomed, in thenowvanished fields.Asaconsequence,countryairscirculatedinSohowithvigorousfreedom,insteadoflanguishingintotheparish like stray paupers without a settlement; and there was many a goodsouthwall,notfaroff,onwhichthepeachesripenedintheirseason.Thesummerlightstruckintothecornerbrilliantlyintheearlierpartoftheday;but,whenthestreetsgrewhot, thecornerwasinshadow,thoughnotinshadowsoremotebutthatyoucouldseebeyonditintoaglareofbrightness.Itwasacoolspot,staidbutcheerful,awonderfulplaceforechoes,andaveryharbourfromtheragingstreets.Thereoughttohavebeenatranquilbarkinsuchananchorage,andtherewas. The Doctor occupied two floors of a large stiff house, where severalcallings purported to be pursued by day, butwhereof littlewas audible anyday,andwhichwasshunnedbyallofthematnight.Inabuildingattheback,attainablebyacourtyardwhereaplane-treerustled itsgreen leaves,church-organsclaimed tobemade,andsilver tobechased,and likewisegold tobebeatenbysomemysteriousgiantwhohadagoldenarmstartingoutofthewallofthefronthall—asifhehadbeatenhimselfprecious,andmenacedasimilarconversion of all visitors. Very little of these trades, or of a lonely lodgerrumouredtoliveup-stairs,orofadimcoach-trimmingmakerassertedtohavea counting-house below, was ever heard or seen. Occasionally, a strayworkman putting his coat on, traversed the hall, or a stranger peered aboutthere,oradistantclinkwasheardacross thecourtyard,ora thumpfromthegoldengiant.These,however,wereonlytheexceptionsrequiredtoprovetherulethatthesparrowsintheplane-treebehindthehouse,andtheechoesinthecornerbeforeit,hadtheirownwayfromSundaymorninguntoSaturdaynight.DoctorManette received suchpatientshereashisold reputation, and itsrevival in the floating whispers of his story, brought him. His scientificknowledge,andhisvigilanceandskill inconducting ingeniousexperiments,brought him otherwise intomoderate request, and he earned asmuch as hewanted.These things were within Mr. Jarvis Lorry's knowledge, thoughts, andnotice,whenherangthedoor-bellofthetranquilhouseinthecorner,onthefineSundayafternoon."DoctorManetteathome?"

Expectedhome."MissLucieathome?"Expectedhome."MissProssathome?"Possiblyathome,butofacertaintyimpossibleforhandmaidtoanticipateintentionsofMissPross,astoadmissionordenialofthefact."AsIamathomemyself,"saidMr.Lorry,"I'llgoupstairs."AlthoughtheDoctor'sdaughterhadknownnothingof thecountryofherbirth,sheappearedtohaveinnatelyderivedfromitthatabilitytomakemuchof little means, which is one of its most useful and most agreeablecharacteristics. Simple as the furniturewas, itwas set off by somany littleadornments, of no value but for their taste and fancy, that its effect wasdelightful.Thedispositionofeverythingintherooms,fromthelargestobjectto the least; the arrangement of colours, the elegant variety and contrastobtainedbythriftintrifles,bydelicatehands,cleareyes,andgoodsense;wereatoncesopleasantinthemselves,andsoexpressiveoftheiroriginator,that,asMr.Lorrystoodlookingabouthim,theverychairsandtablesseemedtoaskhim,withsomethingofthatpeculiarexpressionwhichheknewsowellbythistime,whetherheapproved?There were three rooms on a floor, and, the doors by which theycommunicatedbeingputopenthattheairmightpassfreelythroughthemall,Mr.Lorry,smilinglyobservantofthatfancifulresemblancewhichhedetectedallaroundhim,walkedfromonetoanother.Thefirstwasthebestroom,andinitwereLucie'sbirds,andflowers,andbooks,anddesk,andwork-table,andboxofwater-colours;thesecondwastheDoctor'sconsulting-room,usedalsoasthedining-room;thethird,changinglyspeckledbytherustleoftheplane-tree in theyard,was theDoctor'sbedroom,and there, inacorner, stood thedisusedshoemaker'sbenchandtrayoftools,muchasithadstoodonthefifthfloorofthedismalhousebythewine-shop,inthesuburbofSaintAntoineinParis."Iwonder," saidMr.Lorry, pausing in his looking about, "that hekeepsthatreminderofhissufferingsabouthim!""Andwhywonderatthat?"wastheabruptinquirythatmadehimstart.ItproceededfromMissPross,thewildredwoman,strongofhand,whoseacquaintancehehadfirstmadeat theRoyalGeorgeHotelatDover,andhadsinceimproved."Ishouldhavethought—"Mr.Lorrybegan."Pooh!You'dhavethought!"saidMissPross;andMr.Lorryleftoff."How do you do?" inquired that lady then—sharply, and yet as if toexpressthatsheborehimnomalice.

"Iamprettywell,Ithankyou,"answeredMr.Lorry,withmeekness;"howareyou?""Nothingtoboastof,"saidMissPross."Indeed?""Ah! indeed!" said Miss Pross. "I am very much put out about myLadybird.""Indeed?""Forgracioussakesaysomethingelsebesides'indeed,'oryou'llfidgetmeto death," said Miss Pross: whose character (dissociated from stature) wasshortness."Really,then?"saidMr.Lorry,asanamendment."Really, isbadenough," returnedMissPross, "butbetter.Yes, Iamverymuchputout.""MayIaskthecause?""Idon'twantdozensofpeoplewhoarenotatallworthyofLadybird, tocomeherelookingafterher,"saidMissPross."Dodozenscomeforthatpurpose?""Hundreds,"saidMissPross.Itwascharacteristicofthislady(asofsomeotherpeoplebeforehertimeand since) that whenever her original proposition was questioned, sheexaggeratedit."Dearme!"saidMr.Lorry,asthesafestremarkhecouldthinkof."Ihavelivedwiththedarling—orthedarlinghaslivedwithme,andpaidme for it; which she certainly should never have done, youmay take youraffidavit, if Icouldhaveafforded tokeepeithermyselforher fornothing—sinceshewastenyearsold.Andit'sreallyveryhard,"saidMissPross.Notseeingwithprecisionwhatwasveryhard,Mr.Lorryshookhishead;using that important part of himself as a sort of fairy cloak that would fitanything."Allsortsofpeoplewhoarenotintheleastdegreeworthyofthepet,arealwaysturningup,"saidMissPross."Whenyoubeganit—""Ibeganit,MissPross?""Didn'tyou?Whobroughtherfathertolife?""Oh!Ifthatwasbeginningit—"saidMr.Lorry."It wasn't ending it, I suppose? I say, when you began it, it was hardenough;notthatIhaveanyfaulttofindwithDoctorManette,exceptthatheisnotworthyofsuchadaughter,whichisnoimputationonhim,foritwasnotto

beexpectedthatanybodyshouldbe,underanycircumstances.Butitreallyisdoubly and trebly hard to have crowds andmultitudes of people turning upafterhim(Icouldhaveforgivenhim),totakeLadybird'saffectionsawayfromme."Mr.LorryknewMissProsstobeveryjealous,buthealsoknewherbythistime to be, beneath the service of her eccentricity, one of those unselfishcreatures—found only among women—who will, for pure love andadmiration,bindthemselveswillingslaves,toyouthwhentheyhavelostit,tobeautythattheyneverhad,toaccomplishmentsthattheywereneverfortunateenoughtogain,tobrighthopesthatnevershoneupontheirownsombrelives.Heknewenoughoftheworldtoknowthatthereisnothinginitbetterthanthefaithfulserviceoftheheart;sorenderedandsofreefromanymercenarytaint,hehadsuchanexaltedrespectforit,thatintheretributivearrangementsmadebyhisownmind—weallmakesucharrangements,moreorless—hestationedMissProssmuchnearertothelowerAngelsthanmanyladiesimmeasurablybettergotupbothbyNatureandArt,whohadbalancesatTellson's."Thereneverwas,norwillbe,butonemanworthyofLadybird,"saidMissPross;"andthatwasmybrotherSolomon,ifhehadn'tmadeamistakeinlife."Here again:Mr. Lorry's inquiries intoMiss Pross's personal history hadestablished the fact thatherbrotherSolomonwas aheartless scoundrelwhohadstrippedherofeverythingshepossessed,asastaketospeculatewith,andhad abandoned her in her poverty for evermore, with no touch ofcompunction. Miss Pross's fidelity of belief in Solomon (deducting a meretrifle for this slightmistake)was quite a seriousmatterwithMr.Lorry, andhaditsweightinhisgoodopinionofher."As we happen to be alone for the moment, and are both people ofbusiness,"hesaid,whentheyhadgotback to thedrawing-roomandhadsatdownthereinfriendlyrelations,"letmeaskyou—doestheDoctor,intalkingwithLucie,neverrefertotheshoemakingtime,yet?""Never.""Andyetkeepsthatbenchandthosetoolsbesidehim?""Ah!"returnedMissPross,shakingherhead."ButIdon'tsayhedon'trefertoitwithinhimself.""Doyoubelievethathethinksofitmuch?""Ido,"saidMissPross."Doyouimagine—"Mr.Lorryhadbegun,whenMissProsstookhimupshortwith:"Neverimagineanything.Havenoimaginationatall.""I stand corrected; do you suppose—you go so far as to suppose,sometimes?"

"Nowandthen,"saidMissPross."Do you suppose," Mr. Lorry went on, with a laughing twinkle in hisbrighteye,asitlookedkindlyather,"thatDoctorManettehasanytheoryofhisown,preservedthroughallthoseyears,relativetothecauseofhisbeingsooppressed;perhaps,eventothenameofhisoppressor?""Idon'tsupposeanythingaboutitbutwhatLadybirdtellsme.""Andthatis—?""Thatshethinkshehas.""Nowdon'tbeangryatmyaskingallthesequestions;becauseIamameredullmanofbusiness,andyouareawomanofbusiness.""Dull?"MissProssinquired,withplacidity.Ratherwishinghismodestadjectiveaway,Mr.Lorryreplied,"No,no,no.Surelynot.Toreturntobusiness:—IsitnotremarkablethatDoctorManette,unquestionablyinnocentofanycrimeasweareallwellassuredheis,shouldnevertouchuponthatquestion?Iwillnotsaywithme,thoughhehadbusinessrelationswithmemanyyearsago,andwearenowintimate;Iwillsaywiththefairdaughter towhomhe is sodevotedlyattached, andwho is sodevotedlyattachedtohim?Believeme,MissPross,Idon'tapproachthetopicwithyou,outofcuriosity,butoutofzealousinterest.""Well!Tothebestofmyunderstanding,andbad'sthebest,you'lltellme,"saidMissPross,softenedbythetoneoftheapology,"heisafraidofthewholesubject.""Afraid?""It's plain enough, I should think, why he may be. It's a dreadfulremembrance.Besides that, his loss of himself grewout of it.Not knowinghowhelosthimself,orhowherecoveredhimself,hemayneverfeelcertainofnot losing himself again. That alone wouldn't make the subject pleasant, Ishouldthink."ItwasaprofounderremarkthanMr.Lorryhadlookedfor."True,"saidhe,"and fearful to reflect upon. Yet, a doubt lurks in my mind, Miss Pross,whetheritisgoodforDoctorManettetohavethatsuppressionalwaysshutupwithinhim.Indeed,itisthisdoubtandtheuneasinessitsometimescausesmethathasledmetoourpresentconfidence.""Can'tbehelped,"saidMissPross, shakingherhead."Touch that string,and he instantly changes for theworse.Better leave it alone. In short,mustleaveitalone,likeornolike.Sometimes,hegetsupinthedeadofthenight,andwillbeheard,byusoverheadthere,walkingupanddown,walkingupanddown,inhisroom.Ladybirdhaslearnttoknowthenthathismindiswalkingupanddown,walkingupanddown,inhisoldprison.Shehurriestohim,andtheygoontogether,walkingupanddown,walkingupanddown,untilheis

composed.Butheneversaysawordofthetruereasonofhisrestlessness,toher,andshefindsitbestnottohintatittohim.Insilencetheygowalkingupanddowntogether,walkingupanddowntogether,tillherloveandcompanyhavebroughthimtohimself."NotwithstandingMissPross'sdenialofherownimagination, therewasaperceptionofthepainofbeingmonotonouslyhauntedbyonesadidea,inherrepetition of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to herpossessingsuchathing.The cornerhasbeenmentioned as awonderful corner for echoes; it hadbegun toechosoresoundingly to the treadofcomingfeet, that it seemedasthoughtheverymentionofthatwearypacingtoandfrohadsetitgoing."Heretheyare!"saidMissPross,risingtobreakuptheconference;"andnowweshallhavehundredsofpeopleprettysoon!"Itwassuchacuriouscornerinitsacousticalproperties,suchapeculiarEarofaplace,thatasMr.Lorrystoodattheopenwindow,lookingforthefatherand daughterwhose steps he heard, he fancied theywould never approach.Notonlywouldtheechoesdieaway,asthoughthestepshadgone;but,echoesofother steps thatnevercamewouldbeheard in their stead, andwoulddieawayforgoodwhentheyseemedcloseathand.However,fatheranddaughterdidatlastappear,andMissProsswasreadyatthestreetdoortoreceivethem.MissProsswasapleasantsight,albeitwild,andred,andgrim,takingoffherdarling'sbonnetwhenshecameup-stairs,andtouchingitupwiththeendsofherhandkerchief,andblowingthedustoffit,andfoldinghermantlereadyfor laying by, and smoothing her rich hairwith asmuch pride as she couldpossibly have taken in her own hair if she had been the vainest andhandsomest ofwomen.Her darlingwas a pleasant sight too, embracing herandthankingher,andprotestingagainsthertakingsomuchtroubleforher—which last sheonlydared todoplayfully, orMissPross, sorelyhurt,wouldhaveretired toherownchamberandcried.TheDoctorwasapleasantsighttoo, looking on at them, and telling Miss Pross how she spoilt Lucie, inaccentsandwitheyes thathadasmuchspoiling in themasMissProsshad,andwouldhavehadmoreif itwerepossible.Mr.Lorrywasapleasantsighttoo, beaming at all this in his littlewig, and thanking his bachelor stars forhaving lighted him in his declining years to a Home. But, no Hundreds ofpeoplecametoseethesights,andMr.LorrylookedinvainforthefulfilmentofMissPross'sprediction.Dinner-time,andstillnoHundredsofpeople. In thearrangementsof thelittle household, Miss Pross took charge of the lower regions, and alwaysacquittedherselfmarvellously.Herdinners,ofaverymodestquality,weresowellcookedandsowellserved,andsoneatintheircontrivances,halfEnglishandhalfFrench,thatnothingcouldbebetter.MissPross'sfriendshipbeingofthe thoroughly practical kind, she had ravaged Soho and the adjacent

provinces, in search of impoverishedFrench,who, tempted by shillings andhalf-crowns,wouldimpartculinarymysteriestoher.FromthesedecayedsonsanddaughtersofGaul,shehadacquiredsuchwonderfularts,thatthewomanandgirlwhoformedthestaffofdomesticsregardedherasquiteaSorceress,or Cinderella's Godmother: who would send out for a fowl, a rabbit, avegetableortwofromthegarden,andchangethemintoanythingshepleased.On Sundays, Miss Pross dined at the Doctor's table, but on other dayspersistedintakinghermealsatunknownperiods,eitherinthelowerregions,orinherownroomonthesecondfloor—abluechamber,towhichnoonebuther Ladybird ever gained admittance. On this occasion, Miss Pross,responding to Ladybird's pleasant face and pleasant efforts to please her,unbentexceedingly;sothedinnerwasverypleasant,too.Itwasanoppressiveday,and,afterdinner,Lucieproposed that thewineshouldbecarriedoutundertheplane-tree,andtheyshouldsitthereintheair.Aseverything turneduponher,and revolvedabouther, theywentoutunderthe plane-tree, and she carried thewine down for the special benefit ofMr.Lorry.Shehadinstalledherself,sometimebefore,asMr.Lorry'scup-bearer;andwhiletheysatundertheplane-tree,talking,shekepthisglassreplenished.Mysteriousbacksandendsofhousespeepedat themas they talked,and theplane-treewhisperedtotheminitsownwayabovetheirheads.Still, the Hundreds of people did not present themselves. Mr. Darnaypresentedhimselfwhiletheyweresittingundertheplane-tree,buthewasonlyOne.DoctorManette received him kindly, and so did Lucie. But,Miss Prosssuddenlybecameafflictedwithatwitchingintheheadandbody,andretiredintothehouse.Shewasnotunfrequently thevictimof thisdisorder,andshecalledit,infamiliarconversation,"afitofthejerks."The Doctor was in his best condition, and looked specially young. Theresemblance between him and Lucie was very strong at such times, and astheysatsidebyside,sheleaningonhisshoulder,andherestinghisarmonthebackofherchair,itwasveryagreeabletotracethelikeness.Hehadbeentalkingallday,onmanysubjects,andwithunusualvivacity."Pray,DoctorManette," saidMr.Darnay, as they sat under the plane-tree—andhesaiditinthenaturalpursuitofthetopicinhand,whichhappenedtobetheoldbuildingsofLondon—"haveyouseenmuchoftheTower?""LucieandIhavebeenthere;butonlycasually.Wehaveseenenoughofit,toknowthatitteemswithinterest;littlemore.""Ihavebeenthere,asyouremember,"saidDarnay,withasmile, thoughreddening a little angrily, "in another character, and not in a character thatgivesfacilitiesforseeingmuchofit.TheytoldmeacuriousthingwhenIwasthere."

"Whatwasthat?"Lucieasked."In making some alterations, the workmen came upon an old dungeon,which had been, formany years, built up and forgotten. Every stone of itsinnerwallwascoveredbyinscriptionswhichhadbeencarvedbyprisoners—dates,names,complaints,andprayers.Uponacornerstoneinanangleofthewall,oneprisoner,whoseemedtohavegonetoexecution,hadcutashislastwork, three letters. They were done with some very poor instrument, andhurriedly,withanunsteadyhand.Atfirst,theywerereadasD.I.C.;but,onbeingmorecarefullyexamined,thelastletterwasfoundtobeG.Therewasnorecordorlegendofanyprisonerwiththoseinitials,andmanyfruitlessguessesweremadewhat thenamecouldhavebeen.At length, itwassuggested thatthe letters were not initials, but the complete word, DIG. The floor wasexamined very carefully under the inscription, and, in the earth beneath astone,or tile, or some fragmentofpaving,were found the ashesof apaper,mingledwith the ashes of a small leathern case or bag.What the unknownprisoner had written will never be read, but he had written something, andhiddenitawaytokeepitfromthegaoler.""Myfather,"exclaimedLucie,"youareill!"Hehadsuddenlystartedup,withhishandtohishead.Hismannerandhislookquiteterrifiedthemall."No,mydear,notill.Therearelargedropsofrainfalling,andtheymademestart.Wehadbettergoin."He recovered himself almost instantly. Rain was really falling in largedrops,andheshowedthebackofhishandwithrain-dropsonit.But,hesaidnotasinglewordinreferencetothediscoverythathadbeentoldof,and,astheywent into the house, the business eye ofMr. Lorry either detected, orfancieditdetected,onhisface,asitturnedtowardsCharlesDarnay,thesamesingularlookthathadbeenuponitwhenitturnedtowardshiminthepassagesoftheCourtHouse.He recoveredhimself soquickly, however, thatMr.Lorryhaddoubts ofhisbusinesseye.Thearmofthegoldengiantinthehallwasnotmoresteadythanhewas,whenhestoppedunderittoremarktothemthathewasnotyetproof against slight surprises (if he ever would be), and that the rain hadstartledhim.Tea-time, andMiss Prossmaking tea,with another fit of the jerks uponher,andyetnoHundredsofpeople.Mr.Cartonhadloungedin,buthemadeonlyTwo.The night was so very sultry, that although they sat with doors andwindowsopen,theywereoverpoweredbyheat.Whenthetea-tablewasdonewith, they allmoved to one of thewindows, and looked out into the heavytwilight.Luciesatbyherfather;Darnaysatbesideher;Cartonleanedagainstawindow.Thecurtainswere longandwhite, and someof the thunder-gusts

thatwhirled into the corner, caught themup to the ceiling, andwaved themlikespectralwings."The rain-drops are still falling, large, heavy, and few," said DoctorManette."Itcomesslowly.""Itcomessurely,"saidCarton.Theyspokelow,aspeoplewatchingandwaitingmostlydo;aspeopleinadarkroom,watchingandwaitingforLightning,alwaysdo.There was a great hurry in the streets of people speeding away to getshelter before the storm broke; the wonderful corner for echoes resoundedwiththeechoesoffootstepscomingandgoing,yetnotafootstepwasthere."Amultitudeofpeople, andyet a solitude!" saidDarnay,when theyhadlistenedforawhile."Is it not impressive,Mr.Darnay?" askedLucie. "Sometimes, I have sathereofanevening,untilIhavefancied—buteventheshadeofafoolishfancymakesmeshudderto-night,whenallissoblackandsolemn—""Letusshuddertoo.Wemayknowwhatitis.""It will seem nothing to you. Such whims are only impressive as weoriginatethem,Ithink;theyarenottobecommunicated.Ihavesometimessatalonehereofanevening,listening,untilIhavemadetheechoesouttobetheechoesofallthefootstepsthatarecomingby-and-byeintoourlives.""There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,"SydneyCartonstruckin,inhismoodyway.The footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became more andmorerapid.Thecornerechoedandre-echoedwiththetreadoffeet;some,asitseemed,under thewindows;some,as it seemed, in theroom;somecoming,some going, some breaking off, some stopping altogether; all in the distantstreets,andnotonewithinsight."Areallthesefootstepsdestinedtocometoallofus,MissManette,orarewetodividethemamongus?""Idon'tknow,Mr.Darnay;Itoldyouitwasafoolishfancy,butyouaskedfor it.When Ihaveyieldedmyself to it, Ihavebeenalone, and then Ihaveimaginedthemthefootstepsofthepeoplewhoaretocomeintomylife,andmyfather's.""I take them intomine!" said Carton. "I ask no questions andmake nostipulations.Thereisagreatcrowdbearingdownuponus,MissManette,andIseethem—bytheLightning."Headdedthelastwords,aftertherehadbeenavividflashwhichhadshownhimlounginginthewindow."And I hear them!" he added again, after a peal of thunder. "Here theycome,fast,fierce,andfurious!"

Itwastherushandroarofrainthathetypified,anditstoppedhim,fornovoicecouldbeheardinit.Amemorablestormofthunderandlightningbrokewiththatsweepofwater,andtherewasnotamoment'sintervalincrash,andfire,andrain,untilafterthemoonroseatmidnight.ThegreatbellofSaintPaul'swasstrikingoneintheclearedair,whenMr.Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted and bearing a lantern, set forth on hisreturn-passagetoClerkenwell.ThereweresolitarypatchesofroadonthewaybetweenSohoandClerkenwell,andMr.Lorry,mindfulof foot-pads,alwaysretained Jerry for this service: though itwas usually performed a good twohoursearlier."Whatanightithasbeen!Almostanight,Jerry,"saidMr.Lorry,"tobringthedeadoutoftheirgraves.""I never see the night myself, master—nor yet I don't expect to—whatwoulddothat,"answeredJerry."Good night, Mr. Carton," said the man of business. "Good night, Mr.Darnay.Shallweeverseesuchanightagain,together!"Perhaps. Perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar,bearingdownuponthem,too.

MonseigneurinTown

Monseigneur, one of the great lords in power at the Court, held hisfortnightlyreceptioninhisgrandhotelinParis.Monseigneurwasinhisinnerroom, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest of Holiests to the crowd ofworshippersinthesuiteofroomswithout.Monseigneurwasabouttotakehischocolate.Monseigneurcouldswallowagreatmanythingswithease,andwasbysome fewsullenmindssupposed tobe rather rapidly swallowingFrance;but, his morning's chocolate could not so much as get into the throat ofMonseigneur,withouttheaidoffourstrongmenbesidestheCook.Yes. It took fourmen, all four ablazewith gorgeous decoration, and theChiefofthemunabletoexistwithfewerthantwogoldwatchesinhispocket,emulativeofthenobleandchastefashionsetbyMonseigneur,toconductthehappychocolatetoMonseigneur'slips.Onelacqueycarriedthechocolate-potintothesacredpresence;asecond,milledandfrothedthechocolatewiththelittle instrument he bore for that function; a third, presented the favourednapkin;afourth(heofthetwogoldwatches),pouredthechocolateout.Itwasimpossible forMonseigneur to dispensewith one of these attendants on thechocolate andholdhishighplaceunder the admiringHeavens.Deepwouldhave been the blot upon his escutcheon if his chocolate had been ignoblywaitedonbyonlythreemen;hemusthavediedoftwo.

Monseigneurhadbeenoutatalittlesupperlastnight,wheretheComedyandtheGrandOperawerecharminglyrepresented.Monseigneurwasoutatalittle supper most nights, with fascinating company. So polite and soimpressiblewasMonseigneur,thattheComedyandtheGrandOperahadfarmore influence with him in the tiresome articles of state affairs and statesecrets,thantheneedsofallFrance.AhappycircumstanceforFrance,asthelikealways is forallcountriessimilarly favoured!—alwayswas forEngland(bywayofexample),intheregretteddaysofthemerryStuartwhosoldit.Monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general public business,whichwas, to let everything go on in its own way; of particular public business,Monseigneurhadtheothertrulynobleideathatitmustallgohisway—tendtohis own power and pocket. Of his pleasures, general and particular,Monseigneurhadtheothertrulynobleidea,thattheworldwasmadeforthem.Thetextofhisorder(alteredfromtheoriginalbyonlyapronoun,whichisnotmuch)ran:"Theearthandthefulnessthereofaremine,saithMonseigneur."Yet,Monseigneurhadslowlyfoundthatvulgarembarrassmentscreptintohisaffairs,bothprivateandpublic;andhehad,as tobothclassesofaffairs,alliedhimselfperforcewithaFarmer-General.Astofinancespublic,becauseMonseigneurcouldnotmakeanythingatallofthem,andmustconsequentlyletthemouttosomebodywhocould;astofinancesprivate,becauseFarmer-Generalswere rich, andMonseigneur, after generations of great luxury andexpense,wasgrowingpoor.HenceMonseigneurhad takenhis sister fromaconvent,whiletherewasyettimetowardofftheimpendingveil,thecheapestgarment she couldwear, and had bestowed her as a prize upon a very richFarmer-General, poor in family. Which Farmer-General, carrying anappropriate canewith a golden apple on the top of it, was now among thecompany in the outer rooms, much prostrated before by mankind—alwaysexceptingsuperiormankindofthebloodofMonseigneur,who,hisownwifeincluded,lookeddownuponhimwiththeloftiestcontempt.A sumptuous man was the Farmer-General. Thirty horses stood in hisstables, twenty-fourmaledomestics sat inhishalls, sixbody-womenwaitedonhiswife.Asonewhopretendedtodonothingbutplunderandforagewherehecould,theFarmer-General—howsoeverhismatrimonialrelationsconducedtosocialmorality—wasatleastthegreatestrealityamongthepersonageswhoattendedatthehotelofMonseigneurthatday.For,therooms,thoughabeautifulscenetolookat,andadornedwitheverydeviceofdecorationthatthetasteandskillofthetimecouldachieve,were,intruth,notasoundbusiness;consideredwithanyreferencetothescarecrowsinthe rags and nightcaps elsewhere (and not so far off, either, but that thewatching towers ofNotreDame, almost equidistant from the two extremes,could see them both), theywould have been an exceedingly uncomfortablebusiness—if that could have been anybody's business, at the house ofMonseigneur.Militaryofficersdestituteofmilitaryknowledge;navalofficers

with no idea of a ship; civil officers without a notion of affairs; brazenecclesiastics,oftheworstworldworldly,withsensualeyes,loosetongues,andlooser lives; all totally unfit for their several callings, all lying horribly inpretending to belong to them, but all nearly or remotely of the order ofMonseigneur, and therefore foisted on all public employments from whichanythingwastobegot; theseweretobetoldoffbythescoreandthescore.PeoplenotimmediatelyconnectedwithMonseigneurortheState,yetequallyunconnectedwithanythingthatwasreal,orwithlivespassedintravellingbyanystraightroadtoanytrueearthlyend,werenolessabundant.Doctorswhomadegreatfortunesoutofdaintyremediesforimaginarydisordersthatneverexisted, smiled upon their courtly patients in the ante-chambers ofMonseigneur. Projectors who had discovered every kind of remedy for thelittleevilswithwhichtheStatewastouched,excepttheremedyofsettingtoworkinearnesttorootoutasinglesin,pouredtheirdistractingbabbleintoanyears they could lay hold of, at the reception of Monseigneur. UnbelievingPhilosopherswhowereremodellingtheworldwithwords,andmakingcard-towersofBabeltoscaletheskieswith,talkedwithUnbelievingChemistswhohad an eye on the transmutation of metals, at this wonderful gatheringaccumulated by Monseigneur. Exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding,whichwasatthatremarkabletime—andhasbeensince—tobeknownbyitsfruits of indifference to every natural subject of human interest,were in themostexemplarystateofexhaustion,atthehotelofMonseigneur.SuchhomeshadthesevariousnotabilitiesleftbehindtheminthefineworldofParis,thatthespiesamong theassembleddevoteesofMonseigneur—formingagoodlyhalfofthepolitecompany—wouldhavefoundithardtodiscoveramongtheangelsofthatsphereonesolitarywife,who,inhermannersandappearance,owned to being a Mother. Indeed, except for the mere act of bringing atroublesome creature into this world—which does not go far towards therealisation of the name of mother—there was no such thing known to thefashion. Peasant women kept the unfashionable babies close, and broughtthem up, and charming grandmammas of sixty dressed and supped as attwenty.The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attendanceupon Monseigneur. In the outermost room were half a dozen exceptionalpeople who had had, for a few years, some vague misgiving in them thatthingsingeneralweregoingratherwrong.Asapromisingwayofsettingthemright, half of the half-dozen had become members of a fantastic sect ofConvulsionists, and were even then considering within themselves whethertheyshouldfoam,rage,roar,andturncatalepticonthespot—therebysettingupahighlyintelligiblefinger-posttotheFuture,forMonseigneur'sguidance.Besides theseDervishes,wereother threewhohad rushed intoanother sect,whichmendedmatterswithajargonabout"theCentreofTruth:"holdingthatMan had got out of the Centre of Truth—which did not need muchdemonstration—buthadnotgotoutoftheCircumference,andthathewasto

bekeptfromflyingoutoftheCircumference,andwaseventobeshovedbackinto the Centre, by fasting and seeing of spirits. Among these, accordingly,much discoursing with spirits went on—and it did a world of good whichneverbecamemanifest.But, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel ofMonseigneurwere perfectly dressed. If theDay of Judgment had only beenascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would have been eternallycorrect. Such frizzling and powdering and sticking up of hair, such delicatecomplexionsartificiallypreservedandmended,suchgallantswordstolookat,and such delicate honour to the sense of smell,would surely keep anythinggoing,foreverandever.Theexquisitegentlemenofthefinestbreedingworelittle pendent trinkets that chinked as they languidly moved; these goldenfettersranglikepreciouslittlebells;andwhatwiththatringing,andwiththerustle of silk and brocade and fine linen, there was a flutter in the air thatfannedSaintAntoineandhisdevouringhungerfaraway.Dresswastheoneunfailingtalismanandcharmusedforkeepingallthingsin their places. Everybody was dressed for a Fancy Ball that was never toleave off. From the Palace of the Tuileries, through Monseigneur and thewholeCourt, through theChambers, theTribunalsofJustice,andall society(except the scarecrows), the Fancy Ball descended to the CommonExecutioner: who, in pursuance of the charm, was required to officiate"frizzled,powdered,inagold-lacedcoat,pumps,andwhitesilkstockings."Atthegallowsand thewheel—theaxewasa rarity—MonsieurParis, as itwastheepiscopalmodeamonghisbrotherProfessorsof theprovinces,MonsieurOrleans, and the rest, to call him, presided in this dainty dress. And whoamongthecompanyatMonseigneur'sreceptioninthatseventeenhundredandeightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt, that a system rooted in afrizzledhangman,powdered,gold-laced,pumped,andwhite-silkstockinged,wouldseetheverystarsout!Monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken hischocolate,causedthedoorsoftheHoliestofHolieststobethrownopen,andissued forth. Then, what submission, what cringing and fawning, whatservility, what abject humiliation! As to bowing down in body and spirit,nothing in thatwaywas left forHeaven—whichmayhavebeenoneamongotherreasonswhytheworshippersofMonseigneurnevertroubledit.Bestowing aword of promise here and a smile there, awhisper on onehappyslaveandawaveof thehandonanother,MonseigneuraffablypassedthroughhisroomstotheremoteregionoftheCircumferenceofTruth.There,Monseigneur turned,andcamebackagain,andso induecourseof timegothimself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate sprites, and was seen nomore.Theshowbeingover,theflutterintheairbecamequitealittlestorm,andthe precious little bells went ringing downstairs. There was soon but one

personleftofallthecrowd,andhe,withhishatunderhisarmandhissnuff-boxinhishand,slowlypassedamongthemirrorsonhiswayout."Idevoteyou,"saidthisperson,stoppingatthelastdooronhisway,andturninginthedirectionofthesanctuary,"totheDevil!"Withthat,heshookthesnufffromhisfingersasifhehadshakenthedustfromhisfeet,andquietlywalkeddownstairs.Hewasamanofaboutsixty,handsomelydressed,haughtyinmanner,andwithafacelikeafinemask.Afaceofatransparentpaleness;everyfeatureinit clearly defined; one set expression on it. The nose, beautifully formedotherwise,wasvery slightlypinchedat the topof eachnostril. In those twocompressions, or dints, the only little change that the face ever showed,resided. They persisted in changing colour sometimes, and they would beoccasionallydilatedandcontractedbysomethinglikeafaintpulsation; then,they gave a look of treachery, and cruelty, to the whole countenance.Examinedwithattention,itscapacityofhelpingsuchalookwastobefoundinthelineofthemouth,andthelinesoftheorbitsoftheeyes,beingmuchtoohorizontal and thin; still, in the effect of the facemade, itwas a handsomeface,andaremarkableone.Its owner went downstairs into the courtyard, got into his carriage, anddrove away.Notmany people had talkedwith him at the reception; he hadstoodinalittlespaceapart,andMonseigneurmighthavebeenwarmerinhismanner. It appeared,under thecircumstances, ratheragreeable tohim to seethe common people dispersed before his horses, and often barely escapingfrombeingrundown.Hismandroveasifhewerecharginganenemy,andthefuriousrecklessnessofthemanbroughtnocheckintotheface,ortothelips,ofthemaster.Thecomplainthadsometimesmadeitselfaudible,eveninthatdeafcityanddumbage,that,inthenarrowstreetswithoutfootways,thefiercepatriciancustomofharddrivingendangeredandmaimedthemerevulgarinabarbarousmanner.But,fewcaredenoughforthattothinkofitasecondtime,and,inthismatter,asinallothers,thecommonwretcheswerelefttogetoutoftheirdifficultiesastheycould.With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment ofconsideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashedthroughstreetsandsweptroundcorners,withwomenscreamingbeforeit,andmen 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 asickeninglittlejolt,andtherewasaloudcryfromanumberofvoices,andthehorsesrearedandplunged.But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not havestopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their woundedbehind,andwhynot?But the frightenedvalethadgotdown inahurry,andthereweretwentyhandsatthehorses'bridles.

"Whathasgonewrong?"saidMonsieur,calmlylookingout.Atallmaninanightcaphadcaughtupabundlefromamongthefeetofthehorses,andhadlaiditonthebasementofthefountain,andwasdowninthemudandwet,howlingoveritlikeawildanimal."Pardon,MonsieurtheMarquis!"saidaraggedandsubmissiveman,"itisachild.""Whydoeshemakethatabominablenoise?Isithischild?""Excuseme,MonsieurtheMarquis—itisapity—yes."Thefountainwasalittleremoved;forthestreetopened,whereitwas,intoaspacesometenortwelveyardssquare.Asthetallmansuddenlygotupfromtheground,andcamerunningat thecarriage,MonsieurtheMarquisclappedhishandforaninstantonhissword-hilt."Killed!" shrieked theman, inwild desperation, extending both arms attheirlengthabovehishead,andstaringathim."Dead!"Thepeopleclosedround,andlookedatMonsieurtheMarquis.Therewasnothing revealedby themany eyes that looked at himbutwatchfulness andeagerness;therewasnovisiblemenacingoranger.Neitherdidthepeoplesayanything;after the firstcry, theyhadbeensilent,and they remainedso.Thevoiceofthesubmissivemanwhohadspoken,wasflatandtameinitsextremesubmission.Monsieur theMarquis ranhiseyesover themall,as if theyhadbeenmereratscomeoutoftheirholes.Hetookouthispurse."It isextraordinary tome," saidhe, "thatyoupeoplecannot takecareofyourselvesandyourchildren.Oneortheotherofyouisforeverintheway.HowdoIknowwhatinjuryyouhavedonemyhorses.See!Givehimthat."Hethrewoutagoldcoinforthevalettopickup,andalltheheadscranedforwardthatall theeyesmightlookdownat itasitfell.Thetallmancalledoutagainwithamostunearthlycry,"Dead!"Hewas arrested by the quick arrival of anotherman, forwhom the restmade way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon his shoulder,sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain,where somewomenwerestoopingoverthemotionlessbundle,andmovinggentlyaboutit.Theywereassilent,however,asthemen."I know all, I know all," said the last comer. "Be a brave man, myGaspard!Itisbetterforthepoorlittleplaythingtodieso,thantolive.Ithasdiedinamomentwithoutpain.Couldithavelivedanhourashappily?""You are a philosopher, you there," said theMarquis, smiling. "How dotheycallyou?""TheycallmeDefarge."

"Ofwhattrade?""MonsieurtheMarquis,vendorofwine.""Pickupthat,philosopherandvendorofwine,"saidtheMarquis,throwinghimanothergoldcoin, "andspend it asyouwill.Thehorses there;are theyright?"Withoutdeigning to lookat theassemblagea second time,Monsieur theMarquisleanedbackinhisseat,andwasjustbeingdrivenawaywiththeairofagentlemanwhohadaccidentallybrokesomecommonthing,andhadpaidforit,andcouldaffordtopayfor it;whenhiseasewassuddenlydisturbedbyacoinflyingintohiscarriage,andringingonitsfloor."Hold!"saidMonsieurtheMarquis."Holdthehorses!Whothrewthat?"He looked to the spot where Defarge the vendor of wine had stood, amoment before; but the wretched father was grovelling on his face on thepavementinthatspot,andthefigurethatstoodbesidehimwasthefigureofadarkstoutwoman,knitting."Youdogs!"saidtheMarquis,butsmoothly,andwithanunchangedfront,except as to the spots on his nose: "I would ride over any of you verywillingly,andexterminateyoufromtheearth.IfIknewwhichrascalthrewatthecarriage,andifthatbrigandweresufficientlynearit,heshouldbecrushedunderthewheels."So cowedwas their condition, and so long and hard their experience ofwhat suchamancoulddo to them,within the lawandbeyond it, thatnotavoice,orahand,orevenaneyewasraised.Amongthemen,notone.Butthewomanwhostoodknittinglookedupsteadily,andlookedtheMarquisintheface.Itwasnotforhisdignitytonoticeit;hiscontemptuouseyespassedoverher,andoveralltheotherrats;andheleanedbackinhisseatagain,andgavetheword"Goon!"He was driven on, and other carriages came whirling by in quicksuccession; theMinister, theState-Projector, theFarmer-General, theDoctor,theLawyer,theEcclesiastic,theGrandOpera,theComedy,thewholeFancyBallinabrightcontinuousflow,camewhirlingby.Theratshadcreptoutoftheirholes to lookon,and they remained lookingon forhours; soldiersandpolice often passing between them and the spectacle, andmaking a barrierbehindwhichtheyslunk,andthroughwhichtheypeeped.Thefatherhadlongago takenuphis bundle andbiddenhimself awaywith it,when thewomenwhohadtendedthebundlewhileit layonthebaseofthefountain,sat therewatchingtherunningofthewaterandtherollingoftheFancyBall—whentheone woman who had stood conspicuous, knitting, still knitted on with thesteadfastnessofFate.Thewaterofthefountainran,theswiftriverran,thedayranintoevening,somuchlifeinthecityranintodeathaccordingtorule,timeandtidewaitedfornoman,theratsweresleepingclosetogetherintheirdarkholes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran their

course.

MonseigneurintheCountry

Abeautifullandscape,withthecornbrightinit,butnotabundant.Patchesof poor ryewhere corn should have been, patches of poor peas and beans,patchesofmostcoarsevegetablesubstitutes forwheat.On inanimatenature,asonthemenandwomenwhocultivatedit,aprevalenttendencytowardsanappearanceofvegetatingunwillingly—adejecteddisposition togiveup,andwitheraway.Monsieur theMarquis in his travelling carriage (whichmight have beenlighter),conductedbyfourpost-horsesandtwopostilions,faggedupasteephill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was noimpeachmentofhishighbreeding;itwasnotfromwithin;itwasoccasionedbyanexternalcircumstancebeyondhiscontrol—thesettingsun.Thesunsetstrucksobrilliantlyintothetravellingcarriagewhenitgainedthe hill-top, that its occupantwas steeped in crimson. "Itwill die out," saidMonsieurtheMarquis,glancingathishands,"directly."Ineffect,thesunwassolowthatitdippedatthemoment.Whentheheavydraghadbeenadjusted to thewheel, and the carriage sliddownhill,with acinderoussmell,inacloudofdust,theredglowdepartedquickly;thesunandtheMarquisgoingdowntogether, therewasnoglowleftwhenthedragwastakenoff.But,thereremainedabrokencountry,boldandopen,alittlevillageatthebottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a church-tower, awindmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as aprison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, theMarquislooked,withtheairofonewhowascomingnearhome.The village had its one poor street,with its poor brewery, poor tannery,poortavern,poorstable-yardforrelaysofpost-horses,poorfountain,allusualpoorappointments. It had itspoorpeople too.All itspeoplewerepoor, andmanyofthemweresittingattheirdoors,shreddingspareonionsandthelikeforsupper,whilemanywereatthefountain,washingleaves,andgrasses,andanysuchsmallyieldingsoftheearththatcouldbeeaten.Expressivesignsofwhatmadethempoor,werenotwanting;thetaxforthestate,thetaxforthechurch,thetaxforthelord,taxlocalandtaxgeneral,weretobepaidhereandtobepaidthere,accordingtosolemninscriptioninthelittlevillage,untilthewonderwas,thattherewasanyvillageleftunswallowed.Few childrenwere to be seen, and no dogs.As to themen andwomen,theirchoiceonearthwasstatedintheprospect—Lifeonthelowesttermsthat

could sustain it, down in the little village under the mill; or captivity andDeathinthedominantprisononthecrag.Heralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of his postilions'whips,which twinedsnake-likeabout theirheads in theeveningair,as ifhecameattendedbytheFuries,MonsieurtheMarquisdrewupinhistravellingcarriage at the posting-house gate. It was hard by the fountain, and thepeasants suspended their operations to look at him.He looked at them, andsaw in them,without knowing it, the slow sure filing downofmisery-wornface and figure, thatwas tomake themeagreness of Frenchmen anEnglishsuperstitionwhichshouldsurvivethetruththroughthebestpartofahundredyears.MonsieurtheMarquiscasthiseyesoverthesubmissivefacesthatdroopedbefore him, as the like of himself had drooped before Monseigneur of theCourt—onlythedifferencewas,thatthesefacesdroopedmerelytosufferandnottopropitiate—whenagrizzledmenderoftheroadsjoinedthegroup."Bringmehitherthatfellow!"saidtheMarquistothecourier.Thefellowwasbrought,capinhand,andtheotherfellowsclosedroundtolookandlisten,inthemannerofthepeopleattheParisfountain."Ipassedyouontheroad?""Monseigneur,itistrue.Ihadthehonourofbeingpassedontheroad.""Comingupthehill,andatthetopofthehill,both?""Monseigneur,itistrue.""Whatdidyoulookat,sofixedly?""Monseigneur,Ilookedattheman."He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed under thecarriage.Allhisfellowsstoopedtolookunderthecarriage."Whatman,pig?Andwhylookthere?""Pardon,Monseigneur;heswungbythechainoftheshoe—thedrag.""Who?"demandedthetraveller."Monseigneur,theman.""May theDevil carryaway these idiots!Howdoyoucall theman?Youknowallthemenofthispartofthecountry.Whowashe?""Yourclemency,Monseigneur!Hewasnotofthispartofthecountry.Ofallthedaysofmylife,Ineversawhim.""Swingingbythechain?Tobesuffocated?""Withyourgraciouspermission, thatwas thewonderof it,Monseigneur.Hisheadhangingover—likethis!"

Heturnedhimselfsidewaystothecarriage,andleanedback,withhisfacethrown up to the sky, and his head hanging down; then recovered himself,fumbledwithhiscap,andmadeabow."Whatwashelike?""Monseigneur,hewaswhiterthanthemiller.Allcoveredwithdust,whiteasaspectre,tallasaspectre!"The picture produced an immense sensation in the little crowd; but alleyes, without comparing notes with other eyes, looked at Monsieur theMarquis.Perhaps,toobservewhetherhehadanyspectreonhisconscience."Truly, you did well," said the Marquis, felicitously sensible that suchverminwerenottorufflehim,"toseeathiefaccompanyingmycarriage,andnotopenthatgreatmouthofyours.Bah!Puthimaside,MonsieurGabelle!"MonsieurGabellewasthePostmaster,andsomeothertaxingfunctionaryunited; he had come out with great obsequiousness to assist at thisexamination, and had held the examined by the drapery of his arm in anofficialmanner."Bah!Goaside!"saidMonsieurGabelle."Layhandson this stranger ifheseeks to lodge inyourvillage to-night,andbesurethathisbusinessishonest,Gabelle.""Monseigneur,Iamflatteredtodevotemyselftoyourorders.""Didherunaway,fellow?—whereisthatAccursed?"The accursed was already under the carriage with some half-dozenparticular friends,pointingout thechainwithhisbluecap.Somehalf-dozenotherparticularfriendspromptlyhauledhimout,andpresentedhimbreathlesstoMonsieurtheMarquis."Didthemanrunaway,Dolt,whenwestoppedforthedrag?""Monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hill-side, head first, as apersonplungesintotheriver.""Seetoit,Gabelle.Goon!"Thehalf-dozenwhowerepeeringatthechainwerestillamongthewheels,like sheep; thewheels turnedso suddenly that theywere lucky to save theirskinsandbones;theyhadverylittleelsetosave,ortheymightnothavebeensofortunate.Theburstwithwhichthecarriagestartedoutofthevillageanduptherisebeyond,wassooncheckedbythesteepnessofthehill.Gradually,itsubsidedtoafootpace,swingingandlumberingupwardamongthemanysweetscentsof a summer night. The postilions,with a thousand gossamer gnats circlingabout them in lieu of the Furies, quietlymended the points to the lashes oftheirwhips;thevaletwalkedbythehorses;thecourierwasaudible,trottingon

aheadintothedulldistance.At the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial-ground, with aCross and a new large figure of Our Saviour on it; it was a poor figure inwood,donebysomeinexperiencedrusticcarver,buthehadstudiedthefigurefromthelife—hisownlife,maybe—foritwasdreadfullyspareandthin.Tothisdistressfulemblemofagreatdistressthathadlongbeengrowingworse,andwasnotatitsworst,awomanwaskneeling.Sheturnedherheadasthecarriagecameuptoher,rosequickly,andpresentedherselfatthecarriage-door."Itisyou,Monseigneur!Monseigneur,apetition."With an exclamation of impatience, but with his unchangeable face,Monseigneurlookedout."How,then!Whatisit?Alwayspetitions!""Monseigneur.FortheloveofthegreatGod!Myhusband,theforester.""Whatofyourhusband, the forester?Always the samewithyoupeople.Hecannotpaysomething?""Hehaspaidall,Monseigneur.Heisdead.""Well!Heisquiet.CanIrestorehimtoyou?""Alas, no,Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a little heap of poorgrass.""Well?""Monseigneur,therearesomanylittleheapsofpoorgrass?""Again,well?"She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner was one ofpassionategrief;byturnssheclaspedherveinousandknottedhandstogetherwith wild energy, and laid one of them on the carriage-door—tenderly,caressingly,asifithadbeenahumanbreast,andcouldbeexpectedtofeeltheappealingtouch."Monseigneur,hearme!Monseigneur,hearmypetition!Myhusbanddiedofwant;somanydieofwant;somanymorewilldieofwant.""Again,well?CanIfeedthem?""Monseigneur,thegoodGodknows;butIdon'taskit.Mypetitionis,thatamorselofstoneorwood,withmyhusband'sname,maybeplacedoverhimtoshowwherehe lies.Otherwise, theplacewillbequicklyforgotten, itwillneverbefoundwhenIamdeadofthesamemalady,Ishallbelaidundersomeotherheapofpoorgrass.Monseigneur,theyaresomany,theyincreasesofast,thereissomuchwant.Monseigneur!Monseigneur!"Thevalethadputherawayfromthedoor,thecarriagehadbrokenintoa

brisktrot,thepostilionshadquickenedthepace,shewasleftfarbehind,andMonseigneur,againescortedbytheFuries,wasrapidlydiminishingtheleagueortwoofdistancethatremainedbetweenhimandhischateau.Thesweetscentsofthesummernightroseallaroundhim,androse,astherainfalls,impartially,onthedusty,ragged,andtoil-worngroupatthefountainnot far away; to whom the mender of roads, with the aid of the blue capwithoutwhichhewasnothing, stillenlargeduponhisman likeaspectre,aslong as they could bear it. By degrees, as they could bear no more, theydroppedoffonebyone,andlightstwinkledinlittlecasements;whichlights,asthecasementsdarkened,andmorestarscameout,seemedtohaveshotupintotheskyinsteadofhavingbeenextinguished.Theshadowofalargehigh-roofedhouse,andofmanyover-hangingtrees,wasuponMonsieurtheMarquisbythattime;andtheshadowwasexchangedforthelightofaflambeau,ashiscarriagestopped,andthegreatdoorofhischateauwasopenedtohim."MonsieurCharles,whomIexpect;ishearrivedfromEngland?""Monseigneur,notyet."

heGorgon'sHead

Itwas a heavymass of building, that chateau ofMonsieur theMarquis,with a large stone courtyard before it, and two stone sweeps of staircasemeeting in a stone terrace before the principal door. A stony businessaltogether,with heavy stone balustrades, and stone urns, and stone flowers,andstone facesofmen,andstoneheadsof lions, inalldirections.As if theGorgon'sheadhadsurveyedit,whenitwasfinished,twocenturiesago.Up the broad flight of shallow steps, Monsieur the Marquis, flambeaupreceded,wentfromhiscarriage,sufficientlydisturbingthedarknesstoelicitloudremonstrancefromanowlintheroofofthegreatpileofstablebuildingawayamongthetrees.Allelsewassoquiet,thattheflambeaucarriedupthesteps,andtheotherflambeauheldatthegreatdoor,burntasiftheywereinaclose roomof state, insteadofbeing in theopennight-air.Other sound thanthe owl's voice therewas none, save the falling of a fountain into its stonebasin; for, itwasoneof thosedarknights thathold theirbreathby thehourtogether,andthenheavealonglowsigh,andholdtheirbreathagain.Thegreatdoorclangedbehindhim,andMonsieur theMarquiscrossedahall grim with certain old boar-spears, swords, and knives of the chase;grimmerwith certain heavy riding-rods and riding-whips, of whichmany apeasant,gonetohisbenefactorDeath,hadfelt theweightwhenhislordwasangry.

Avoiding the larger rooms,whichweredarkandmadefast for thenight,MonsieurtheMarquis,withhisflambeau-bearergoingonbefore,wentupthestaircase toadoor inacorridor.This thrownopen,admittedhim tohisownprivate apartment of three rooms: his bed-chamber and two others. Highvaultedroomswithcooluncarpetedfloors,greatdogsuponthehearthsfortheburning of wood in winter time, and all luxuries befitting the state of amarquisinaluxuriousageandcountry.ThefashionofthelastLouisbutone,ofthelinethatwasnevertobreak—thefourteenthLouis—wasconspicuousintheir rich furniture; but, it was diversified by many objects that wereillustrationsofoldpagesinthehistoryofFrance.Asupper-tablewaslaidfortwo,inthethirdoftherooms;aroundroom,inoneofthechateau'sfourextinguisher-toppedtowers.Asmallloftyroom,withitswindowwideopen,andthewoodenjalousie-blindsclosed,sothatthedarknight only showed in slight horizontal lines of black, alternating with theirbroadlinesofstonecolour."Mynephew,"saidtheMarquis,glancingatthesupperpreparation;"theysaidhewasnotarrived."Norwashe;but,hehadbeenexpectedwithMonseigneur."Ah!Itisnotprobablehewillarriveto-night;nevertheless,leavethetableasitis.Ishallbereadyinaquarterofanhour."InaquarterofanhourMonseigneurwasready,andsatdownalonetohissumptuousandchoicesupper.Hischairwasopposite to thewindow,andhehadtakenhissoup,andwasraisinghisglassofBordeauxtohislips,whenheputitdown."What is that?"hecalmlyasked, lookingwithattentionat thehorizontallinesofblackandstonecolour."Monseigneur?That?""Outsidetheblinds.Opentheblinds."Itwasdone."Well?""Monseigneur,itisnothing.Thetreesandthenightareallthatarehere."Theservantwhospoke,had throwntheblindswide,had lookedout intothevacantdarkness,andstoodwiththatblankbehindhim,lookingroundforinstructions."Good,"saidtheimperturbablemaster."Closethemagain."Thatwasdonetoo,andtheMarquiswentonwithhissupper.Hewashalfwaythroughit,whenheagainstoppedwithhisglassinhishand,hearingthesoundofwheels.Itcameonbriskly,andcameuptothefrontofthechateau."Askwhoisarrived."

ItwasthenephewofMonseigneur.HehadbeensomefewleaguesbehindMonseigneur,early in theafternoon.Hehaddiminishedthedistancerapidly,butnotsorapidlyastocomeupwithMonseigneurontheroad.HehadheardofMonseigneur,attheposting-houses,asbeingbeforehim.Hewas to be told (saidMonseigneur) that supper awaited him then andthere,andthathewasprayedtocometoit.Inalittlewhilehecame.HehadbeenknowninEnglandasCharlesDarnay.Monseigneur received him in a courtly manner, but they did not shakehands."YouleftParisyesterday,sir?"hesaidtoMonseigneur,ashetookhisseatattable."Yesterday.Andyou?""Icomedirect.""FromLondon?""Yes.""Youhavebeenalongtimecoming,"saidtheMarquis,withasmile."Onthecontrary;Icomedirect.""Pardonme!Imean,notalongtimeonthejourney;alongtimeintendingthejourney.""Ihavebeendetainedby"—thenephewstoppedamoment inhisanswer—"variousbusiness.""Withoutdoubt,"saidthepolisheduncle.So long as a servantwas present, no otherwords passed between them.When coffee had been served and they were alone together, the nephew,lookingattheuncleandmeetingtheeyesofthefacethatwaslikeafinemask,openedaconversation."Ihavecomeback,sir,asyouanticipate,pursuingtheobjectthattookmeaway.Itcarriedmeintogreatandunexpectedperil;but it isasacredobject,andifithadcarriedmetodeathIhopeitwouldhavesustainedme.""Nottodeath,"saidtheuncle;"itisnotnecessarytosay,todeath.""I doubt, sir," returned the nephew, "whether, if it had carriedme to theutmostbrinkofdeath,youwouldhavecaredtostopmethere."Thedeepenedmarks in thenose,and the lengtheningof the finestraightlines in thecruel face, lookedominousas to that; theunclemadeagracefulgestureofprotest,whichwassoclearlyaslightformofgoodbreedingthatitwasnotreassuring."Indeed, sir," pursued the nephew, "for anything I know, youmay haveexpressly worked to give a more suspicious appearance to the suspicious

circumstancesthatsurroundedme.""No,no,no,"saidtheuncle,pleasantly."But, however thatmay be," resumed the nephew, glancing at himwithdeepdistrust,"Iknowthatyourdiplomacywouldstopmebyanymeans,andwouldknownoscrupleastomeans.""Myfriend,Itoldyouso,"saidtheuncle,withafinepulsationinthetwomarks."DomethefavourtorecallthatItoldyouso,longago.""Irecallit.""Thankyou,"saidtheMarquis—verysweetlyindeed.Histonelingeredintheair,almostlikethetoneofamusicalinstrument."In effect, sir," pursued thenephew, "I believe it to be at onceyour badfortune,andmygoodfortune,thathaskeptmeoutofaprisoninFrancehere.""Idonotquiteunderstand,"returnedtheuncle,sippinghiscoffee."DareIaskyoutoexplain?""IbelievethatifyouwerenotindisgracewiththeCourt,andhadnotbeenovershadowedbythatcloudforyearspast,aletterdecachetwouldhavesentmetosomefortressindefinitely.""Itispossible,"saidtheuncle,withgreatcalmness."Forthehonourofthefamily, I could even resolve to incommode you to that extent. Pray excuseme!""Iperceivethat,happilyforme,theReceptionofthedaybeforeyesterdaywas,asusual,acoldone,"observedthenephew."I would not say happily, my friend," returned the uncle, with refinedpoliteness;"Iwouldnotbesureofthat.Agoodopportunityforconsideration,surroundedbytheadvantagesofsolitude,mightinfluenceyourdestinytofargreateradvantagethanyouinfluenceitforyourself.Butitisuselesstodiscussthequestion. I am,asyousay,at adisadvantage.These little instrumentsofcorrection,thesegentleaidstothepowerandhonouroffamilies,theseslightfavoursthatmightsoincommodeyou,areonlytobeobtainednowbyinterestand importunity. They are sought by so many, and they are granted(comparatively)tosofew!Itusednottobeso,butFranceinallsuchthingsischanged for the worse. Our not remote ancestors held the right of life anddeathoverthesurroundingvulgar.Fromthisroom,manysuchdogshavebeentaken out to be hanged; in the next room (my bedroom), one fellow, to ourknowledge,wasponiardedon thespot forprofessingsome insolentdelicacyrespectinghisdaughter—hisdaughter?Wehave lostmanyprivileges;anewphilosophy has become themode; and the assertion of our station, in thesedays, might (I do not go so far as to say would, but might) cause us realinconvenience.Allverybad,verybad!"TheMarquis took a gentle little pinch of snuff, and shook his head; as

elegantlydespondentashecouldbecominglybeofacountrystillcontaininghimself,thatgreatmeansofregeneration."Wehavesoassertedourstation,both in theold timeandin themoderntime also," said the nephew, gloomily, "that I believe our name to bemoredetestedthananynameinFrance.""Letushopeso,"saidtheuncle."Detestationofthehighistheinvoluntaryhomageofthelow.""Thereisnot,"pursuedthenephew,inhisformertone,"afaceIcanlookat,inallthiscountryroundaboutus,whichlooksatmewithanydeferenceonitbutthedarkdeferenceoffearandslavery.""Acompliment,"saidtheMarquis,"tothegrandeurofthefamily,meritedbythemanner inwhich thefamilyhassustained itsgrandeur.Hah!"Andhetookanothergentlelittlepinchofsnuff,andlightlycrossedhislegs.But, when his nephew, leaning an elbow on the table, covered his eyesthoughtfully and dejectedly with his hand, the fine mask looked at himsideways with a stronger concentration of keenness, closeness, and dislike,thanwascomportablewithitswearer'sassumptionofindifference."Repressionistheonlylastingphilosophy.Thedarkdeferenceoffearandslavery,myfriend,"observedtheMarquis,"willkeepthedogsobedienttothewhip,aslongasthisroof,"lookinguptoit,"shutsoutthesky."Thatmight not be so long as theMarquis supposed. If a picture of thechateauasitwastobeaveryfewyearshence,andoffiftylikeitastheytooweretobeaveryfewyearshence,couldhavebeenshowntohimthatnight,hemighthavebeenatalosstoclaimhisownfromtheghastly,fire-charred,plunder-wreckedrains.Asfortheroofhevaunted,hemighthavefound thatshutting out the sky in a new way—to wit, for ever, from the eyes of thebodiesintowhichitsleadwasfired,outofthebarrelsofahundredthousandmuskets."Meanwhile,"saidtheMarquis,"Iwillpreservethehonourandreposeofthefamily, ifyouwillnot.Butyoumustbefatigued.Shallweterminateourconferenceforthenight?""Amomentmore.""Anhour,ifyouplease.""Sir,"saidthenephew,"wehavedonewrong,andarereapingthefruitsofwrong.""Wehavedonewrong?"repeatedtheMarquis,withaninquiringsmile,anddelicatelypointing,firsttohisnephew,thentohimself."Ourfamily;ourhonourablefamily,whosehonourisofsomuchaccounttobothofus,insuchdifferentways.Eveninmyfather'stime,wedidaworldof wrong, injuring every human creature who came between us and our

pleasure,whatever itwas.Whyneed I speakofmy father's time,when it isequally yours? Can I separate my father's twin-brother, joint inheritor, andnextsuccessor,fromhimself?""Deathhasdonethat!"saidtheMarquis."And has left me," answered the nephew, "bound to a system that isfrightful tome,responsiblefor it,butpowerless in it;seeking toexecute thelast request of my dear mother's lips, and obey the last look of my dearmother'seyes,whichimploredmetohavemercyandtoredress;andtorturedbyseekingassistanceandpowerinvain.""Seekingthemfromme,mynephew,"saidtheMarquis,touchinghimonthebreastwithhis forefinger—theywerenowstandingby thehearth—"youwillforeverseektheminvain,beassured."Every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face, was cruelly,craftily,andcloselycompressed,whilehestoodlookingquietlyathisnephew,withhis snuff-box inhishand.Onceagainhe touchedhimon thebreast,asthoughhisfingerwerethefinepointofasmallsword,withwhich,indelicatefinesse,heranhimthroughthebody,andsaid,"Myfriend,Iwilldie,perpetuatingthesystemunderwhichIhavelived."Whenhehadsaidit,hetookaculminatingpinchofsnuff,andputhisboxinhispocket."Bettertobearationalcreature,"headdedthen,afterringingasmallbellon the table, "and accept your natural destiny. But you are lost, MonsieurCharles,Isee.""This property and France are lost to me," said the nephew, sadly; "Irenouncethem.""Aretheybothyourstorenounce?Francemaybe,butistheproperty?Itisscarcelyworthmentioning;but,isityet?""Ihadnointention,inthewordsIused,toclaimityet.Ifitpassedtomefromyou,to-morrow—""WhichIhavethevanitytohopeisnotprobable.""—ortwentyyearshence—""You do me too much honour," said the Marquis; "still, I prefer thatsupposition.""—I would abandon it, and live otherwise and elsewhere. It is little torelinquish.Whatisitbutawildernessofmiseryandruin!""Hah!"saidtheMarquis,glancingroundtheluxuriousroom."Totheeyeitisfairenough,here;butseeninitsintegrity,underthesky,and by the daylight, it is a crumbling tower of waste, mismanagement,extortion,debt,mortgage,oppression,hunger,nakedness,andsuffering."

"Hah!"saidtheMarquisagain,inawell-satisfiedmanner."Ifiteverbecomesmine,itshallbeputintosomehandsbetterqualifiedtofreeitslowly(ifsuchathingispossible)fromtheweightthatdragsitdown,so that the miserable people who cannot leave it and who have been longwrungto the lastpointofendurance,may, inanothergeneration,suffer less;butitisnotforme.Thereisacurseonit,andonallthisland.""Andyou?"saidtheuncle."Forgivemycuriosity;doyou,underyournewphilosophy,graciouslyintendtolive?""Imustdo, to live,whatothersofmycountrymen,evenwithnobilityattheirbacks,mayhavetodosomeday—work.""InEngland,forexample?""Yes.Thefamilyhonour,sir, issafefrommein thiscountry.Thefamilynamecansufferfrommeinnoother,forIbearitinnoother."The ringing of the bell had caused the adjoining bed-chamber to belighted. It now shone brightly, through the door of communication. TheMarquislookedthatway,andlistenedfortheretreatingstepofhisvalet."England is very attractive to you, seeing how indifferently you haveprosperedthere,"heobservedthen,turninghiscalmfacetohisnephewwithasmile."Ihavealreadysaid,thatformyprosperingthere,IamsensibleImaybeindebtedtoyou,sir.Fortherest,itismyRefuge.""Theysay,thoseboastfulEnglish,thatitistheRefugeofmany.YouknowacompatriotwhohasfoundaRefugethere?ADoctor?""Yes.""Withadaughter?""Yes.""Yes,"saidtheMarquis."Youarefatigued.Goodnight!"Ashebenthisheadinhismostcourtlymanner,therewasasecrecyinhissmilingface,andheconveyedanairofmysterytothosewords,whichstrucktheeyesandearsofhisnephewforcibly.At thesame time, the thinstraightlinesofthesettingoftheeyes,andthethinstraightlips,andthemarkingsinthenose,curvedwithasarcasmthatlookedhandsomelydiabolic."Yes," repeated the Marquis. "A Doctor with a daughter. Yes. Socommencesthenewphilosophy!Youarefatigued.Goodnight!"Itwouldhavebeenofasmuchavailtointerrogateanystonefaceoutsidethe chateau as to interrogate that faceof his.Thenephew looked at him, invain,inpassingontothedoor."Goodnight!"saidtheuncle."Ilooktothepleasureofseeingyouagainin

themorning.Goodrepose!LightMonsieurmynephewtohischamberthere!—AndburnMonsieurmynephewinhisbed,ifyouwill,"headdedtohimself,before he rang his little bell again, and summoned his valet to his ownbedroom.Thevaletcomeandgone,MonsieurtheMarquiswalkedtoandfroinhisloose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep, that hot still night.Rustling about the room, his softly-slippered feet making no noise on thefloor,hemovedlikearefinedtiger:—lookedlikesomeenchantedmarquisoftheimpenitentlywickedsort,instory,whoseperiodicalchangeintotigerformwaseitherjustgoingoff,orjustcomingon.Hemoved fromend to endofhisvoluptuousbedroom, lookingagainatthescrapsoftheday'sjourneythatcameunbiddenintohismind;theslowtoilup thehill at sunset, the setting sun, thedescent, themill, theprisonon thecrag, the little village in the hollow, the peasants at the fountain, and themenderof roadswithhisbluecappointingout thechainunder thecarriage.ThatfountainsuggestedtheParisfountain,thelittlebundlelyingonthestep,thewomenbendingoverit,andthetallmanwithhisarmsup,crying,"Dead!""Iamcoolnow,"saidMonsieurtheMarquis,"andmaygotobed."So,leavingonlyonelightburningonthelargehearth,helethisthingauzecurtainsfallaroundhim,andheardthenightbreakitssilencewithalongsighashecomposedhimselftosleep.The stone faces on the outer walls stared blindly at the black night forthree heavyhours; for three heavyhours, the horses in the stables rattled attheir racks, the dogs barked, and the owl made a noise with very littleresemblance in it to the noise conventionally assigned to the owl by men-poets.Butitistheobstinatecustomofsuchcreatureshardlyevertosaywhatissetdownforthem.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, deaddarknessaddeditsownhushtothehushingdustonalltheroads.Theburial-place had got to the pass that its little heaps of poor grass wereundistinguishablefromoneanother;thefigureontheCrossmighthavecomedown, for anything that could be seen of it. In the village, taxers and taxedwere fast asleep.Dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the starvedusuallydo,and of ease and rest, as the driven slave and the yoked ox may, its leaninhabitantssleptsoundly,andwerefedandfreed.Thefountaininthevillageflowedunseenandunheard,andthefountainatthechateaudroppedunseenandunheard—bothmeltingaway,liketheminutesthatwerefallingfromthespringofTime—throughthreedarkhours.Then,thegreywaterofbothbegantobeghostlyinthelight,andtheeyesofthestonefacesofthechateauwereopened.Lighterandlighter,untilatlastthesuntouchedthetopsofthestilltrees,

and poured its radiance over the hill. In the glow, thewater of the chateaufountainseemedtoturntoblood,andthestonefacescrimsoned.Thecarolofthe birds was loud and high, and, on the weather-beaten sill of the greatwindowofthebed-chamberofMonsieurtheMarquis,onelittlebirdsangitssweetestsongwithallitsmight.Atthis,theneareststonefaceseemedtostareamazed,and,withopenmouthanddroppedunder-jaw,lookedawe-stricken.Now, thesunwasfullup,andmovementbegan in thevillage.Casementwindowsopened,crazydoorswereunbarred,andpeoplecameforthshivering—chilled,asyet,bythenewsweetair.Thenbegantherarelylightenedtoilofthe day among the village population. Some, to the fountain; some, to thefields;menandwomenhere,todiganddelve;menandwomenthere,toseetothepoor livestock,and lead thebonycowsout, tosuchpastureascouldbefoundbytheroadside.InthechurchandattheCross,akneelingfigureortwo;attendanton the latterprayers, the ledcow, tryingforabreakfastamong theweedsatitsfoot.Thechateauawoke later, asbecame itsquality,but awokegraduallyandsurely.First,thelonelyboar-spearsandknivesofthechasehadbeenreddenedas of old; then, had gleamed trenchant in themorning sunshine; now, doorsandwindowswerethrownopen,horsesintheirstableslookedroundovertheirshoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at doorways, leaves sparkledand rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard at their chains, andrearedimpatienttobeloosed.Allthesetrivialincidentsbelongedtotheroutineoflife,andthereturnofmorning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great bell of the chateau, nor therunningupanddownthestairs;northehurriedfiguresontheterrace;northebootingandtrampinghereandthereandeverywhere,nor thequicksaddlingofhorsesandridingaway?Whatwindsconveyedthishurrytothegrizzledmenderofroads,alreadyatworkonthehill-topbeyondthevillage,withhisday'sdinner(notmuchtocarry)lyinginabundlethatitwasworthnocrow'swhiletopeckat,onaheapofstones?Hadthebirds,carryingsomegrainsofittoadistance,droppedoneoverhimastheysowchanceseeds?Whetherorno,themenderofroadsran,onthesultrymorning,asifforhislife,downthehill,knee-highindust,andneverstoppedtillhegottothefountain.All thepeopleof thevillagewereat thefountain,standingabout in theirdepressedmanner, andwhispering low, but showingnoother emotions thangrimcuriosityandsurprise.The ledcows,hastilybrought inand tethered toanything that would hold them, were looking stupidly on, or lying downchewingthecudofnothingparticularlyrepayingtheirtrouble,whichtheyhadpickedupintheirinterruptedsaunter.Someofthepeopleofthechateau,andsomeofthoseoftheposting-house,andallthetaxingauthorities,werearmedmore or less, and were crowded on the other side of the little street in apurposelessway,thatwashighlyfraughtwithnothing.Already,themenderof

roadshadpenetratedintothemidstofagroupoffiftyparticularfriends,andwassmitinghimselfinthebreastwithhisbluecap.Whatdidallthisportend,and what portended the swift hoisting-up of Monsieur Gabelle behind aservant on horseback, and the conveying away of the saidGabelle (double-laden though the horsewas), at a gallop, like a newversion of theGermanballadofLeonora?Itportendedthattherewasonestonefacetoomany,upatthechateau.TheGorgonhadsurveyedthebuildingagain in thenight,andhadaddedthe one stone facewanting; the stone face forwhich it hadwaited throughabouttwohundredyears.ItlaybackonthepillowofMonsieurtheMarquis.Itwaslikeafinemask,suddenlystartled,madeangry,andpetrified.Drivenhomeintotheheartofthestonefigureattachedtoit,wasaknife.Rounditshiltwasafrillofpaper,onwhichwasscrawled:"Drivehimfasttohistomb.This,fromJacques."

TwoPromises

More months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and Mr.CharlesDarnaywasestablishedinEnglandasahigherteacheroftheFrenchlanguage who was conversant with French literature. In this age, he wouldhavebeenaProfessor; in thatage,hewasaTutor.Hereadwithyoungmenwhocouldfindanyleisureandinterestforthestudyofalivingtonguespokenall over theworld, andhe cultivated a taste for its stores of knowledge andfancy.Hecouldwriteofthem,besides,insoundEnglish,andrenderthemintosoundEnglish.Suchmasterswerenotat that timeeasily found;Princes thathadbeen,andKingsthatweretobe,werenotyetoftheTeacherclass,andnoruined nobility had dropped out of Tellson's ledgers, to turn cooks andcarpenters.As a tutor,whose attainmentsmade the student'sway unusuallypleasantandprofitable,andasaneleganttranslatorwhobroughtsomethingtohisworkbesidesmeredictionaryknowledge,youngMr.Darnaysoonbecameknown and encouraged. He was well acquainted, more-over, with thecircumstances of his country, and those were of ever-growing interest. So,withgreatperseveranceanduntiringindustry,heprospered.InLondon,hehadexpectedneithertowalkonpavementsofgold,nortolieonbedsofroses;ifhehadhadanysuchexaltedexpectation,hewouldnothaveprospered.Hehadexpectedlabour,andhefoundit,anddiditandmadethebestofit.Inthis,hisprosperityconsisted.AcertainportionofhistimewaspassedatCambridge,wherehereadwithundergraduatesasasortoftoleratedsmugglerwhodroveacontrabandtradein

European languages, instead of conveying Greek and Latin through theCustom-house.TherestofhistimehepassedinLondon.Now, from the dayswhen itwas always summer inEden, to these dayswhenitismostlywinterinfallenlatitudes,theworldofamanhasinvariablygoneoneway—CharlesDarnay'sway—thewayoftheloveofawoman.He had lovedLucieManette from the hour of his danger.He had neverheardasoundsosweetanddearasthesoundofhercompassionatevoice;hehad never seen a face so tenderly beautiful, as herswhen itwas confrontedwithhisownontheedgeofthegravethathadbeendugforhim.But,hehadnotyetspokentoheronthesubject;theassassinationatthedesertedchateaufarawaybeyondtheheavingwaterandthelong,long,dustyroads—thesolidstonechateauwhichhad itselfbecome themeremistofadream—hadbeendone a year, and he had never yet, by so much as a single spoken word,disclosedtoherthestateofhisheart.Thathehadhisreasonsforthis,heknewfullwell.Itwasagainasummerdaywhen,latelyarrivedinLondonfromhiscollegeoccupation,heturnedintothequietcornerinSoho,bentonseekinganopportunityofopeninghismindtoDoctorManette.Itwasthecloseofthesummerday,andheknewLucietobeoutwithMissPross.He found the Doctor reading in his arm-chair at a window. The energywhichhadatoncesupportedhimunderhisoldsufferingsandaggravatedtheirsharpness,hadbeengradually restored tohim.Hewasnowaveryenergeticmanindeed,withgreatfirmnessofpurpose,strengthofresolution,andvigourofaction.Inhisrecoveredenergyhewassometimesalittlefitfulandsudden,ashehadatfirstbeenintheexerciseofhisotherrecoveredfaculties;but,thishadneverbeenfrequentlyobservable,andhadgrownmoreandmorerare.He studiedmuch, slept little, sustainedagreatdealof fatiguewithease,andwas equably cheerful. To him, now enteredCharlesDarnay, at sight ofwhomhelaidasidehisbookandheldouthishand."Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you.We have been counting on yourreturnthesethreeorfourdayspast.Mr.StryverandSydneyCartonwerebothhereyesterday,andbothmadeyououttobemorethandue.""Iamobligedtothemfortheirinterestinthematter,"heanswered,alittlecoldlyastothem,thoughverywarmlyastotheDoctor."MissManette—""Is well," said the Doctor, as he stopped short, "and your return willdelightusall.Shehasgoneoutonsomehouseholdmatters,butwillsoonbehome.""DoctorManette,Iknewshewasfromhome.Itooktheopportunityofherbeingfromhome,tobegtospeaktoyou."Therewasablanksilence."Yes?" said the Doctor, with evident constraint. "Bring your chair here,

andspeakon."Hecompliedastothechair,butappearedtofindthespeakingonlesseasy."Ihavehadthehappiness,DoctorManette,ofbeingsointimatehere,"soheatlengthbegan,"forsomeyearandahalf,thatIhopethetopiconwhichIamabouttotouchmaynot—"HewasstayedbytheDoctor'sputtingouthishandtostophim.Whenhehadkeptitsoalittlewhile,hesaid,drawingitback:"IsLuciethetopic?""Sheis.""Itishardformetospeakofheratanytime.Itisveryhardformetohearherspokenofinthattoneofyours,CharlesDarnay.""It is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love, DoctorManette!"hesaiddeferentially.Therewasanotherblanksilencebeforeherfatherrejoined:"Ibelieveit.Idoyoujustice;Ibelieveit."His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that itoriginated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that CharlesDarnayhesitated."ShallIgoon,sir?"Anotherblank."Yes,goon.""YouanticipatewhatIwouldsay,thoughyoucannotknowhowearnestlyIsayit,howearnestlyIfeelit,withoutknowingmysecretheart,andthehopesand fears and anxieties with which it has long been laden. Dear DoctorManette,Iloveyourdaughterfondly,dearly,disinterestedly,devotedly.Ifevertherewereloveintheworld,Iloveher.Youhavelovedyourself;letyouroldlovespeakforme!"TheDoctorsatwithhisfaceturnedaway,andhiseyesbentontheground.Atthelastwords,hestretchedouthishandagain,hurriedly,andcried:"Notthat,sir!Letthatbe!Iadjureyou,donotrecallthat!"Hiscrywas so likeacryofactualpain, that it rang inCharlesDarnay'searslongafterhehadceased.Hemotionedwiththehandhehadextended,andit seemed tobe an appeal toDarnay topause.The latter so received it, andremainedsilent."I ask your pardon," said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, after somemoments."IdonotdoubtyourlovingLucie;youmaybesatisfiedofit."He turned towardshim inhis chair,butdidnot lookathim,or raisehiseyes.His chindroppeduponhis hand, andhiswhite hair overshadowedhis

face:"HaveyouspokentoLucie?""No.""Norwritten?""Never.""Itwouldbeungeneroustoaffectnottoknowthatyourself-denialistobereferredtoyourconsiderationforherfather.Herfatherthanksyou."Heofferedhishand;buthiseyesdidnotgowithit."I know," said Darnay, respectfully, "how can I fail to know, DoctorManette,Iwhohaveseenyoutogetherfromdaytoday,thatbetweenyouandMissManettethereisanaffectionsounusual,sotouching,sobelongingtothecircumstances inwhich it has been nurtured, that it can have few parallels,eveninthetendernessbetweenafatherandchild.Iknow,DoctorManette—how can I fail to know—that, mingled with the affection and duty of adaughterwhohasbecomeawoman,thereis,inherheart,towardsyou,alltheloveandrelianceofinfancyitself.Iknowthat,asinherchildhoodshehadnoparent,sosheisnowdevotedtoyouwithalltheconstancyandfervourofherpresent years and character, united to the trustfulness and attachment of theearlydaysinwhichyouwerelosttoher.Iknowperfectlywellthatifyouhadbeen restored to her from the world beyond this life, you could hardly beinvested,inhersight,withamoresacredcharacterthanthatinwhichyouarealwayswithher.Iknowthatwhensheisclingingtoyou,thehandsofbaby,girl,andwoman,allinone,areroundyourneck.Iknowthatinlovingyousheseesandloveshermotheratherownage,seesandlovesyouatmyage,loveshermotherbroken-hearted,lovesyouthroughyourdreadfultrialandinyourblessedrestoration.Ihaveknownthis,nightandday,sinceIhaveknownyouinyourhome."Her father sat silent,with his face bent down.His breathingwas a littlequickened;butherepressedallothersignsofagitation."DearDoctorManette, always knowing this, always seeing her and youwiththishallowedlightaboutyou,Ihaveforborne,andforborne,aslongasitwas in thenatureofman todo it. Ihave felt, anddoevennowfeel, that tobring my love—even mine—between you, is to touch your history withsomethingnotquite sogoodas itself.But I loveher.Heaven ismywitnessthatIloveher!""Ibelieve it,"answeredher father,mournfully."Ihave thoughtsobeforenow.Ibelieveit.""But, do not believe," said Darnay, upon whose ear themournful voicestruckwithareproachfulsound,"thatifmyfortuneweresocastasthat,beingone day so happy as to make her my wife, I must at any time put anyseparationbetweenher andyou, I couldorwouldbreathe awordofwhat I

nowsay.BesidesthatIshouldknowittobehopeless,Ishouldknowittobeabaseness. If I had any such possibility, even at a remote distance of years,harbouredinmythoughts,andhiddeninmyheart—ifiteverhadbeenthere—ifitevercouldbethere—Icouldnotnowtouchthishonouredhand."Helaidhisownuponitashespoke."No,dearDoctorManette.Likeyou,avoluntaryexile fromFrance; likeyou, driven from it by its distractions, oppressions, and miseries; like you,striving to liveaway from itbymyownexertions,and trusting inahappierfuture; I lookonly tosharingyourfortunes,sharingyour lifeandhome,andbeing faithful to you to thedeath.Not to dividewithLucie her privilege asyourchild,companion,andfriend;buttocomeinaidofit,andbindherclosertoyou,ifsuchathingcanbe."His touch still lingered on her father's hand. Answering the touch for amoment,butnotcoldly,herfatherrestedhishandsuponthearmsofhischair,and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the conference. Astrugglewasevidentlyinhisface;astrugglewiththatoccasionallookwhichhadatendencyinittodarkdoubtanddread."Youspeaksofeelinglyandsomanfully,CharlesDarnay,thatIthankyouwith allmy heart, andwill open allmy heart—or nearly so.Have you anyreasontobelievethatLucielovesyou?""None.Asyet,none.""Is it the immediate object of this confidence, that you may at onceascertainthat,withmyknowledge?""Notevenso.Imightnothavethehopefulnesstodoitforweeks;Imight(mistakenornotmistaken)havethathopefulnessto-morrow.""Doyouseekanyguidancefromme?""I asknone, sir.But Ihave thought it possible thatyoumighthave it inyourpower,ifyoushoulddeemitright,togivemesome.""Doyouseekanypromisefromme?""Idoseekthat.""Whatisit?""I well understand that, without you, I could have no hope. I wellunderstandthat,evenifMissManetteheldmeatthismomentinherinnocentheart—donotthinkIhavethepresumptiontoassumesomuch—Icouldretainnoplaceinitagainstherloveforherfather.""Ifthatbeso,doyouseewhat,ontheotherhand,isinvolvedinit?""I understand equally well, that a word from her father in any suitor'sfavour,wouldoutweighherself and all theworld.Forwhich reason,DoctorManette," saidDarnay,modestly but firmly, "I would not ask that word, to

savemylife.""Iamsureofit.CharlesDarnay,mysteriesariseoutofcloselove,aswellasoutofwidedivision; in the formercase, theyaresubtleanddelicate,anddifficulttopenetrate.MydaughterLucieis,inthisonerespect,suchamysterytome;Icanmakenoguessatthestateofherheart.""MayIask,sir,ifyouthinksheis—"Ashehesitated,herfathersuppliedtherest."Issoughtbyanyothersuitor?""ItiswhatImeanttosay."Herfatherconsideredalittlebeforeheanswered:"You have seen Mr. Carton here, yourself. Mr. Stryver is here too,occasionally.Ifitbeatall,itcanonlybebyoneofthese.""Orboth,"saidDarnay."I had not thought of both; I should not think either, likely.Youwant apromisefromme.Tellmewhatitis.""It is, that ifMissManette shouldbring toyouat any time,onherownpart, such a confidence as I have ventured to lay before you, youwill beartestimonytowhatIhavesaid,andtoyourbeliefinit.Ihopeyoumaybeabletothinksowellofme,astourgenoinfluenceagainstme.Isaynothingmoreofmy stake in this; this iswhat I ask.Theconditiononwhich I ask it, andwhichyouhaveanundoubtedrighttorequire,Iwillobserveimmediately.""I give the promise," said the Doctor, "without any condition. I believeyourobject tobe,purelyand truthfully,asyouhavestated it. Ibelieveyourintention is to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties between me and myotherandfardearerself.Ifsheshouldevertellmethatyouareessentialtoherperfect happiness, Iwill give her to you. If therewere—CharlesDarnay, iftherewere—"Theyoungmanhadtakenhishandgratefully;theirhandswerejoinedastheDoctorspoke:"—anyfancies,anyreasons,anyapprehensions,anythingwhatsoever,neworold,againstthemanshereallyloved—thedirectresponsibilitythereofnotlying on his head—they should all be obliterated for her sake. She iseverythingtome;moretomethansuffering,moretomethanwrong,moretome—Well!Thisisidletalk."Sostrangewasthewayinwhichhefadedintosilence,andsostrangehisfixed lookwhenhehadceased tospeak, thatDarnay felthisownhand turncoldinthehandthatslowlyreleasedanddroppedit."Yousaidsomething tome,"saidDoctorManette,breakingintoasmile."Whatwasityousaidtome?"

Hewasatalosshowtoanswer,untilherememberedhavingspokenofacondition.Relievedashismindrevertedtothat,heanswered:"Yourconfidence inmeought tobereturnedwithfullconfidenceonmypart.Mypresentname,thoughbutslightlychangedfrommymother's,isnot,asyouwillremember,myown.Iwishtotellyouwhatthatis,andwhyIaminEngland.""Stop!"saidtheDoctorofBeauvais."I wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence, and have nosecretfromyou.""Stop!"Foraninstant,theDoctorevenhadhistwohandsathisears;foranotherinstant,evenhadhistwohandslaidonDarnay'slips."Tellmewhen I ask you, not now. If your suit should prosper, if Lucieshould love you, you shall tell me on your marriage morning. Do youpromise?""Willingly."Givemeyourhand.Shewillbehomedirectly,anditisbettersheshouldnotseeustogetherto-night.Go!Godblessyou!"Itwas darkwhenCharlesDarnay left him, and itwas an hour later anddarker when Lucie came home; she hurried into the room alone—forMissProsshadgonestraightup-stairs—andwassurprisedtofindhisreading-chairempty."Myfather!"shecalledtohim."Fatherdear!"Nothingwassaidinanswer,butsheheardalowhammeringsoundinhisbedroom. Passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in at hisdoorandcamerunningbackfrightened,crying toherself,withherbloodallchilled,"WhatshallIdo!WhatshallIdo!"Heruncertaintylastedbutamoment;shehurriedback,andtappedathisdoor,andsoftlycalledtohim.Thenoiseceasedatthesoundofhervoice,andhepresentlycameouttoher,andtheywalkedupanddowntogetherforalongtime.She camedown fromherbed, to lookat him inhis sleep thatnight.Hesleptheavily,andhis trayofshoemakingtools,andhisoldunfinishedwork,wereallasusual.

ACompanionPicture

"Sydney," said Mr. Stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his

jackal;"mixanotherbowlofpunch;Ihavesomethingtosaytoyou."Sydneyhadbeenworkingdoubletidesthatnight,andthenightbefore,andthenightbeforethat,andagoodmanynights insuccession,makingagrandclearance among Mr. Stryver's papers before the setting in of the longvacation. The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver arrears werehandsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until November shouldcome with its fogs atmospheric, and fogs legal, and bring grist to the millagain.Sydneywasnonethelivelierandnonethesobererforsomuchapplication.It had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him through the night; acorrespondinglyextraquantityofwinehadprecededthetowelling;andhewasinaverydamagedcondition,ashenowpulledhisturbanoffandthrewitintothebasininwhichhehadsteepeditatintervalsforthelastsixhours."Areyoumixingthatotherbowlofpunch?"saidStryvertheportly,withhishandsinhiswaistband,glancingroundfromthesofawherehelayonhisback."Iam.""Now,lookhere!Iamgoingtotellyousomethingthatwillrathersurpriseyou, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as shrewd as youusuallydothinkme.Iintendtomarry.""Doyou?""Yes.Andnotformoney.Whatdoyousaynow?""Idon'tfeeldisposedtosaymuch.Whoisshe?""Guess.""DoIknowher?""Guess.""Iamnotgoing toguess, at fiveo'clock in themorning,withmybrainsfryingandsputteringinmyhead.Ifyouwantmetoguess,youmustaskmetodinner.""Wellthen,I'lltellyou,"saidStryver,comingslowlyintoasittingposture."Sydney,Iratherdespairofmakingmyselfintelligibletoyou,becauseyouaresuchaninsensibledog.""And you," returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, "are such asensitiveandpoeticalspirit—""Come!"rejoinedStryver, laughingboastfully,"thoughIdon'tpreferanyclaim to being the soul ofRomance (for I hope I knowbetter), still I am atenderersortoffellowthanyou.""Youarealuckier,ifyoumeanthat."

"Idon'tmeanthat.ImeanIamamanofmore—more—""Saygallantry,whileyouareaboutit,"suggestedCarton."Well! I'll say gallantry.Mymeaning is that I am aman," said Stryver,inflatinghimself athis friendashemade thepunch, "whocaresmore tobeagreeable,whotakesmorepainstobeagreeable,whoknowsbetterhowtobeagreeable,inawoman'ssociety,thanyoudo.""Goon,"saidSydneyCarton."No; but before I go on," said Stryver, shaking his head in his bullyingway, "I'll have this outwith you.You've been atDoctorManette's house asmuch as I have, or more than I have.Why, I have been ashamed of yourmoroseness there! Your manners have been of that silent and sullen andhangdog kind, that, upon my life and soul, I have been ashamed of you,Sydney!""It should be very beneficial to aman in your practice at the bar, to beashamed of anything," returned Sydney; "you ought to be much obliged tome.""You shall not get off in that way," rejoined Stryver, shouldering therejoinderathim;"no,Sydney,it'smydutytotellyou—andItellyoutoyourfacetodoyougood—thatyouareadevilishill-conditionedfellowinthatsortofsociety.Youareadisagreeablefellow."Sydneydrankabumperofthepunchhehadmade,andlaughed."Lookatme!" saidStryver, squaringhimself; "I have lessneed tomakemyself agreeable than you have, being more independent in circumstances.WhydoIdoit?""Ineversawyoudoityet,"mutteredCarton."Idoitbecauseit'spolitic;Idoitonprinciple.Andlookatme!Igeton.""You don't get on with your account of your matrimonial intentions,"answeredCarton,withacarelessair;"Iwishyouwouldkeeptothat.Astome—willyouneverunderstandthatIamincorrigible?"Heaskedthequestionwithsomeappearanceofscorn."You have no business to be incorrigible," was his friend's answer,deliveredinnoverysoothingtone."I have no business to be, at all, that I know of," said Sydney Carton."Whoisthelady?""Now,don't letmyannouncementof thenamemakeyouuncomfortable,Sydney,"saidMr.Stryver,preparinghimwithostentatiousfriendlinessforthedisclosurehewas about tomake, "because Iknowyoudon'tmeanhalfyousay;and ifyoumeant it all, itwouldbeofno importance. Imake this littlepreface,becauseyouoncementionedtheyoungladytomeinslightingterms."

"Idid?""Certainly;andinthesechambers."SydneyCarton lookedathispunchand lookedathis complacent friend;drankhispunchandlookedathiscomplacentfriend."Youmadementionoftheyoungladyasagolden-haireddoll.TheyoungladyisMissManette.Ifyouhadbeenafellowofanysensitivenessordelicacyoffeelinginthatkindofway,Sydney,Imighthavebeenalittleresentfulofyour employing such a designation; but you are not. You want that sensealtogether; therefore I amnomore annoyedwhen I think of the expression,thanIshouldbeannoyedbyaman'sopinionofapictureofmine,whohadnoeyeforpictures:orofapieceofmusicofmine,whohadnoearformusic."Sydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers,lookingathisfriend."Nowyou know all about it, Syd," saidMr. Stryver. "I don't care aboutfortune: she is a charming creature, and I havemadeupmymind to pleasemyself:onthewhole,I thinkIcanafford topleasemyself.Shewillhaveinmeamanalreadyprettywelloff,andarapidlyrisingman,andamanofsomedistinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but she isworthy of goodfortune.Areyouastonished?"Carton,stilldrinkingthepunch,rejoined,"WhyshouldIbeastonished?""Youapprove?"Carton,stilldrinkingthepunch,rejoined,"WhyshouldInotapprove?""Well!"saidhisfriendStryver,"youtakeitmoreeasilythanIfanciedyouwould, and are lessmercenary onmy behalf than I thought youwould be;though,tobesure,youknowwellenoughbythistimethatyourancientchumisamanofaprettystrongwill.Yes,Sydney,Ihavehadenoughofthisstyleoflife,withnootherasachangefromit; I feel that it isapleasant thingforamantohaveahomewhenhefeelsinclinedtogotoit(whenhedoesn't,hecanstayaway),andIfeelthatMissManettewilltellwellinanystation,andwillalwaysdomecredit.SoIhavemadeupmymind.Andnow,Sydney,oldboy,Iwanttosayawordtoyouaboutyourprospects.Youareinabadway,youknow;youreallyare inabadway.Youdon'tknowthevalueofmoney,youlivehard,you'llknockuponeof thesedays,andbe ill andpoor;you reallyoughttothinkaboutanurse."Theprosperouspatronagewithwhichhesaidit,madehimlooktwiceasbigashewas,andfourtimesasoffensive."Now,letmerecommendyou,"pursuedStryver,"tolookit intheface.Ihavelookeditintheface,inmydifferentway;lookitintheface,you,inyourdifferentway.Marry.Providesomebodytotakecareofyou.Nevermindyourhavingnoenjoymentofwomen'ssociety,norunderstandingofit,nortactforit.Findoutsomebody.Findoutsomerespectablewomanwithalittleproperty

—somebody in the landlady way, or lodging-letting way—and marry her,againstarainyday.That'sthekindofthingforyou.Nowthinkofit,Sydney.""I'llthinkofit,"saidSydney.

TheFellowofDelicacy

Mr. Stryver havingmade up hismind to thatmagnanimous bestowal ofgoodfortuneontheDoctor'sdaughter,resolvedtomakeherhappinessknowntoherbeforehelefttownfortheLongVacation.Aftersomementaldebatingofthepoint,hecametotheconclusionthatitwouldbeaswelltogetallthepreliminariesdonewith,andtheycould thenarrangeat their leisurewhetherheshouldgiveherhishandaweekortwobeforeMichaelmasTerm,orinthelittleChristmasvacationbetweenitandHilary.Astothestrengthofhiscase,hehadnotadoubtaboutit,butclearlysawhiswaytotheverdict.Arguedwiththejuryonsubstantialworldlygrounds—theonlygroundseverworthtakingintoaccount—itwasaplaincase,andhadnotaweakspotinit.Hecalledhimselffortheplaintiff,therewasnogettingover his evidence, the counsel for the defendant threwup his brief, and thejurydidnoteventurntoconsider.Aftertryingit,Stryver,C.J.,wassatisfiedthatnoplainercasecouldbe.Accordingly, Mr. Stryver inaugurated the Long Vacation with a formalproposaltotakeMissManettetoVauxhallGardens;thatfailing,toRanelagh;thatunaccountablyfailingtoo,itbehovedhimtopresenthimselfinSoho,andtheredeclarehisnoblemind.TowardsSoho,therefore,Mr.StryvershoulderedhiswayfromtheTemple,while the bloom of the LongVacation's infancywas still upon it.Anybodywho had seen him projecting himself into Soho while he was yet on SaintDunstan's side of Temple Bar, bursting in his full-blown way along thepavement, to the jostlementofallweakerpeople,mighthaveseenhowsafeandstronghewas.Hisway taking himpastTellson's, and he both banking atTellson's andknowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the Manettes, it entered Mr.Stryver'smindtoenterthebank,andrevealtoMr.LorrythebrightnessoftheSohohorizon.So,hepushedopenthedoorwiththeweakrattleinitsthroat,stumbled down the two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, andshouldered himself into themusty back closetwhereMr. Lorry sat at greatbooksruledforfigures,withperpendicularironbarstohiswindowasifthatwereruledforfigurestoo,andeverythingunderthecloudswereasum."Halloa!"saidMr.Stryver."Howdoyoudo?Ihopeyouarewell!"ItwasStryver's grandpeculiarity that he always seemed toobig for any

place,orspace.HewassomuchtoobigforTellson's,thatoldclerksindistantcorners looked upwith looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed themagainstthewall.TheHouseitself,magnificentlyreadingthepaperquiteinthefar-offperspective,lowereddispleased,asiftheStryverheadhadbeenbuttedintoitsresponsiblewaistcoat.The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he wouldrecommendunderthecircumstances,"Howdoyoudo,Mr.Stryver?Howdoyou do, sir?" and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in his manner ofshakinghands, always tobe seen inanyclerkatTellson'swho shookhandswith a customer when the House pervaded the air. He shook in a self-abnegatingway,asonewhoshookforTellsonandCo."CanIdoanythingforyou,Mr.Stryver?"askedMr.Lorry,inhisbusinesscharacter."Why,no, thankyou; this isaprivatevisit toyourself,Mr.Lorry;Ihavecomeforaprivateword.""Ohindeed!"saidMr.Lorry,bendingdownhisear,whilehiseyestrayedtotheHouseafaroff."Iamgoing,"saidMr.Stryver,leaninghisarmsconfidentiallyonthedesk:whereupon,althoughitwasalargedoubleone,thereappearedtobenothalfdeskenoughforhim:"Iamgoingtomakeanofferofmyself inmarriagetoyouragreeablelittlefriend,MissManette,Mr.Lorry.""Ohdearme!"criedMr.Lorry,rubbinghischin,andlookingathisvisitordubiously."Oh dear me, sir?" repeated Stryver, drawing back. "Oh dear you, sir?Whatmayyourmeaningbe,Mr.Lorry?""Mymeaning,"answeredthemanofbusiness,"is,ofcourse,friendlyandappreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and—in short, mymeaning is everythingyoucoulddesire.But—really,youknow,Mr.Stryver—"Mr.Lorrypaused,andshookhisheadathimintheoddestmanner,asifhewerecompelledagainsthiswilltoadd,internally,"youknowtherereallyissomuchtoomuchofyou!""Well!"saidStryver,slappingthedeskwithhiscontentioushand,openinghiseyeswider,andtakingalongbreath,"ifIunderstandyou,Mr.Lorry,I'llbehanged!"Mr.Lorryadjustedhislittlewigatbothearsasameanstowardsthatend,andbitthefeatherofapen."D—nitall,sir!"saidStryver,staringathim,"amInoteligible?""Ohdear yes!Yes.Ohyes, you're eligible!" saidMr.Lorry. "If you sayeligible,youareeligible.""AmInotprosperous?"askedStryver.

"Oh!ifyoucometoprosperous,youareprosperous,"saidMr.Lorry."Andadvancing?""Ifyoucometoadvancingyouknow,"saidMr.Lorry,delightedtobeabletomakeanotheradmission,"nobodycandoubtthat.""Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?" demanded Stryver,perceptiblycrestfallen."Well!I—Wereyougoingtherenow?"askedMr.Lorry."Straight!"saidStryver,withaplumpofhisfistonthedesk."ThenIthinkIwouldn't,ifIwasyou.""Why?"saidStryver."Now,I'llputyouinacorner,"forensicallyshakingaforefinger at him. "You are aman of business and bound to have a reason.Stateyourreason.Whywouldn'tyougo?""Because,"saidMr.Lorry,"Iwouldn'tgoonsuchanobjectwithouthavingsomecausetobelievethatIshouldsucceed.""D—nme!"criedStryver,"butthisbeatseverything."Mr.LorryglancedatthedistantHouse,andglancedattheangryStryver."Here's amanof business—amanof years—amanof experience—inaBank," said Stryver; "and having summed up three leading reasons forcompletesuccess,hesaysthere'snoreasonatall!Saysitwithhisheadon!"Mr.Stryverremarkeduponthepeculiarityasifitwouldhavebeeninfinitelylessremarkableifhehadsaiditwithhisheadoff."When I speak of success, I speak of successwith the young lady; andwhen I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak ofcausesandreasonsthatwilltellassuchwiththeyounglady.Theyounglady,mygoodsir,"saidMr.Lorry,mildlytappingtheStryverarm,"theyounglady.Theyoungladygoesbeforeall.""Thenyoumeantotellme,Mr.Lorry,"saidStryver,squaringhiselbows,"thatitisyourdeliberateopinionthattheyoungladyatpresentinquestionisamincingFool?""Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver," said Mr. Lorry,reddening,"thatIwillhearnodisrespectfulwordofthatyoungladyfromanylips;andthatifIknewanyman—whichIhopeIdonot—whosetastewassocoarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could not restrainhimselffromspeakingdisrespectfullyofthatyoungladyatthisdesk,notevenTellson'sshouldpreventmygivinghimapieceofmymind."The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had putMr.Stryver'sblood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry;Mr.Lorry'sveins,methodicalastheircoursescouldusuallybe,wereinnobetterstatenowitwashisturn.

"ThatiswhatImeantotellyou,sir,"saidMr.Lorry."Praylettherebenomistakeaboutit."Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then stoodhittingatuneoutofhisteethwithit,whichprobablygavehimthetoothache.Hebroketheawkwardsilencebysaying:"Thisissomethingnewtome,Mr.Lorry.YoudeliberatelyadvisemenottogouptoSohoandoffermyself—myself,StryveroftheKing'sBenchbar?""Doyouaskmeformyadvice,Mr.Stryver?""Yes,Ido.""Verygood.ThenIgiveit,andyouhaverepeateditcorrectly.""AndallIcansayofitis,"laughedStryverwithavexedlaugh,"thatthis—ha,ha!—beatseverythingpast,present,andtocome.""Nowunderstandme,"pursuedMr.Lorry."Asamanofbusiness,Iamnotjustifiedinsayinganythingaboutthismatter,for,asamanofbusiness,Iknownothingofit.But,asanoldfellow,whohascarriedMissManetteinhisarms,whoisthetrustedfriendofMissManetteandofherfathertoo,andwhohasagreat affection for them both, I have spoken. The confidence is not of myseeking,recollect.Now,youthinkImaynotberight?""NotI!"saidStryver,whistling."Ican'tundertaketofindthirdparties incommon sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose sense in certainquarters;yousupposemincingbread-and-butternonsense.It'snewtome,butyouareright,Idaresay.""What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myself—Andunderstandme, sir," saidMr.Lorry,quickly flushingagain, "Iwill not—notevenatTellson's—haveitcharacterisedformebyanygentlemanbreathing.""There!Ibegyourpardon!"saidStryver."Granted.Thankyou.Well,Mr.Stryver,Iwasabouttosay:—itmightbepainfultoyoutofindyourselfmistaken,itmightbepainfultoDoctorManettetohave the taskofbeingexplicitwithyou, itmightbeverypainful toMissManettetohavethetaskofbeingexplicitwithyou.YouknowthetermsuponwhichIhavethehonourandhappinesstostandwiththefamily.Ifyouplease,committing you in noway, representing you in noway, Iwill undertake tocorrectmy advice by the exercise of a little new observation and judgmentexpresslybrought tobearupon it. If you should thenbedissatisfiedwith it,youcanbuttestitssoundnessforyourself;if,ontheotherhand,youshouldbesatisfiedwithit,anditshouldbewhatitnowis,itmayspareallsideswhatisbestspared.Whatdoyousay?""Howlongwouldyoukeepmeintown?""Oh! It is only a question of a few hours. I could go to Soho in theevening,andcometoyourchambersafterwards."

"ThenIsayyes,"saidStryver:"Iwon'tgouptherenow,Iamnotsohotuponitasthatcomesto;Isayyes,andIshallexpectyoutolookinto-night.Goodmorning."Then Mr. Stryver turned and burst out of the Bank, causing such aconcussionof air onhis passage through, that to standup against it bowingbehind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength of the twoancient clerks.Thosevenerable and feeblepersonswere always seenby thepublic in the act of bowing, and were popularly believed, when they hadbowedacustomerout,still tokeeponbowingintheemptyofficeuntil theybowedanothercustomerin.Thebarristerwaskeenenough todivine that thebankerwouldnothavegonesofar inhisexpressionofopiniononanylesssolidgroundthanmoralcertainty.Unpreparedashewasforthelargepillhehadtoswallow,hegotitdown. "And now," said Mr. Stryver, shaking his forensic forefinger at theTempleingeneral,whenitwasdown,"mywayoutofthis,is,toputyouallinthewrong."ItwasabitoftheartofanOldBaileytactician,inwhichhefoundgreatrelief."Youshallnotputmeinthewrong,younglady,"saidMr.Stryver;"I'lldothatforyou."Accordingly,whenMr.Lorrycalled thatnightas lateas teno'clock,Mr.Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for the purpose,seemedtohavenothinglessonhismindthanthesubjectofthemorning.HeevenshowedsurprisewhenhesawMr.Lorry,andwasaltogetherinanabsentandpreoccupiedstate."Well!"saidthatgood-naturedemissary,afterafullhalf-hourofbootlessattemptstobringhimroundtothequestion."IhavebeentoSoho.""To Soho?" repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. "Oh, to be sure! What am Ithinkingof!""AndIhavenodoubt,"saidMr.Lorry,"thatIwasrightintheconversationwehad.Myopinionisconfirmed,andIreiteratemyadvice.""Iassureyou,"returnedMr.Stryver,inthefriendliestway,"thatIamsorryforitonyouraccount,andsorryforitonthepoorfather'saccount.Iknowthismustalwaysbeasoresubjectwiththefamily;letussaynomoreaboutit.""Idon'tunderstandyou,"saidMr.Lorry."I dare say not," rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing andfinalway;"nomatter,nomatter.""Butitdoesmatter,"Mr.Lorryurged."No it doesn't; I assure you it doesn't. Having supposed that there wassensewhere there is no sense, and a laudable ambitionwhere there is not alaudableambition,Iamwelloutofmymistake,andnoharmisdone.Young

womenhavecommittedsimilarfolliesoftenbefore,andhaverepentedtheminpovertyandobscurityoftenbefore.Inanunselfishaspect,Iamsorrythatthethingisdropped,becauseitwouldhavebeenabadthingformeinaworldlypointofview;inaselfishaspect,Iamgladthatthethinghasdropped,becauseitwouldhavebeenabadthingformeinaworldlypointofview—itishardlynecessary to say I could have gained nothing by it. There is no harm at alldone.Ihavenotproposedtotheyounglady,and,betweenourselves,Iambynomeanscertain,onreflection, thatIevershouldhavecommittedmyself tothatextent.Mr.Lorry,youcannotcontrolthemincingvanitiesandgiddinessesof empty-headed girls; youmust not expect to do it, or youwill always bedisappointed.Now,praysaynomoreaboutit.Itellyou,Iregretitonaccountofothers,butIamsatisfiedonmyownaccount.AndIamreallyverymuchobligedtoyouforallowingmetosoundyou,andforgivingmeyouradvice;youknowtheyoungladybetterthanIdo;youwereright,itneverwouldhavedone."Mr.Lorrywassotakenaback,thathelookedquitestupidlyatMr.Stryvershouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of showeringgenerosity,forbearance,andgoodwill,onhiserringhead."Makethebestofit,mydearsir,"saidStryver;"saynomoreaboutit;thankyouagainforallowingmetosoundyou;goodnight!"Mr.Lorrywasoutinthenight,beforeheknewwherehewas.Mr.Stryverwaslyingbackonhissofa,winkingathisceiling.

TheFellowofNoDelicacy

If Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in thehouseofDoctorManette.Hehadbeenthereoften,duringawholeyear,andhadalwaysbeenthesamemoodyandmoroseloungerthere.Whenhecaredtotalk,hetalkedwell;but,thecloudofcaringfornothing,whichovershadowedhimwith such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the lightwithinhim.Andyet he did care something for the streets that environed that house,and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. Many a night hevaguelyandunhappilywanderedthere,whenwinehadbroughtnotransitorygladnesstohim;manyadrearydaybreakrevealedhissolitaryfigurelingeringthere, and still lingering therewhen the first beams of the sun brought intostrongrelief,removedbeautiesofarchitectureinspiresofchurchesandloftybuildings,asperhapsthequiettimebroughtsomesenseofbetterthings,elseforgotten and unattainable, into his mind. Of late, the neglected bed in theTempleCourthadknownhimmorescantilythanever;andoftenwhenhehadthrownhimselfuponitnolongerthanafewminutes,hehadgotupagain,and

hauntedthatneighbourhood.OnadayinAugust,whenMr.Stryver(afternotifyingtohisjackalthat"hehad thought better of that marrying matter") had carried his delicacy intoDevonshire, andwhen the sight and scent of flowers in theCity streets hadsomewaifsofgoodnessinthemfortheworst,ofhealthforthesickliest,andof youth for the oldest, Sydney's feet still trod those stones. From beingirresoluteandpurposeless,his feetbecameanimatedbyan intention,and, intheworkingoutofthatintention,theytookhimtotheDoctor'sdoor.He was shown up-stairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She hadnever been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some littleembarrassmentasheseatedhimselfnearhertable.But,lookingupathisfaceintheinterchangeofthefirstfewcommon-places,sheobservedachangeinit."Ifearyouarenotwell,Mr.Carton!""No.ButthelifeIlead,MissManette,isnotconducivetohealth.Whatistobeexpectedof,orby,suchprofligates?""Isitnot—forgiveme;Ihavebegunthequestiononmylips—apitytolivenobetterlife?""Godknowsitisashame!""Thenwhynotchangeit?"Lookinggentlyathimagain, shewassurprisedandsaddened tosee thatthereweretearsinhiseyes.Thereweretearsinhisvoicetoo,asheanswered:"Itistoolateforthat.IshallneverbebetterthanIam.Ishallsinklower,andbeworse."Heleanedanelbowonhertable,andcoveredhiseyeswithhishand.Thetabletrembledinthesilencethatfollowed.Shehadneverseenhimsoftened,andwasmuchdistressed.Heknewhertobeso,withoutlookingather,andsaid:"Pray forgiveme,MissManette. I break down before the knowledge ofwhatIwanttosaytoyou.Willyouhearme?""If itwilldoyouanygood,Mr.Carton, if itwouldmakeyouhappier, itwouldmakemeveryglad!""Godblessyouforyoursweetcompassion!"Heunshadedhisfaceafteralittlewhile,andspokesteadily."Don'tbeafraidtohearme.Don'tshrinkfromanythingIsay.Iamlikeonewhodiedyoung.Allmylifemighthavebeen.""No,Mr.Carton.Iamsurethatthebestpartofitmightstillbe;Iamsurethatyoumightbemuch,muchworthierofyourself.""Sayofyou,MissManette,andalthoughIknowbetter—although in the

mysteryofmyownwretchedheartIknowbetter—Ishallneverforgetit!"Shewaspaleandtrembling.Hecametoherreliefwithafixeddespairofhimself which made the interview unlike any other that could have beenholden."If it hadbeenpossible,MissManette, that you couldhave returned theloveofthemanyouseebeforeyourself—flungaway,wasted,drunken,poorcreatureofmisuseasyouknowhimtobe—hewouldhavebeenconsciousthisday and hour, in spite of his happiness, that hewould bring you tomisery,bringyoutosorrowandrepentance,blightyou,disgraceyou,pullyoudownwithhim.Iknowverywellthatyoucanhavenotendernessforme;Iaskfornone;Iameventhankfulthatitcannotbe.""Withoutit,canInotsaveyou,Mr.Carton?CanInotrecallyou—forgivemeagain!—toabettercourse?CanIinnowayrepayyourconfidence?Iknowthisisaconfidence,"shemodestlysaid,afteralittlehesitation,andinearnesttears, "I know youwould say this to no one else. Can I turn it to no goodaccountforyourself,Mr.Carton?"Heshookhishead."Tonone.No,MissManette,tonone.Ifyouwillhearmethroughaverylittlemore,allyoucaneverdoformeisdone.Iwishyoutoknowthatyouhavebeen the last dreamofmy soul. Inmydegradation I havenotbeen sodegraded but that the sight of youwith your father, and of this homemadesuchahomebyyou,hasstirredoldshadowsthatIthoughthaddiedoutofme.Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thoughtwouldneverreproachmeagain,andhaveheardwhispersfromoldvoicesimpellingmeupward,thatIthoughtweresilentforever.Ihavehadunformedideasofstrivingafresh,beginninganew,shakingoffslothandsensuality,andfightingouttheabandonedfight.Adream,alladream,thatendsinnothing,andleavesthesleeperwherehelaydown,butIwishyoutoknowthatyouinspiredit.""Willnothingofitremain?OMr.Carton,thinkagain!Tryagain!""No, Miss Manette; all through it, I have known myself to be quiteundeserving.AndyetIhavehadtheweakness,andhavestilltheweakness,towishyoutoknowwithwhatasuddenmasteryyoukindledme,heapofashesthat I am, into fire—a fire, however, inseparable in its nature frommyself,quickeningnothing,lightingnothing,doingnoservice,idlyburningaway.""Since it ismymisfortune,Mr.Carton, tohavemadeyoumoreunhappythanyouwerebeforeyouknewme—""Don't say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, ifanythingcould.Youwillnotbethecauseofmybecomingworse.""Since the state of your mind that you describe, is, at all events,attributabletosomeinfluenceofmine—thisiswhatImean, ifIcanmakeitplain—canIuseno influence toserveyou?HaveInopowerforgood,with

you,atall?""Theutmostgood that I amcapableofnow,MissManette, Ihavecomehere to realise. Let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life, theremembrance that I openedmy heart to you, last of all theworld; and thattherewassomethingleftinmeatthistimewhichyoucoulddeploreandpity.""WhichIentreatedyoutobelieve,againandagain,mostfervently,withallmyheart,wascapableofbetterthings,Mr.Carton!""Entreatme to believe it nomore,MissManette. I have provedmyself,and I know better. I distress you; I draw fast to an end. Will you let mebelieve,whenIrecallthisday,thatthelastconfidenceofmylifewasreposedinyourpureandinnocentbreast,andthatitliestherealone,andwillbesharedbynoone?""Ifthatwillbeaconsolationtoyou,yes.""Notevenbythedearestoneevertobeknowntoyou?""Mr.Carton," sheanswered,afteranagitatedpause, "thesecret isyours,notmine;andIpromisetorespectit.""Thankyou.Andagain,Godblessyou."Heputherhandtohislips,andmovedtowardsthedoor."Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming thisconversationbysomuchasapassingword.Iwillneverrefertoitagain.IfIwere dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour ofmydeath, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance—and shall thank andblessyouforit—thatmylastavowalofmyselfwasmadetoyou,andthatmyname, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in your heart. May itotherwisebelightandhappy!"Hewassounlikewhathehadevershownhimselftobe,anditwassosadto think howmuch he had thrown away, and howmuch he every day keptdownandperverted,thatLucieManetteweptmournfullyforhimashestoodlookingbackather."Becomforted!"hesaid,"Iamnotworthsuchfeeling,MissManette.Anhour or twohence, and the lowcompanions and lowhabits that I scornbutyield to,will rendermelessworthsuch tearsas those, thananywretchwhocreepsalongthestreets.Becomforted!But,withinmyself,Ishallalwaysbe,towards you, what I am now, though outwardly I shall be what you haveheretoforeseenme.ThelastsupplicationbutoneImaketoyou, is, thatyouwillbelievethisofme.""Iwill,Mr.Carton.""My last supplication of all, is this; andwith it, I will relieve you of avisitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and betweenwhomandyouthereisanimpassablespace.Itisuselesstosayit,Iknow,but

itrisesoutofmysoul.Foryou,andforanydeartoyou,Iwoulddoanything.Ifmycareerwereofthatbetterkindthattherewasanyopportunityorcapacityofsacrificeinit,Iwouldembraceanysacrificeforyouandforthosedeartoyou.Trytoholdmeinyourmind,atsomequiettimes,asardentandsincereinthisonething.Thetimewillcome,thetimewillnotbelongincoming,whennewtieswillbeformedaboutyou—tiesthatwillbindyouyetmoretenderlyandstrongly to thehomeyousoadorn—thedearest ties thatwillevergraceandgladdenyou.OMissManette,whenthelittlepictureofahappyfather'sface looks up in yours,when you see your own bright beauty springing upanewatyourfeet,thinknowandthenthatthereisamanwhowouldgivehislife,tokeepalifeyoulovebesideyou!"Hesaid,"Farewell!"saidalast"Godblessyou!"andlefther.

TheHonestTradesman

To theeyesofMr. JeremiahCruncher, sittingonhis stool inFleet-streetwith his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of objects inmovementwereeverydaypresented.Whocouldsituponanything inFleet-streetduringthebusyhoursoftheday,andnotbedazedanddeafenedbytwoimmenseprocessions,oneevertendingwestwardwiththesun,theotherevertending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to the plains beyond therangeofredandpurplewherethesungoesdown!Withhisstrawinhismouth,Mr.Crunchersatwatchingthetwostreams,like the heathen rusticwhohas for several centuries been on dutywatchingone stream—saving that Jerry had no expectation of their ever running dry.Norwouldithavebeenanexpectationofahopefulkind,sinceasmallpartofhis incomewas derived from the pilotage of timidwomen (mostly of a fullhabitandpast themiddle termof life) fromTellson'ssideof the tides to theopposite shore.Briefas suchcompanionshipwas ineveryseparate instance,Mr.Cruncherneverfailedtobecomesointerestedintheladyastoexpressastrongdesiretohavethehonourofdrinkingherverygoodhealth.Anditwasfrom the gifts bestowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolentpurpose,thatherecruitedhisfinances,asjustnowobserved.Timewas,whenapoetsatuponastoolinapublicplace,andmusedinthesightofmen.Mr.Cruncher,sittingonastoolinapublicplace,butnotbeingapoet,musedaslittleaspossible,andlookedabouthim.Itfelloutthathewasthusengagedinaseasonwhencrowdswerefew,andbelatedwomenfew,andwhenhisaffairsingeneralweresounprosperousastoawakenastrongsuspicioninhisbreastthatMrs.Crunchermusthavebeen"flopping"insomepointedmanner,whenanunusualconcoursepouringdownFleet-streetwestward,attractedhisattention.Lookingthatway,Mr.Cruncher

made out that some kind of funeral was coming along, and that there waspopularobjectiontothisfuneral,whichengendereduproar."YoungJerry,"saidMr.Cruncher,turningtohisoffspring,"it'saburyin'.""Hooroar,father!"criedYoungJerry.The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterioussignificance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched hisopportunity,andsmotetheyounggentlemanontheear."What d'ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want toconweytoyourownfather,youyoungRip?Thisboyisagettingtoomanyforme!"saidMr.Cruncher,surveyinghim."Himandhishooroars!Don'tletmehearnomoreofyou,oryoushallfeelsomemoreofme.D'yehear?""Iwarn'tdoingnoharm,"YoungJerryprotested,rubbinghischeek."Drop it then,"saidMr.Cruncher;"Iwon'thavenoneofyournoharms.Getatopofthatthereseat,andlookatthecrowd."Hissonobeyed,andthecrowdapproached;theywerebawlingandhissinground a dingy hearse and dingymourning coach, inwhichmourning coachthere was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trappings that wereconsideredessentialtothedignityoftheposition.Thepositionappearedbynomeans to please him, however, with an increasing rabble surrounding thecoach, deriding him,making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning andcalling out: "Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! Spies!" with many compliments toonumerousandforcibletorepeat.Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr. Cruncher; healways pricked up his senses, and became excited, when a funeral passedTellson's. Naturally, therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendanceexcitedhimgreatly,andheaskedofthefirstmanwhoranagainsthim:"Whatisit,brother?What'sitabout?""Idon'tknow,"saidtheman."Spies!Yaha!Tst!Spies!"Heaskedanotherman."Whoisit?""I don't know," returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouthnevertheless,andvociferatinginasurprisingheatandwiththegreatestardour,"Spies!Yaha!Tst,tst!Spi—ies!"At length, a person better informed on the merits of the case, tumbledagainsthim,andfromthispersonhelearnedthatthefuneralwasthefuneralofoneRogerCly."WasHeaspy?"askedMr.Cruncher."OldBaileyspy,"returnedhisinformant."Yaha!Tst!Yah!OldBaileySpi—i—ies!""Why, to be sure!" exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at which he had

assisted."I'veseenhim.Dead,ishe?""Deadasmutton,"returnedtheother,"andcan'tbetoodead.Have'emout,there!Spies!Pull'emout,there!Spies!"Theideawassoacceptableintheprevalentabsenceofanyidea, that thecrowdcaughtitupwitheagerness,andloudlyrepeatingthesuggestiontohave'em out, and to pull 'em out, mobbed the two vehicles so closely that theycame to a stop. On the crowd's opening the coach doors, the one mournerscuffledoutofhimself andwas in theirhands for amoment;buthewas soalert, andmade such good use of his time, that in anothermoment hewasscouring away up a bye-street, after shedding his cloak, hat, long hatband,whitepocket-handkerchief,andothersymbolicaltears.These, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide with greatenjoyment,whilethetradesmenhurriedlyshutuptheirshops;foracrowdinthose times stoppedatnothing, andwasamonstermuchdreaded.Theyhadalreadygotthelengthofopeningthehearsetotakethecoffinout,whensomebrighter genius proposed instead, its being escorted to its destination amidstgeneral rejoicing. Practical suggestions beingmuch needed, this suggestion,too,wasreceivedwithacclamation,andthecoachwasimmediatelyfilledwitheight inside and a dozen out, while as many people got on the roof of thehearseascouldbyanyexerciseofingenuitystickuponit.Amongthefirstofthese volunteers was Jerry Cruncher himself, who modestly concealed hisspiky head from the observation of Tellson's, in the further corner of themourningcoach.Theofficiatingundertakersmadesomeprotestagainstthesechangesintheceremonies;but,theriverbeingalarminglynear,andseveralvoicesremarkingon the efficacy of cold immersion in bringing refractory members of theprofession to reason, the protest was faint and brief. The remodelledprocessionstarted,withachimney-sweepdrivingthehearse—advisedbytheregular driver,whowas perched beside him, under close inspection, for thepurpose—andwithapieman,alsoattendedbyhiscabinetminister,drivingthemourning coach. A bear-leader, a popular street character of the time, wasimpressedasanadditionalornament,beforethecavalcadehadgonefardownthe Strand; and his bear, who was black and very mangy, gave quite anUndertakingairtothatpartoftheprocessioninwhichhewalked.Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, and infinitecaricaturingofwoe,thedisorderlyprocessionwentitsway,recruitingateverystep,andalltheshopsshuttingupbeforeit.ItsdestinationwastheoldchurchofSaintPancras,faroffinthefields.Itgotthereincourseoftime;insistedonpouring into the burial-ground; finally, accomplished the interment of thedeceasedRogerClyinitsownway,andhighlytoitsownsatisfaction.The deadman disposed of, and the crowd being under the necessity ofproviding some other entertainment for itself, another brighter genius (or

perhapsthesame)conceivedthehumourofimpeachingcasualpassers-by,asOldBaileyspies,andwreakingvengeanceonthem.ChasewasgiventosomescoresofinoffensivepersonswhohadneverbeenneartheOldBaileyintheirlives, in the realisation of this fancy, and they were roughly hustled andmaltreated.Thetransitiontothesportofwindow-breaking,andthencetotheplunderingofpublic-houses,waseasyandnatural.Atlast,afterseveralhours,when sundry summer-houses had been pulled down, and some area-railingshadbeentornup,toarmthemorebelligerentspirits,arumourgotaboutthatthe Guards were coming. Before this rumour, the crowd gradually meltedaway, andperhaps theGuards came, andperhaps theynever came, and thiswastheusualprogressofamob.Mr.Cruncherdidnotassistattheclosingsports,buthadremainedbehindinthechurchyard,toconferandcondolewiththeundertakers.Theplacehadasoothing influence on him.He procured a pipe from a neighbouring public-house,andsmokedit, lookinginattherailingsandmaturelyconsideringthespot."Jerry,"saidMr.Cruncher,apostrophisinghimself inhisusualway,"yousee that there Cly that day, and you seewith your own eyes that hewas ayoung'unandastraightmade'un."Having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a little longer, he turnedhimselfabout,thathemightappear,beforethehourofclosing,onhisstationat Tellson's.Whether hismeditations onmortality had touched his liver, orwhether his general health had been previously at all amiss, or whether hedesired to show a little attention to an eminentman, is not somuch to thepurpose, as that he made a short call upon his medical adviser—adistinguishedsurgeon—onhiswayback.YoungJerryrelievedhisfatherwithdutifulinterest,andreportedNojobinhisabsence.Thebankclosed,theancientclerkscameout,theusualwatchwasset,andMr.Cruncherandhissonwenthometotea."Now,I tellyouwhere it is!"saidMr.Cruncher tohiswife,onentering."If,asahonesttradesman,mywentursgoeswrongto-night,Ishallmakesurethatyou'vebeenprayingagainme,andIshallworkyouforitjustthesameasifIseenyoudoit."ThedejectedMrs.Crunchershookherhead."Why,you'reatitaforemyface!"saidMr.Cruncher,withsignsofangryapprehension."Iamsayingnothing.""Well, then; don'tmeditate nothing.Youmight aswell flop asmeditate.Youmayaswellgoagainmeonewayasanother.Dropitaltogether.""Yes,Jerry.""Yes, Jerry," repeatedMr. Cruncher sitting down to tea. "Ah! It is yes,

Jerry.That'saboutit.Youmaysayyes,Jerry."Mr.Cruncherhadnoparticularmeaninginthesesulkycorroborations,butmadeuseof them,aspeoplenotunfrequentlydo, toexpressgeneral ironicaldissatisfaction."You and your yes, Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, taking a bite out of hisbread-and-butter,andseemingtohelpitdownwithalargeinvisibleoysteroutofhissaucer."Ah!Ithinkso.Ibelieveyou.""Youaregoingoutto-night?"askedhisdecentwife,whenhetookanotherbite."Yes,Iam.""MayIgowithyou,father?"askedhisson,briskly."No, youmayn't. I'm a going—as yourmother knows—a fishing.That'swhereI'mgoingto.Goingafishing.""Yourfishing-rodgetsraytherrusty;don'tit,father?""Neveryoumind.""Shallyoubringanyfishhome,father?""If I don't, you'll have short commons, to-morrow," returned thatgentleman,shakinghishead;"that'squestionsenoughforyou;Iain'tagoingout,tillyou'vebeenlongabed."HedevotedhimselfduringtheremainderoftheeveningtokeepingamostvigilantwatchonMrs.Cruncher,andsullenlyholdingherinconversationthatshe might be prevented from meditating any petitions to his disadvantage.Withthisview,heurgedhissontoholdherinconversationalso,andledtheunfortunate woman a hard life by dwelling on any causes of complaint hecouldbringagainsther, rather thanhewould leaveher for amoment toherownreflections.Thedevoutestpersoncouldhaverenderednogreaterhomageto theefficacyofanhonestprayer thanhedid in thisdistrustofhiswife. Itwas as if a professed unbeliever in ghosts should be frightened by a ghoststory."And mind you!" said Mr. Cruncher. "No games to-morrow! If I, as ahonest tradesman,succeed inprovidinga jinteofmeator two,noneofyournottouchingofit,andstickingtobread.IfI,asahonesttradesman,amabletoprovidealittlebeer,noneofyourdeclaringonwater.WhenyougotoRome,doasRomedoes.Romewillbeauglycustomertoyou,ifyoudon't.I'myourRome,youknow."Thenhebegangrumblingagain:"Withyourflyingintothefaceofyourownwittlesanddrink!Idon'tknowhow scarce you mayn't make the wittles and drink here, by your floppingtricks and your unfeeling conduct. Look at your boy: he is your'n, ain't he?

He's as thin as a lath. Do you call yourself amother, and not know that amother'sfirstdutyistoblowherboyout?"This touchedYoung Jerry on a tender place;who adjured hismother toperformherfirstduty,and,whateverelseshedidorneglected,aboveallthingstolayespecialstressonthedischargeofthatmaternalfunctionsoaffectinglyanddelicatelyindicatedbyhisotherparent.ThustheeveningworeawaywiththeCruncherfamily,untilYoungJerrywas ordered to bed, and his mother, laid under similar injunctions, obeyedthem. Mr. Cruncher beguiled the earlier watches of the night with solitarypipes,anddidnotstartuponhisexcursionuntilnearlyoneo'clock.Towardsthatsmallandghostlyhour,heroseupfromhischair, tookakeyoutofhispocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought forth a sack, a crowbar ofconvenient size, a rope and chain, and other fishing tackle of that nature.Disposing these articles about him in skilfulmanner, he bestowed a partingdefianceonMrs.Cruncher,extinguishedthelight,andwentout.Young Jerry,whohadonlymade a feint of undressingwhenhewent tobed,wasnotlongafterhisfather.Undercoverofthedarknesshefollowedoutoftheroom,followeddownthestairs,followeddownthecourt,followedoutintothestreets.Hewasinnouneasinessconcerninghisgettingintothehouseagain,foritwasfulloflodgers,andthedoorstoodajarallnight.Impelledbyalaudableambitiontostudytheartandmysteryofhisfather'shonest calling, Young Jerry, keeping as close to house fronts, walls, anddoorways,ashiseyeswereclosetooneanother,heldhishonouredparentinview.ThehonouredparentsteeringNorthward,hadnotgonefar,whenhewasjoinedbyanotherdiscipleofIzaakWalton,andthetwotrudgedontogether.Withinhalfanhourfromthefirststarting,theywerebeyondthewinkinglamps,andthemorethanwinkingwatchmen,andwereoutuponalonelyroad.Another fisherman was picked up here—and that so silently, that if YoungJerryhadbeensuperstitious,hemighthavesupposed thesecondfollowerofthegentlecrafttohave,allofasudden,splithimselfintotwo.Thethreewenton,andYoungJerrywenton,untilthethreestoppedunderabankoverhangingtheroad.Uponthetopofthebankwasalowbrickwall,surmountedbyanironrailing.Intheshadowofbankandwallthethreeturnedoutoftheroad,andupablindlane,ofwhichthewall—there,risentosomeeightortenfeethigh—formedoneside.Crouchingdowninacorner,peepingup the lane, the next object that Young Jerry saw, was the form of hishonoured parent, pretty well defined against a watery and clouded moon,nimblyscalinganirongate.Hewassoonover,andthenthesecondfishermangotover,andthenthethird.Theyalldroppedsoftlyonthegroundwithinthegate,andlaytherealittle—listeningperhaps.Then,theymovedawayontheirhandsandknees.ItwasnowYoungJerry'sturntoapproachthegate:whichhedid,holding

hisbreath.Crouchingdownagaininacornerthere,andlookingin,hemadeout the three fishermen creeping through some rank grass! and all thegravestonesinthechurchyard—itwasalargechurchyardthattheywerein—lookingon likeghosts inwhite,while thechurch tower itself lookedon liketheghostofamonstrousgiant.Theydidnotcreepfar,beforetheystoppedandstoodupright.Andthentheybegantofish.Theyfishedwithaspade,atfirst.Presentlythehonouredparentappearedtobeadjusting some instrument likeagreat corkscrew.Whatever tools theyworkedwith,theyworkedhard,untiltheawfulstrikingofthechurchclocksoterrifiedYoungJerry,thathemadeoff,withhishairasstiffashisfather's.But,hislong-cherisheddesiretoknowmoreaboutthesematters,notonlystoppedhim in his running away, but luredhimback again.Theywere stillfishingperseveringly,whenhepeepedinatthegateforthesecondtime;but,nowtheyseemed tohavegotabite.Therewasascrewingandcomplainingsounddownbelow,andtheirbentfigureswerestrained,asifbyaweight.Byslowdegreestheweightbrokeawaytheearthuponit,andcametothesurface.YoungJerryverywellknewwhat itwouldbe;but,whenhesawit,andsawhishonouredparentabouttowrenchitopen,hewassofrightened,beingnewtothesight,thathemadeoffagain,andneverstoppeduntilhehadrunamileormore.Hewouldnothavestoppedthen,foranythinglessnecessarythanbreath,itbeingaspectralsortofracethatheran,andonehighlydesirabletogettotheendof.Hehadastrongideathatthecoffinhehadseenwasrunningafterhim;and, pictured as hopping on behind him, bolt upright, upon its narrow end,always on the point of overtaking him andhoppingon at his side—perhapstakinghisarm—itwasapursuertoshun.Itwasaninconsistentandubiquitousfiend too, for,while itwasmaking thewholenightbehindhimdreadful,hedartedoutintotheroadwaytoavoiddarkalleys,fearfulofitscominghoppingout of them like a dropsical boy's Kite without tail and wings. It hid indoorwaystoo,rubbingitshorribleshouldersagainstdoors,anddrawingthemuptoitsears,asifitwerelaughing.Itgotintoshadowsontheroad,andlaycunninglyonitsbacktotriphimup.Allthistimeitwasincessantlyhoppingonbehindandgainingonhim,so thatwhen theboygot tohisowndoorhehad reason for being half dead.And even then it would not leave him, butfollowed him upstairswith a bump on every stair, scrambled into bedwithhim,andbumpeddown,deadandheavy,onhisbreastwhenhefellasleep.Fromhisoppressedslumber,YoungJerryinhisclosetwasawakenedafterdaybreakandbeforesunrise,bythepresenceofhisfatherinthefamilyroom.Somethinghadgonewrongwithhim;at least,soYoungJerryinferred,fromthecircumstanceofhisholdingMrs.Cruncherbytheears,andknockingthebackofherheadagainstthehead-boardofthebed."ItoldyouIwould,"saidMr.Cruncher,"andIdid."

"Jerry,Jerry,Jerry!"hiswifeimplored."Youopposeyourselftotheprofitofthebusiness,"saidJerry,"andmeandmypartnerssuffer.Youwastohonourandobey;whythedevildon'tyou?""Itrytobeagoodwife,Jerry,"thepoorwomanprotested,withtears."Isitbeingagoodwifetoopposeyourhusband'sbusiness?Isithonouringyourhusbandtodishonourhisbusiness?Isitobeyingyourhusbandtodisobeyhimonthewitalsubjectofhisbusiness?""Youhadn'ttakentothedreadfulbusinessthen,Jerry.""It's enough foryou," retortedMr.Cruncher, "tobe thewifeof ahonesttradesman, and not to occupy your femalemind with calculations when hetooktohistradeorwhenhedidn't.Ahonouringandobeyingwifewouldlethis trade alone altogether. Call yourself a religious woman? If you're areligiouswoman,givemeairreligiousone!Youhavenomorenat'ralsenseofdutythanthebedofthishereThamesriverhasofapile,andsimilarlyitmustbeknockedintoyou."Thealtercationwasconductedinalowtoneofvoice,andterminatedinthehonest tradesman's kicking off his clay-soiled boots, and lying down at hislengthonthefloor.Aftertakingatimidpeepathimlyingonhisback,withhisrustyhandsunderhisheadforapillow,hissonlaydowntoo,andfellasleepagain.There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else. Mr.Cruncherwasoutofspirits,andoutoftemper,andkeptanironpot-lidbyhimasaprojectileforthecorrectionofMrs.Cruncher,incaseheshouldobserveanysymptomsofhersayingGrace.Hewasbrushedandwashedattheusualhour,andsetoffwithhissontopursuehisostensiblecalling.YoungJerry,walkingwiththestoolunderhisarmathisfather'ssidealongsunnyandcrowdedFleet-street,wasaverydifferentYoungJerryfromhimofthepreviousnight,runninghomethroughdarknessandsolitudefromhisgrimpursuer.Hiscunningwasfreshwith theday,andhisqualmsweregonewiththenight—inwhichparticulars it isnot improbable thathehadcompeers inFleet-streetandtheCityofLondon,thatfinemorning."Father," saidYoung Jerry, as theywalked along: taking care to keep atarm'slengthandtohavethestoolwellbetweenthem:"what'saResurrection-Man?"Mr.Crunchercametoastoponthepavementbeforeheanswered,"HowshouldIknow?""Ithoughtyouknowedeverything,father,"saidtheartlessboy."Hem!Well,"returnedMr.Cruncher,goingonagain,andliftingoffhishattogivehisspikesfreeplay,"he'satradesman.""What'shisgoods,father?"askedthebriskYoungJerry.

"His goods," saidMr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, "is abranchofScientificgoods.""Persons'bodies,ain'tit,father?"askedthelivelyboy."Ibelieveitissomethingofthatsort,"saidMr.Cruncher."Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection-Man when I'm quitegrowedup!"Mr.Cruncherwassoothed,butshookhisheadinadubiousandmoralway."Itdependsuponhowyoudewelopyour talents.Becareful todewelopyourtalents,andnevertosaynomorethanyoucanhelptonobody,andthere'snotelling at the present timewhat youmaynot come to be fit for."AsYoungJerry, thusencouraged,wentonafewyards inadvance, toplant thestool inthe shadow of the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself: "Jerry, you honesttradesman, there's hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and arecompensetoyouforhismother!"

Knitting

Therehadbeenearlierdrinkingthanusual in thewine-shopofMonsieurDefarge.Asearlyassixo'clockinthemorning,sallowfacespeepingthroughitsbarredwindowshaddescriedotherfaceswithin,bendingovermeasuresofwine.MonsieurDefargesoldaverythinwineatthebestoftimes,butitwouldseem to have been an unusually thinwine that he sold at this time.A sourwine,moreover,orasouring,foritsinfluenceonthemoodofthosewhodrankitwastomakethemgloomy.NovivaciousBacchanalianflameleapedoutofthepressedgrapeofMonsieurDefarge:but,asmouldering fire thatburnt inthedark,layhiddeninthedregsofit.Thishadbeen the thirdmorning in succession,onwhich therehadbeenearly drinking at the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. It had begun onMonday, and here was Wednesday come. There had been more of earlybroodingthandrinking;for,manymenhadlistenedandwhisperedandslunkabouttherefromthetimeoftheopeningofthedoor,whocouldnothavelaidapieceofmoneyon thecounter to save their souls.Thesewere to the full asinterested in the place, however, as if they could have commanded wholebarrelsofwine;andtheyglidedfromseattoseat,andfromcornertocorner,swallowingtalkinlieuofdrink,withgreedylooks.Notwithstandinganunusualflowofcompany,themasterofthewine-shopwas not visible.Hewas notmissed; for, nobodywho crossed the thresholdlookedforhim,nobodyaskedforhim,nobodywonderedtoseeonlyMadameDefarge in her seat, presiding over the distribution ofwine,with a bowl ofbattered small coins before her, as much defaced and beaten out of their

originalimpressasthesmallcoinageofhumanityfromwhoseraggedpocketstheyhadcome.A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind, were perhapsobserved by the spieswho looked in at thewine-shop, as they looked in ateveryplace,highandlow,fromtheking'spalacetothecriminal'sgaol.Gamesat cards languished, players at dominoes musingly built towers with them,drinkersdrewfiguresonthetableswithspiltdropsofwine,MadameDefargeherselfpickedout thepatternonhersleevewithher toothpick,andsawandheardsomethinginaudibleandinvisiblealongwayoff.Thus,SaintAntoineinthisvinousfeatureofhis,untilmidday.Itwashighnoontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets and under hisswinginglamps:ofwhom,onewasMonsieurDefarge:theotheramenderofroadsinabluecap.Alladustandathirst,thetwoenteredthewine-shop.TheirarrivalhadlightedakindoffireinthebreastofSaintAntoine,fastspreadingas they came along, which stirred and flickered in flames of faces at mostdoorsandwindows.Yet,noonehadfollowedthem,andnomanspokewhentheyentered thewine-shop, though theeyesofeveryman therewere turneduponthem."Goodday,gentlemen!"saidMonsieurDefarge.Itmayhavebeenasignalfor looseningthegeneral tongue.Itelicitedanansweringchorusof"Goodday!""Itisbadweather,gentlemen,"saidDefarge,shakinghishead.Uponwhich, everyman lookedathisneighbour, and thenall castdowntheireyesandsatsilent.Exceptoneman,whogotupandwentout."My wife," said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame Defarge: "I havetravelledcertainleagueswiththisgoodmenderofroads,calledJacques.Imethim—byaccident—adayandhalf'sjourneyoutofParis.Heisagoodchild,thismenderofroads,calledJacques.Givehimtodrink,mywife!"Asecondmangotupandwentout.MadameDefargesetwinebeforethemenderofroadscalledJacques,whodoffedhisbluecaptothecompany,anddrank.Inthebreastofhisblousehecarriedsomecoarsedarkbread;heateofthisbetweenwhiles,andsatmunchinganddrinkingnearMadameDefarge'scounter.Athirdmangotupandwentout.Defargerefreshedhimselfwithadraughtofwine—but,hetooklessthanwasgiventothestranger,asbeinghimselfamantowhomitwasnorarity—andstoodwaitinguntilthecountrymanhadmadehisbreakfast.Helookedatno one present, and no one now looked at him; not evenMadameDefarge,whohadtakenupherknitting,andwasatwork."Haveyoufinishedyourrepast,friend?"heasked,indueseason."Yes,thankyou."

"Come,then!YoushallseetheapartmentthatItoldyouyoucouldoccupy.Itwillsuityoutoamarvel."Outofthewine-shopintothestreet,outofthestreetintoacourtyard,outof the courtyard up a steep staircase, out of the staircase into a garret—formerly the garretwhere awhite-hairedman sat on a low bench, stoopingforwardandverybusy,makingshoes.Nowhite-hairedmanwas therenow;but, the threemenwere therewhohadgoneoutofthewine-shopsingly.Andbetweenthemandthewhite-hairedman afar off, was the one small link, that they had once looked in at himthroughthechinksinthewall.Defargeclosedthedoorcarefully,andspokeinasubduedvoice:"Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three! This is the witnessencounteredbyappointment,byme,JacquesFour.Hewilltellyouall.Speak,JacquesFive!"Themenderofroads,bluecapinhand,wipedhisswarthyforeheadwithit,andsaid,"WhereshallIcommence,monsieur?""Commence," was Monsieur Defarge's not unreasonable reply, "at thecommencement.""Isawhimthen,messieurs,"beganthemenderofroads,"ayearagothisrunning summer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging by thechain.Beholdthemannerofit.Ileavingmyworkontheroad,thesungoingtobed, thecarriageof theMarquis slowlyascending thehill,hehangingbythechain—likethis."Againthemenderofroadswentthroughthewholeperformance;inwhichheoughttohavebeenperfectbythattime,seeingthatithadbeentheinfallibleresourceandindispensableentertainmentofhisvillageduringawholeyear.JacquesOnestruckin,andaskedifhehadeverseenthemanbefore?"Never,"answeredthemenderofroads,recoveringhisperpendicular.JacquesThreedemandedhowheafterwardsrecognisedhimthen?"Byhistallfigure,"saidthemenderofroads,softly,andwithhisfingerathisnose."WhenMonsieurtheMarquisdemandsthatevening,'Say,whatishelike?'Imakeresponse,'Tallasaspectre.'""Youshouldhavesaid,shortasadwarf,"returnedJacquesTwo."ButwhatdidIknow?Thedeedwasnotthenaccomplished,neitherdidheconfide inme.Observe!Under those circumstances even, I donotoffermytestimony.Monsieur theMarquis indicatesmewithhis finger, standingnearourlittlefountain,andsays,'Tome!Bringthatrascal!'Myfaith,messieurs,Ioffernothing.""He is right there, Jacques," murmured Defarge, to him who had

interrupted."Goon!""Good!"saidthemenderofroads,withanairofmystery."Thetallmanislost,andheissought—howmanymonths?Nine,ten,eleven?""Nomatter,thenumber,"saidDefarge."Heiswellhidden,butatlastheisunluckilyfound.Goon!""Iamagainatworkuponthehill-side,andthesunisagainabouttogotobed. I am collectingmy tools to descend tomy cottage down in the villagebelow,whereitisalreadydark,whenIraisemyeyes,andseecomingoverthehillsixsoldiers.Inthemidstofthemisatallmanwithhisarmsbound—tiedtohissides—likethis!"With the aid of his indispensable cap, he represented a man with hiselbowsboundfastathiships,withcordsthatwereknottedbehindhim."I stand aside,messieurs, bymy heap of stones, to see the soldiers andtheirprisonerpass (for it isasolitaryroad, that,whereanyspectacle iswellworthlookingat),andatfirst,astheyapproach,Iseenomorethanthattheyaresixsoldierswitha tallmanbound,and that theyarealmostblack tomysight—exceptonthesideofthesungoingtobed,wheretheyhavearededge,messieurs.Also,Iseethattheirlongshadowsareonthehollowridgeontheoppositesideoftheroad,andareonthehillaboveit,andareliketheshadowsofgiants.Also,Iseethattheyarecoveredwithdust,andthatthedustmoveswith themas theycome, tramp, tramp!Butwhentheyadvancequitenear tome,Irecognisethetallman,andherecognisesme.Ah,buthewouldbewellcontenttoprecipitatehimselfoverthehill-sideonceagain,asontheeveningwhenheandIfirstencountered,closetothesamespot!"He described it as if he were there, and it was evident that he saw itvividly;perhapshehadnotseenmuchinhislife."IdonotshowthesoldiersthatIrecognisethetallman;hedoesnotshowthesoldiers thathe recognisesme;wedo it, andweknow it,withoureyes.'Comeon!'saysthechiefofthatcompany,pointingtothevillage, 'bringhimfast to his tomb!' and they bring him faster. I follow.His arms are swelledbecauseofbeingboundsotight,hiswoodenshoesarelargeandclumsy,andhe is lame.Becausehe is lame, andconsequently slow, theydrivehimwiththeirguns—likethis!"Heimitatedtheactionofaman'sbeingimpelledforwardbythebutt-endsofmuskets."Astheydescendthehilllikemadmenrunningarace,hefalls.Theylaughand pick him up again. His face is bleeding and coveredwith dust, but hecannottouchit; thereupontheylaughagain.Theybringhimintothevillage;allthevillagerunstolook;theytakehimpastthemill,anduptotheprison;allthevillageseestheprisongateopeninthedarknessofthenight,andswallowhim—likethis!"

Heopenedhismouthaswideashecould,andshutitwithasoundingsnapof his teeth.Observant of his unwillingness tomar the effect by opening itagain,Defargesaid,"Goon,Jacques.""All the village," pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a lowvoice, "withdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all the villagesleeps;allthevillagedreamsofthatunhappyone,withinthelocksandbarsoftheprisonon the crag, andnever to comeout of it, except to perish. In themorning,withmytoolsuponmyshoulder,eatingmymorselofblackbreadasIgo,Imakeacircuitbytheprison,onmywaytomywork.ThereIseehim,highup,behindthebarsofa lofty ironcage,bloodyanddustyas lastnight,lookingthrough.Hehasnohandfree,towavetome;Idarenotcalltohim;heregardsmelikeadeadman."Defarge and the threeglanceddarkly at oneanother.The looksof all ofthem were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened to thecountryman's story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret, wasauthoritativetoo.Theyhadtheairofaroughtribunal;JacquesOneandTwosittingon theoldpallet-bed, eachwithhis chin restingonhishand, andhiseyes intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three, equally intent, on one kneebehind them,withhisagitatedhandalwaysglidingover thenetworkof finenerves about his mouth and nose; Defarge standing between them and thenarrator,whomhehadstationedinthelightofthewindow,byturnslookingfromhimtothem,andfromthemtohim."Goon,Jacques,"saidDefarge."Heremainsupthereinhisironcagesomedays.Thevillagelooksathimbystealth,foritisafraid.Butitalwayslooksup,fromadistance,attheprisononthecrag;andintheevening,whentheworkofthedayisachievedanditassembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces are turned towards the prison.Formerly, theywere turned towards the posting-house; now, they are turnedtowardstheprison.Theywhisperatthefountain,thatalthoughcondemnedtodeathhewillnotbeexecuted; theysay thatpetitionshavebeenpresented inParis,showingthathewasenragedandmademadbythedeathofhischild;they say that a petition has been presented to the King himself.What do Iknow?Itispossible.Perhapsyes,perhapsno.""Listen then, Jacques," Number One of that name sternly interposed."KnowthatapetitionwaspresentedtotheKingandQueen.Allhere,yourselfexcepted,sawtheKingtakeit, inhiscarriageinthestreet,sittingbesidetheQueen.ItisDefargewhomyouseehere,who,atthehazardofhislife,dartedoutbeforethehorses,withthepetitioninhishand.""And once again listen, Jacques!" said the kneeling Number Three: hisfingers ever wandering over and over those fine nerves, with a strikinglygreedyair,asifhehungeredforsomething—thatwasneitherfoodnordrink;"theguard, horse and foot, surrounded thepetitioner, and struckhimblows.

Youhear?""Ihear,messieurs.""Goonthen,"saidDefarge."Again; on the other hand, they whisper at the fountain," resumed thecountryman,"thatheisbroughtdownintoourcountrytobeexecutedonthespot, and that he will very certainly be executed. They even whisper thatbecausehehasslainMonseigneur,andbecauseMonseigneurwasthefatherofhis tenants—serfs—what youwill—hewill be executed as a parricide.Oneoldmansaysatthefountain,thathisrighthand,armedwiththeknife,willbeburntoffbeforehisface;that,intowoundswhichwillbemadeinhisarms,hisbreast, and his legs, therewill be poured boiling oil,melted lead, hot resin,wax,andsulphur;finally, thathewillbe tornlimbfromlimbbyfourstronghorses.Thatoldmansays,allthiswasactuallydonetoaprisonerwhomadeanattemptonthelifeofthelateKing,LouisFifteen.ButhowdoIknowifhelies?Iamnotascholar.""Listenonceagainthen,Jacques!"saidthemanwiththerestlesshandandthecravingair."ThenameofthatprisonerwasDamiens,anditwasalldoneinopen day, in the open streets of this city of Paris; and nothing was morenoticed in the vast concourse that saw it done, than the crowd of ladies ofqualityand fashion,whowere fullofeagerattention to the last—to the last,Jacques,prolongeduntilnightfall,whenhehadlosttwolegsandanarm,andstillbreathed!Anditwasdone—why,howoldareyou?""Thirty-five,"saidthemenderofroads,wholookedsixty."Itwasdonewhenyouweremorethantenyearsold;youmighthaveseenit.""Enough!"saidDefarge,withgrimimpatience."Longlive theDevil!Goon.""Well!Somewhisperthis,somewhisperthat;theyspeakofnothingelse;eventhefountainappearstofalltothattune.Atlength,onSundaynightwhenall the village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down from the prison, andtheir guns ring on the stones of the little street. Workmen dig, workmenhammer, soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, by the fountain, there israisedagallowsfortyfeethigh,poisoningthewater."Themender of roads looked through rather thanat the low ceiling, andpointedasifhesawthegallowssomewhereinthesky."Allwork is stopped,all assemble there,nobody leads thecowsout, thecows are there with the rest. At midday, the roll of drums. Soldiers havemarchedintotheprisoninthenight,andheisinthemidstofmanysoldiers.Heisboundasbefore,andinhismouththereisagag—tiedso,withatightstring,makinghimlookalmostasifhelaughed."Hesuggestedit,bycreasinghisfacewithhistwothumbs,fromthecornersofhismouthtohisears."On

thetopof thegallowsisfixedtheknife,bladeupwards,withitspoint in theair. He is hanged there forty feet high—and is left hanging, poisoning thewater."They lookedatoneanother,asheusedhisbluecap towipehis face,onwhichtheperspirationhadstartedafreshwhileherecalledthespectacle."It is frightful, messieurs. How can the women and the children drawwater!Who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow!Under it, have Isaid?When I left thevillage,Mondayeveningas the sunwasgoing tobed,andlookedbackfromthehill,theshadowstruckacrossthechurch,acrossthemill,acrosstheprison—seemedtostrikeacrosstheearth,messieurs,towheretheskyrestsuponit!"Thehungrymangnawedoneofhisfingersashelookedattheotherthree,andhisfingerquiveredwiththecravingthatwasonhim."That'sall,messieurs.I leftatsunset(asIhadbeenwarnedtodo),andIwalkedon,thatnightandhalfnextday,untilImet(asIwaswarnedIshould)thiscomrade.Withhim,Icameon,nowridingandnowwalking,throughtherestofyesterdayandthroughlastnight.Andhereyouseeme!"Afteragloomysilence,thefirstJacquessaid,"Good!Youhaveactedandrecountedfaithfully.Willyouwaitforusalittle,outsidethedoor?""Verywillingly,"saidthemenderofroads.WhomDefargeescortedtothetopofthestairs,and,leavingseatedthere,returned.Thethreehadrisen,andtheirheadsweretogetherwhenhecamebacktothegarret."Howsayyou,Jacques?"demandedNumberOne."Toberegistered?""Toberegistered,asdoomedtodestruction,"returnedDefarge."Magnificent!"croakedthemanwiththecraving."Thechateau,andalltherace?"inquiredthefirst."Thechateauandalltherace,"returnedDefarge."Extermination."Thehungrymanrepeated,inarapturouscroak,"Magnificent!"andbegangnawinganotherfinger."Areyou sure," asked JacquesTwo,ofDefarge, "that no embarrassmentcanarisefromourmannerofkeepingtheregister?Withoutdoubtitissafe,forno one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall we always be able todecipherit—or,Ioughttosay,willshe?""Jacques," returned Defarge, drawing himself up, "if madame my wifeundertooktokeeptheregisterinhermemoryalone,shewouldnotloseawordofit—notasyllableofit.Knitted,inherownstitchesandherownsymbols,itwill always be as plain to her as the sun. Confide in Madame Defarge. Itwould 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 knittedregisterofMadameDefarge."Therewasamurmurofconfidenceandapproval, and then themanwhohungered, asked: "Is this rustic to be sent back soon? I hope so.He is verysimple;ishenotalittledangerous?""He knows nothing," said Defarge; "at least nothing more than wouldeasilyelevatehimself toagallowsof the sameheight. I chargemyselfwithhim;lethimremainwithme;Iwilltakecareofhim,andsethimonhisroad.Hewishestoseethefineworld—theKing,theQueen,andCourt;lethimseethemonSunday.""What?" exclaimed the hungry man, staring. "Is it a good sign, that hewishestoseeRoyaltyandNobility?""Jacques,"saidDefarge;"judiciouslyshowacatmilk, ifyouwishher tothirstforit.Judiciouslyshowadoghisnaturalprey,ifyouwishhimtobringitdownoneday."Nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being found alreadydozingonthetopmoststair,wasadvisedtolayhimselfdownonthepallet-bedandtakesomerest.Heneedednopersuasion,andwassoonasleep.WorsequartersthanDefarge'swine-shop,couldeasilyhavebeenfoundinParis for aprovincial slaveof thatdegree.Saving for amysteriousdreadofmadame by which he was constantly haunted, his life was very new andagreeable.But,madamesatalldayathercounter,soexpresslyunconsciousofhim, and so particularly determinednot to perceive that his being there hadanyconnectionwithanythingbelowthesurface,thatheshookinhiswoodenshoeswheneverhiseyelightedonher.For,hecontendedwithhimselfthatitwas impossible to foresee what that lady might pretend next; and he feltassuredthatifsheshouldtakeitintoherbrightlyornamentedheadtopretendthatshehadseenhimdoamurderandafterwardsflaythevictim,shewouldinfalliblygothroughwithituntiltheplaywasplayedout.Therefore, when Sunday came, the mender of roads was not enchanted(thoughhesaidhewas)tofindthatmadamewastoaccompanymonsieurandhimself to Versailles. It was additionally disconcerting to have madameknitting all the way there, in a public conveyance; it was additionallydisconcertingyet,tohavemadameinthecrowdintheafternoon,stillwithherknittinginherhandsasthecrowdwaitedtoseethecarriageoftheKingandQueen."Youworkhard,madame,"saidamannearher."Yes,"answeredMadameDefarge;"Ihaveagooddealtodo.""Whatdoyoumake,madame?""Manythings."

"Forinstance—""Forinstance,"returnedMadameDefarge,composedly,"shrouds."Themanmovedalittlefurtheraway,assoonashecould,andthemenderof roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightily close andoppressive.IfheneededaKingandQueentorestorehim,hewasfortunateinhavinghis remedyathand; for, soon the large-facedKingand the fair-facedQueencameintheirgoldencoach,attendedbytheshiningBull'sEyeoftheirCourt, aglitteringmultitudeof laughing ladies and fine lords; and in jewelsand silks and powder and splendour and elegantly spurning figures andhandsomely disdainful faces of both sexes, the mender of roads bathedhimself, somuch to his temporary intoxication, that he cried Long live theKing,LonglivetheQueen,Longliveeverybodyandeverything!asifhehadnever heard of ubiquitous Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens,courtyards, terraces, fountains, green banks, more King and Queen, moreBull'sEye,morelordsandladies,moreLonglivetheyall!untilheabsolutelyweptwithsentiment.Duringthewholeofthisscene,whichlastedsomethreehours,hehadplentyofshoutingandweepingandsentimentalcompany,andthroughoutDefargeheldhimbythecollar,asiftorestrainhimfromflyingattheobjectsofhisbriefdevotionandtearingthemtopieces."Bravo!"saidDefarge,clappinghimonthebackwhenitwasover,likeapatron;"youareagoodboy!"Themenderofroadswasnowcomingtohimself,andwasmistrustfulofhavingmadeamistakeinhislatedemonstrations;butno."Youare the fellowwewant," saidDefarge, inhisear; "youmake thesefoolsbelievethatitwilllastforever.Then,theyarethemoreinsolent,anditisthenearerended.""Hey!"criedthemenderofroads,reflectively;"that'strue.""These fools know nothing.While they despise your breath, and wouldstopitforeverandever,inyouorinahundredlikeyouratherthaninoneoftheirownhorsesordogs,theyonlyknowwhatyourbreathtellsthem.Letitdeceivethem,then,alittlelonger;itcannotdeceivethemtoomuch."Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded inconfirmation."Astoyou,"saidshe,"youwouldshoutandshedtearsforanything,ifitmadeashowandanoise.Say!Wouldyounot?""Truly,madame,Ithinkso.Forthemoment.""Ifyouwereshownagreatheapofdolls,andweresetuponthemtopluckthemtopiecesanddespoilthemforyourownadvantage,youwouldpickouttherichestandgayest.Say!Wouldyounot?""Trulyyes,madame."

"Yes.Andifyouwereshownaflockofbirds,unabletofly,andweresetuponthemtostripthemoftheirfeathersforyourownadvantage,youwouldsetuponthebirdsofthefinestfeathers;wouldyounot?""Itistrue,madame.""Youhaveseenbothdollsandbirdsto-day,"saidMadameDefarge,withawaveofherhandtowardstheplacewheretheyhadlastbeenapparent;"now,gohome!"

StillKnitting

Madame Defarge and monsieur her husband returned amicably to thebosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through thedarkness, and through thedust, anddown thewearymilesof avenueby thewayside,slowlytendingtowardsthatpointofthecompasswherethechateauofMonsieur theMarquis,now inhisgrave, listened to thewhispering trees.Suchampleleisurehadthestonefaces,now,for listeningtothetreesandtothe fountain, that the fewvillagescarecrowswho, in theirquest forherbs toeatandfragmentsofdeadsticktoburn,strayedwithinsightofthegreatstonecourtyardand terrace staircase,had it borne inupon their starved fancy thattheexpressionofthefaceswasaltered.Arumourjustlivedinthevillage—hadafaintandbareexistencethere,asitspeoplehad—thatwhentheknifestruckhome,thefaceschanged,fromfacesofpridetofacesofangerandpain;also,thatwhen that dangling figurewas hauled up forty feet above the fountain,theychangedagain,andboreacruellookofbeingavenged,whichtheywouldhenceforthbearforever.Inthestonefaceoverthegreatwindowofthebed-chamberwhere themurderwasdone, twofinedintswerepointedout in thesculpturednose,whicheverybodyrecognised,andwhichnobodyhadseenofold;andonthescarceoccasionswhentwoorthreeraggedpeasantsemergedfrom the crowd to take a hurried peep atMonsieur theMarquis petrified, askinnyfingerwouldnothavepointedtoitforaminute,beforetheyallstartedawayamongthemossandleaves,likethemorefortunatehareswhocouldfindalivingthere.Chateauandhut,stonefaceanddanglingfigure,theredstainonthestonefloor, and thepurewater in thevillagewell—thousandsof acresof land—awhole province of France—all France itself—lay under the night sky,concentratedintoafainthair-breadthline.Sodoesawholeworld,withallitsgreatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere humanknowledgecansplitarayoflightandanalysethemannerofitscomposition,so,sublimerintelligencesmayreadinthefeebleshiningofthisearthofours,everythoughtandact,everyviceandvirtue,ofeveryresponsiblecreatureonit.

TheDefarges, husband andwife, came lumbering under the starlight, intheir public vehicle, to that gate of Paris whereunto their journey naturallytended.Therewastheusualstoppageatthebarrierguardhouse,andtheusuallanternscameglancingforthfortheusualexaminationandinquiry.MonsieurDefarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldiery there, and one of thepolice.Thelatterhewasintimatewith,andaffectionatelyembraced.WhenSaintAntoinehadagainenfoldedtheDefargesinhisduskywings,and they, having finally alighted near the Saint's boundaries, were pickingtheir way on foot through the black mud and offal of his streets, MadameDefargespoketoherhusband:"Saythen,myfriend;whatdidJacquesofthepolicetellthee?""Verylittleto-night,butallheknows.Thereisanotherspycommissionedforourquarter.Theremaybemanymore,forallthathecansay,butheknowsofone.""Eh well!" said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a coolbusinessair."Itisnecessarytoregisterhim.Howdotheycallthatman?""HeisEnglish.""Somuchthebetter.Hisname?""Barsad," saidDefarge,making it French by pronunciation.But, he hadbeen so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfectcorrectness."Barsad,"repeatedmadame."Good.Christianname?""John.""John Barsad," repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself."Good.Hisappearance;isitknown?""Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair;complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin,long,andsallow;noseaquiline,butnotstraight,havingapeculiarinclinationtowardstheleftcheek;expression,therefore,sinister.""Eh my faith. It is a portrait!" said madame, laughing. "He shall beregisteredto-morrow."They turned into thewine-shop,whichwasclosed (for itwasmidnight),andwhereMadameDefarge immediately tookherpost at herdesk, countedthesmallmoneysthathadbeentakenduringherabsence,examinedthestock,wentthroughtheentriesinthebook,madeotherentriesofherown,checkedtheservingmanineverypossibleway,andfinallydismissedhimtobed.Thenshe turned out the contents of the bowl ofmoney for the second time, andbeganknottingthemupinherhandkerchief,inachainofseparateknots,forsafe keeping through the night.All thiswhile,Defarge,with his pipe in hismouth,walkedupanddown,complacentlyadmiring,butneverinterfering;in

whichcondition,indeed,astothebusinessandhisdomesticaffairs,hewalkedupanddownthroughlife.Thenightwashot,and theshop,closeshutandsurroundedbyso foulaneighbourhood,was ill-smelling.MonsieurDefarge'solfactory sensewasbyno means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger than it evertasted, and sodid the stockof rumandbrandyand aniseed.Hewhiffed thecompoundofscentsaway,asheputdownhissmoked-outpipe."You are fatigued," said madame, raising her glance as she knotted themoney."Thereareonlytheusualodours.""Iamalittletired,"herhusbandacknowledged."You are a little depressed, too," said madame, whose quick eyes hadneverbeensointentontheaccounts,but theyhadhadarayor twoforhim."Oh,themen,themen!""Butmydear!"beganDefarge."Butmydear!"repeatedmadame,noddingfirmly;"butmydear!Youarefaintofheartto-night,mydear!""Well,then,"saidDefarge,asifathoughtwerewrungoutofhisbreast,"itisalongtime.""It is a long time," repeated his wife; "and when is it not a long time?Vengeanceandretributionrequirealongtime;itistherule.""ItdoesnottakealongtimetostrikeamanwithLightning,"saidDefarge."How long,"demandedmadame, composedly, "does it take tomakeandstorethelightning?Tellme."Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there were something in thattoo."Itdoesnottakealongtime,"saidmadame,"foranearthquaketoswallowatown.Ehwell!Tellmehowlongittakestopreparetheearthquake?""Alongtime,Isuppose,"saidDefarge."Butwhenitisready,ittakesplace,andgrindstopieceseverythingbeforeit.Inthemeantime,itisalwayspreparing,thoughitisnotseenorheard.Thatisyourconsolation.Keepit."Shetiedaknotwithflashingeyes,asifitthrottledafoe."I tell thee," saidmadame, extendingher right hand, for emphasis, "thatalthoughitisalongtimeontheroad,itisontheroadandcoming.Itelltheeitneverretreats,andneverstops.Itelltheeitisalwaysadvancing.Lookaroundandconsiderthelivesofalltheworldthatweknow,considerthefacesofallthe world that we know, consider the rage and discontent to which theJacquerie addresses itself withmore andmore of certainty every hour. Cansuchthingslast?Bah!Imockyou."

"My bravewife," returnedDefarge, standing before herwith his head alittlebent,andhishandsclaspedathisback,likeadocileandattentivepupilbeforehiscatechist,"Idonotquestionall this.But ithaslastedalongtime,and it is possible—you knowwell,mywife, it is possible—that itmay notcome,duringourlives.""Ehwell!Howthen?"demandedmadame,tyinganotherknot,asif therewereanotherenemystrangled."Well!" saidDefarge,withahalfcomplainingandhalfapologetic shrug."Weshallnotseethetriumph.""We shall have helped it," returnedmadame,with her extended hand instrongaction."Nothingthatwedo,isdoneinvain.Ibelieve,withallmysoul,thatwe shall see the triumph.But even if not, even if I knewcertainlynot,showmetheneckofanaristocratandtyrant,andstillIwould—"Thenmadame,withherteethset,tiedaveryterribleknotindeed."Hold!" cried Defarge, reddening a little as if he felt charged withcowardice;"Itoo,mydear,willstopatnothing.""Yes!Butitisyourweaknessthatyousometimesneedtoseeyourvictimandyouropportunity,tosustainyou.Sustainyourselfwithoutthat.Whenthetimecomes, let loosea tigerandadevil;butwaitfor thetimewiththetigerandthedevilchained—notshown—yetalwaysready."Madame enforced the conclusion of this piece of advice by striking herlittlecounterwithherchainofmoneyasifsheknockeditsbrainsout,andthengathering the heavy handkerchief under her arm in a serene manner, andobservingthatitwastimetogotobed.Nextnoontide saw theadmirablewoman inherusualplace in thewine-shop,knittingawayassiduously.Aroselaybesideher,andifshenowandthenglancedat the flower, itwaswithno infractionofherusualpreoccupiedair.There were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated,sprinkledabout.Thedaywasveryhot,andheapsofflies,whowereextendingtheir inquisitive and adventurous perquisitions into all the glutinous littleglasses near madame, fell dead at the bottom. Their decease made noimpression on the other flies out promenading, who looked at them in thecoolest manner (as if they themselves were elephants, or something as farremoved),untiltheymetthesamefate.Curioustoconsiderhowheedlessfliesare!—perhapstheythoughtasmuchatCourtthatsunnysummerday.Afigureenteringat thedoorthrewashadowonMadameDefargewhichshefelttobeanewone.Shelaiddownherknitting,andbegantopinherroseinherhead-dress,beforeshelookedatthefigure.It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose, thecustomersceasedtalking,andbegangraduallytodropoutofthewine-shop."Goodday,madame,"saidthenew-comer.

"Goodday,monsieur."Shesaiditaloud,butaddedtoherself,assheresumedherknitting:"Hah!Good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black hair, generallyrather handsome visage, complexion dark, eyes dark, thin, long and sallowface,aquilinenosebutnotstraight,havingapeculiar inclinationtowardstheleftcheekwhichimpartsasinisterexpression!Goodday,oneandall!""Havethegoodnesstogivemealittleglassofoldcognac,andamouthfulofcoolfreshwater,madame."Madamecompliedwithapoliteair."Marvellouscognacthis,madame!"It was the first time it had ever been so complimented, and MadameDefarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better. She said, however,thatthecognacwasflattered,andtookupherknitting.Thevisitorwatchedherfingersforafewmoments,andtooktheopportunityofobservingtheplaceingeneral."Youknitwithgreatskill,madame.""Iamaccustomedtoit.""Aprettypatterntoo!""Youthinkso?"saidmadame,lookingathimwithasmile."Decidedly.Mayoneaskwhatitisfor?""Pastime,"saidmadame,stilllookingathimwithasmilewhileherfingersmovednimbly."Notforuse?""That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I do—Well," saidmadame,drawingabreathandnoddingherheadwithasternkindofcoquetry,"I'lluseit!"Itwasremarkable;but,thetasteofSaintAntoineseemedtobedecidedlyopposed to a rose on the head-dress of Madame Defarge. Two men hadenteredseparately,andhadbeenabouttoorderdrink,when,catchingsightofthat novelty, they faltered,made a pretence of looking about as if for somefriendwhowasnot there,andwentaway.Nor,of thosewhohadbeen therewhenthisvisitorentered,wasthereoneleft.Theyhadalldroppedoff.Thespyhadkepthiseyesopen,buthadbeenabletodetectnosign.Theyhadloungedawayinapoverty-stricken,purposeless,accidentalmanner,quitenaturalandunimpeachable."John,"thoughtmadame,checkingoffherworkasherfingersknitted,andhereyeslookedatthestranger."Staylongenough,andIshallknit'BARSAD'beforeyougo."

"Youhaveahusband,madame?""Ihave.""Children?""Nochildren.""Businessseemsbad?""Businessisverybad;thepeoplearesopoor.""Ah,theunfortunate,miserablepeople!Sooppressed,too—asyousay.""Asyousay,"madameretorted,correctinghim,anddeftlyknittinganextrasomethingintohisnamethatbodedhimnogood."Pardonme;certainlyitwasIwhosaidso,butyounaturallythinkso.Ofcourse.""I think?" returned madame, in a high voice. "I and my husband haveenough to do to keep this wine-shop open, without thinking. All we think,here, is how to live. That is the subjectwe think of, and it gives us, frommorning to night, enough to think about, without embarrassing our headsconcerningothers.Ithinkforothers?No,no."Thespy,whowastheretopickupanycrumbshecouldfindormake,didnotallowhisbaffledstatetoexpressitselfinhissinisterface;but,stoodwithan air of gossiping gallantry, leaning his elbow onMadameDefarge's littlecounter,andoccasionallysippinghiscognac."A bad business this, madame, of Gaspard's execution. Ah! the poorGaspard!"Withasighofgreatcompassion."Myfaith!"returnedmadame,coollyandlightly,"ifpeopleuseknivesforsuchpurposes,theyhavetopayforit.Heknewbeforehandwhatthepriceofhisluxurywas;hehaspaidtheprice.""I believe," said the spy, dropping his soft voice to a tone that invitedconfidence, and expressing an injured revolutionary susceptibility in everymuscleofhiswickedface:"Ibelievethereismuchcompassionandangerinthisneighbourhood,touchingthepoorfellow?Betweenourselves.""Isthere?"askedmadame,vacantly."Istherenot?""—Hereismyhusband!"saidMadameDefarge.Asthekeeperofthewine-shopenteredatthedoor,thespysalutedhimbytouching his hat, and saying,with an engaging smile, "Good day, Jacques!"Defargestoppedshort,andstaredathim."Goodday,Jacques!"thespyrepeated;withnotquitesomuchconfidence,orquitesoeasyasmileunderthestare."You deceive yourself,monsieur," returned the keeper of thewine-shop.

"Youmistakemeforanother.Thatisnotmyname.IamErnestDefarge.""Itisallthesame,"saidthespy,airily,butdiscomfitedtoo:"goodday!""Goodday!"answeredDefarge,drily."Iwassayingtomadame,withwhomIhadthepleasureofchattingwhenyouentered,thattheytellmethereis—andnowonder!—muchsympathyandangerinSaintAntoine,touchingtheunhappyfateofpoorGaspard.""Noonehastoldmeso,"saidDefarge,shakinghishead."Iknownothingofit."Havingsaidit,hepassedbehindthelittlecounter,andstoodwithhishandonthebackofhiswife'schair,lookingoverthatbarrieratthepersontowhomtheywerebothopposed,andwhomeitherof themwouldhaveshotwith thegreatestsatisfaction.Thespy,wellusedtohisbusiness,didnotchangehisunconsciousattitude,butdrainedhislittleglassofcognac,tookasipoffreshwater,andaskedforanotherglassofcognac.MadameDefargepoured itout forhim, took toherknittingagain,andhummedalittlesongoverit."You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than I do?"observedDefarge."Notatall,butIhopetoknowitbetter.Iamsoprofoundlyinterestedinitsmiserableinhabitants.""Hah!"mutteredDefarge."Thepleasureofconversingwithyou,MonsieurDefarge, recalls tome,"pursued the spy, "that I have the honour of cherishing some interestingassociationswithyourname.""Indeed!"saidDefarge,withmuchindifference."Yes, indeed.WhenDoctorManettewasreleased,you,hisolddomestic,had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered to you. You see I aminformedofthecircumstances?""Suchisthefact,certainly,"saidDefarge.Hehadhaditconveyedtohim,inanaccidentaltouchofhiswife'selbowassheknittedandwarbled,thathewoulddobesttoanswer,butalwayswithbrevity."Itwastoyou,"saidthespy,"thathisdaughtercame;anditwasfromyourcarethathisdaughtertookhim,accompaniedbyaneatbrownmonsieur;howishecalled?—inalittlewig—Lorry—ofthebankofTellsonandCompany—overtoEngland.""Suchisthefact,"repeatedDefarge."Very interesting remembrances!" said the spy. "I have known DoctorManetteandhisdaughter,inEngland."

"Yes?"saidDefarge."Youdon'thearmuchaboutthemnow?"saidthespy."No,"saidDefarge."In effect," madame struck in, looking up from her work and her littlesong,"weneverhearaboutthem.Wereceivedthenewsoftheirsafearrival,andperhapsanotherletter,orperhapstwo;but,sincethen,theyhavegraduallytakentheirroadinlife—we,ours—andwehaveheldnocorrespondence.""Perfectlyso,madame,"repliedthespy."Sheisgoingtobemarried.""Going?"echoedmadame."Shewasprettyenoughtohavebeenmarriedlongago.YouEnglisharecold,itseemstome.""Oh!YouknowIamEnglish.""Iperceiveyour tongueis,"returnedmadame;"andwhat thetongueis, Isupposethemanis."Hedidnottaketheidentificationasacompliment;buthemadethebestofit,andturneditoffwithalaugh.Aftersippinghiscognactotheend,headded:"Yes,MissManette isgoingtobemarried.Butnot toanEnglishman; toonewho,likeherself,isFrenchbybirth.AndspeakingofGaspard(ah,poorGaspard!Itwascruel,cruel!), it isacuriousthingthatsheisgoingtomarrythenephewofMonsieurtheMarquis,forwhomGaspardwasexaltedtothatheight of so many feet; in other words, the present Marquis. But he livesunknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he is Mr. Charles Darnay.D'Aulnaisisthenameofhismother'sfamily."MadameDefargeknittedsteadily,buttheintelligencehadapalpableeffectupon her husband. Do what he would, behind the little counter, as to thestrikingofalightandthelightingofhispipe,hewastroubled,andhishandwasnottrustworthy.Thespywouldhavebeennospyifhehadfailedtoseeit,ortorecorditinhismind.Havingmade,at least, thisonehit,whatever itmightprove tobeworth,andnocustomerscomingintohelphimtoanyother,Mr.Barsadpaidforwhathehaddrunk,andtookhisleave:takingoccasiontosay,inagenteelmanner,beforehedeparted,thathelookedforwardtothepleasureofseeingMonsieurandMadameDefargeagain.ForsomeminutesafterhehademergedintotheouterpresenceofSaintAntoine,thehusbandandwiferemainedexactlyashehadleftthem,lestheshouldcomeback."Canitbetrue,"saidDefarge,inalowvoice,lookingdownathiswifeashestoodsmokingwithhishandonthebackofherchair:"whathehassaidofMa'amselleManette?""Ashehas said it," returnedmadame, liftingher eyebrowsa little, "it isprobablyfalse.Butitmaybetrue."

"Ifitis—"Defargebegan,andstopped."Ifitis?"repeatedhiswife."—Andif itdoescome,whilewe live tosee it triumph—Ihope, forhersake,DestinywillkeepherhusbandoutofFrance.""Herhusband'sdestiny,"saidMadameDefarge,withherusualcomposure,"will takehimwherehe is togo,andwill leadhimto theend that is toendhim.ThatisallIknow.""Butitisverystrange—now,atleast,isitnotverystrange"—saidDefarge,rather pleading with his wife to induce her to admit it, "that, after all oursympathyforMonsieurherfather,andherself,herhusband'snameshouldbeproscribedunderyourhandatthismoment,bythesideofthatinfernaldog'swhohasjustleftus?""Stranger things than that will happen when it does come," answeredmadame. "I have them both here, of a certainty; and they are both here fortheirmerits;thatisenough."She rolledupherknittingwhen shehad said thosewords, andpresentlytooktheroseoutof thehandkerchief thatwaswoundaboutherhead.EitherSaintAntoinehadan instinctive sense that theobjectionabledecorationwasgone,orSaintAntoinewason thewatch for itsdisappearance;howbeit, theSaint took courage to lounge in, very shortly afterwards, and thewine-shoprecovereditshabitualaspect.Intheevening,atwhichseasonofallothersSaintAntoineturnedhimselfinsideout,andsatondoor-stepsandwindow-ledges,andcametothecornersofvilestreetsandcourts,forabreathofair,MadameDefargewithherworkinherhandwasaccustomedtopassfromplacetoplaceandfromgrouptogroup:aMissionary—thereweremanylikeher—suchastheworldwilldowellnevertobreedagain.Allthewomenknitted.Theyknittedworthlessthings;but,themechanical work was a mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; thehandsmovedforthejawsandthedigestiveapparatus:ifthebonyfingershadbeenstill,thestomachswouldhavebeenmorefamine-pinched.But,asthefingerswent,theeyeswent,andthethoughts.AndasMadameDefarge moved on from group to group, all three went quicker and fierceramongeverylittleknotofwomenthatshehadspokenwith,andleftbehind.Her husband smoked at his door, looking after her with admiration. "Agreatwoman,"saidhe,"astrongwoman,agrandwoman,afrightfullygrandwoman!"Darknessclosedaround,andthencametheringingofchurchbellsandthedistantbeatingofthemilitarydrumsinthePalaceCourtyard,asthewomensatknitting,knitting.Darknessencompassedthem.Anotherdarknesswasclosingin as surely,when the church bells, then ringing pleasantly inmany an airysteeple over France, should be melted into thundering cannon; when the

military drums should be beating to drown a wretched voice, that night allpotent as the voice of Power and Plenty, Freedom and Life. So much wasclosing in about the women who sat knitting, knitting, that they their veryselveswereclosing inarounda structureyetunbuilt,where theywere to sitknitting,knitting,countingdroppingheads.

OneNight

Never did the sun go downwith a brighter glory on the quiet corner inSoho, than one memorable evening when the Doctor and his daughter satundertheplane-treetogether.NeverdidthemoonrisewithamilderradianceovergreatLondon,thanonthatnightwhenitfoundthemstillseatedunderthetree,andshoneupontheirfacesthroughitsleaves.Luciewastobemarriedto-morrow.Shehadreservedthislasteveningforherfather,andtheysataloneundertheplane-tree."Youarehappy,mydearfather?""Quite,mychild."Theyhadsaidlittle,thoughtheyhadbeentherealongtime.Whenitwasyetlightenoughtoworkandread,shehadneitherengagedherselfinherusualwork,norhadshereadtohim.Shehademployedherselfinbothways,athissideunder the tree,manyandmanya time;but, this timewasnotquite likeanyother,andnothingcouldmakeitso."AndIamveryhappyto-night,dearfather.IamdeeplyhappyinthelovethatHeavenhassoblessed—myloveforCharles,andCharles'sloveforme.But,ifmylifewerenottobestillconsecratedtoyou,orifmymarriagewereso arranged as that it would part us, even by the length of a few of thesestreets,Ishouldbemoreunhappyandself-reproachfulnowthanIcantellyou.Evenasitis—"Evenasitwas,shecouldnotcommandhervoice.Inthesadmoonlight,sheclaspedhimbytheneck,andlaidherfaceuponhisbreast.Inthemoonlightwhichisalwayssad,asthelightofthesunitselfis—asthelightcalledhumanlifeis—atitscominganditsgoing."Dearest dear!Can you tellme, this last time, that you feel quite, quitesure, no new affections of mine, and no new duties of mine, will everinterposebetweenus?Iknowitwell,butdoyouknowit?Inyourownheart,doyoufeelquitecertain?"Her father answered, with a cheerful firmness of conviction he couldscarcelyhaveassumed,"Quitesure,mydarling!Morethanthat,"headded,ashe tenderly kissed her: "my future is far brighter, Lucie, seen through your

marriage,thanitcouldhavebeen—nay,thaniteverwas—withoutit.""IfIcouldhopethat,myfather!—""Believeit,love!Indeeditisso.Considerhownaturalandhowplainitis,mydear,thatitshouldbeso.You,devotedandyoung,cannotfullyappreciatetheanxietyIhavefeltthatyourlifeshouldnotbewasted—"Shemovedherhandtowardshislips,buthetookitinhis,andrepeatedtheword."—wasted,mychild—shouldnotbewasted,struckasidefromthenaturalorderofthings—formysake.Yourunselfishnesscannotentirelycomprehendhowmuchmymindhasgoneon this;but,onlyaskyourself,howcouldmyhappinessbeperfect,whileyourswasincomplete?""If I hadnever seenCharles,my father, I should havebeenquite happywithyou."He smiled at her unconscious admission that she would have beenunhappywithoutCharles,havingseenhim;andreplied:"Mychild,youdidseehim,anditisCharles.IfithadnotbeenCharles,itwouldhavebeenanother.Or, if ithadbeennoother,Ishouldhavebeenthecause,and then thedarkpartofmy lifewouldhavecast its shadowbeyondmyself,andwouldhavefallenonyou."Itwasthefirsttime,exceptatthetrial,ofhereverhearinghimrefertotheperiod of his suffering. It gave her a strange and new sensation while hiswordswereinherears;andsheremembereditlongafterwards."See!"saidtheDoctorofBeauvais,raisinghishandtowardsthemoon."Ihavelookedatherfrommyprison-window,whenIcouldnotbearherlight.Ihavelookedatherwhenithasbeensuchtorturetometothinkofhershininguponwhat Ihad lost, that Ihavebeatenmyheadagainstmyprison-walls. Ihave looked at her, in a state so dull and lethargic, that I have thought ofnothingbutthenumberofhorizontallinesIcoulddrawacrossheratthefull,andthenumberofperpendicularlineswithwhichIcouldintersectthem."Headdedinhisinwardandponderingmanner,ashelookedatthemoon,"Itwastwentyeitherway,Iremember,andthetwentiethwasdifficulttosqueezein."Thestrangethrillwithwhichsheheardhimgobacktothattime,deepenedashedweltuponit;but,therewasnothingtoshockherinthemannerofhisreference. He only seemed to contrast his present cheerfulness and felicitywiththedireendurancethatwasover."I have looked at her, speculating thousands of times upon the unbornchildfromwhomIhadbeenrent.Whetheritwasalive.Whetherithadbeenbornalive,orthepoormother'sshockhadkilledit.Whetheritwasasonwhowould some day avenge his father. (Therewas a time inmy imprisonment,whenmy desire for vengeancewas unbearable.)Whether itwas a sonwhowould never know his father's story; who might even live to weigh the

possibilityofhisfather'shavingdisappearedofhisownwillandact.Whetheritwasadaughterwhowouldgrowtobeawoman."Shedrewclosertohim,andkissedhischeekandhishand."I have picturedmy daughter, tomyself, as perfectly forgetful ofme—rather, altogether ignorantofme,andunconsciousofme. Ihavecastup theyearsofherage,yearafteryear.Ihaveseenhermarriedtoamanwhoknewnothingofmy fate. Ihavealtogetherperished from the remembranceof theliving,andinthenextgenerationmyplacewasablank.""My father!Even tohear that youhad such thoughts of a daughterwhoneverexisted,strikestomyheartasifIhadbeenthatchild.""You,Lucie?ItisoutoftheConsolationandrestorationyouhavebroughttome, that theseremembrancesarise,andpassbetweenusand themoononthislastnight.—WhatdidIsayjustnow?""Sheknewnothingofyou.Shecarednothingforyou.""So!Butonothermoonlightnights,whenthesadnessandthesilencehavetouchedme in a differentway—have affectedmewith something as like asorrowful sense of peace, as any emotion that had pain for its foundationscould—Ihaveimaginedherascomingtomeinmycell,andleadingmeoutintothefreedombeyondthefortress.Ihaveseenherimageinthemoonlightoften, as I now see you; except that I never held her in my arms; it stoodbetween the littlegratedwindowand thedoor.But,youunderstand that thatwasnotthechildIamspeakingof?""Thefigurewasnot;the—the—image;thefancy?""No.Thatwasanotherthing.Itstoodbeforemydisturbedsenseofsight,but it never moved. The phantom that my mind pursued, was another andmorerealchild.OfheroutwardappearanceIknownomorethanthatshewaslikehermother.Theotherhad that likeness too—asyouhave—butwasnotthesame.Canyoufollowme,Lucie?Hardly,Ithink?Idoubtyoumusthavebeenasolitaryprisonertounderstandtheseperplexeddistinctions."Hiscollectedandcalmmannercouldnotpreventherbloodfromrunningcold,ashethustriedtoanatomisehisoldcondition."Inthatmorepeacefulstate,Ihaveimaginedher,inthemoonlight,comingtomeandtakingmeouttoshowmethatthehomeofhermarriedlifewasfullofherlovingremembranceofherlostfather.Mypicturewasinherroom,andIwasinherprayers.Herlifewasactive,cheerful,useful;butmypoorhistorypervadeditall.""Iwasthatchild,myfather,Iwasnothalfsogood,butinmylovethatwasI.""Andsheshowedmeherchildren,"saidtheDoctorofBeauvais,"andtheyhadheardofme,andhadbeentaughttopityme.Whentheypassedaprisonof

theState,theykeptfarfromitsfrowningwalls,andlookedupatitsbars,andspoke inwhispers. She could never deliverme; I imagined that she alwaysbrought me back after showingme such things. But then, blessed with thereliefoftears,Ifelluponmyknees,andblessedher.""Iamthatchild,Ihope,myfather.Omydear,mydear,willyoublessmeasferventlyto-morrow?""Lucie, I recall these old troubles in the reason that I have to-night forloving you better than words can tell, and thanking God for my greathappiness. My thoughts, when they were wildest, never rose near thehappinessthatIhaveknownwithyou,andthatwehavebeforeus."He embraced her, solemnly commended her to Heaven, and humblythankedHeavenforhavingbestowedheronhim.By-and-bye,theywentintothehouse.TherewasnoonebiddentothemarriagebutMr.Lorry;therewaseventobe no bridesmaid but the gauntMiss Pross. The marriage was to make nochangeintheirplaceofresidence;theyhadbeenabletoextendit,bytakingtothemselves the upper rooms formerly belonging to the apocryphal invisiblelodger,andtheydesirednothingmore.DoctorManettewasverycheerfulatthelittlesupper.Theywereonlythreeat table, andMiss Pross made the third. He regretted that Charles was notthere;wasmorethanhalfdisposedtoobjecttothelovinglittleplotthatkepthimaway;anddranktohimaffectionately.So, the time came for him to bidLucie good night, and they separated.But, in thestillnessof the thirdhourof themorning,Luciecamedownstairsagain,andstoleintohisroom;notfreefromunshapedfears,beforehand.Allthings,however,wereintheirplaces;allwasquiet;andhelayasleep,hiswhitehairpicturesqueontheuntroubledpillow,andhishandslyingquietonthecoverlet.Sheputherneedlesscandleintheshadowatadistance,creptuptohisbed,andputherlipstohis;then,leanedoverhim,andlookedathim.Into his handsome face, the bitterwaters of captivity hadworn; but, hecovereduptheirtrackswithadeterminationsostrong,thatheheldthemasteryof themeven inhissleep.Amoreremarkable face in itsquiet, resolute,andguardedstrugglewithanunseenassailant,wasnottobebeheldinallthewidedominionsofsleep,thatnight.Shetimidlylaidherhandonhisdearbreast,andputupaprayerthatshemight ever be as true to him as her love aspired to be, and as his sorrowsdeserved. Then, shewithdrew her hand, and kissed his lips oncemore, andwentaway.So,thesunrisecame,andtheshadowsoftheleavesoftheplane-treemoveduponhisface,assoftlyasherlipshadmovedinprayingforhim.

NineDays

Themarriage-daywas shining brightly, and theywere ready outside thecloseddooroftheDoctor'sroom,wherehewasspeakingwithCharlesDarnay.They were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride,Mr. Lorry, andMissPross—towhomtheevent,throughagradualprocessofreconcilementtotheinevitable, would have been one of absolute bliss, but for the yet lingeringconsiderationthatherbrotherSolomonshouldhavebeenthebridegroom."Andso,"saidMr.Lorry,whocouldnotsufficientlyadmirethebride,andwho had beenmoving round her to take in every point of her quiet, prettydress;"andso itwas for this,mysweetLucie, that Ibroughtyouacross theChannel,suchababy!Lordblessme!HowlittleIthoughtwhatIwasdoing!How lightly I valued the obligation I was conferring on my friend Mr.Charles!""You didn't mean it," remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross, "andthereforehowcouldyouknowit?Nonsense!""Really?Well;butdon'tcry,"saidthegentleMr.Lorry."Iamnotcrying,"saidMissPross;"youare.""I,myPross?"(Bythistime,Mr.Lorrydaredtobepleasantwithher,onoccasion.)"Youwere, just now; I saw you do it, and I don't wonder at it. Such apresentofplateasyouhavemade'em,isenoughtobringtearsintoanybody'seyes.There'snotaforkoraspooninthecollection,"saidMissPross,"thatIdidn'tcryover,lastnightaftertheboxcame,tillIcouldn'tseeit.""Iamhighlygratified,"saidMr.Lorry,"though,uponmyhonour,Ihadnointentionof rendering those triflingarticlesof remembrance invisible to anyone.Dearme!This isanoccasion thatmakesamanspeculateonallhehaslost.Dear,dear,dear!To think that theremighthavebeenaMrs.Lorry,anytimethesefiftyyearsalmost!""Notatall!"FromMissPross."You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?" asked thegentlemanofthatname."Pooh!"rejoinedMissPross;"youwereabachelorinyourcradle.""Well!"observedMr.Lorry,beaminglyadjustinghislittlewig,"thatseemsprobable,too.""Andyouwerecutout forabachelor,"pursuedMissPross, "beforeyou

wereputinyourcradle.""Then,Ithink,"saidMr.Lorry,"thatIwasveryunhandsomelydealtwith,and that Iought tohavehadavoice in theselectionofmypattern.Enough!Now,my dear Lucie," drawing his arm soothingly round herwaist, "I hearthemmovinginthenextroom,andMissProssandI,astwoformalfolksofbusiness,areanxiousnottolosethefinalopportunityofsayingsomethingtoyou thatyouwish tohear.You leaveyourgoodfather,mydear, inhandsasearnestandaslovingasyourown;heshallbetakeneveryconceivablecareof;duringthenextfortnight,whileyouareinWarwickshireandthereabouts,evenTellson'sshallgotothewall(comparativelyspeaking)beforehim.Andwhen,atthefortnight'send,hecomestojoinyouandyourbelovedhusband,onyourotherfortnight's trip inWales,youshallsaythatwehavesenthimtoyouinthebesthealthandinthehappiestframe.Now,IhearSomebody'sstepcomingtothedoor.Letmekissmydeargirlwithanold-fashionedbachelorblessing,beforeSomebodycomestoclaimhisown."For a moment, he held the fair face from him to look at the well-rememberedexpressionon theforehead,and then laid thebrightgoldenhairagainsthislittlebrownwig,withagenuinetendernessanddelicacywhich,ifsuchthingsbeold-fashioned,wereasoldasAdam.The door of the Doctor's room opened, and he came out with CharlesDarnay.Hewassodeadlypale—whichhadnotbeenthecasewhentheywentin together—thatnovestigeofcolourwas tobeseen inhisface.But, in thecomposureofhismannerhewasunaltered,exceptthattotheshrewdglanceofMr.Lorryitdisclosedsomeshadowyindicationthattheoldairofavoidanceanddreadhadlatelypassedoverhim,likeacoldwind.Hegavehisarm tohisdaughter, and tookherdown-stairs to thechariotwhichMr.Lorryhadhiredinhonouroftheday.Therestfollowedinanothercarriage, and soon, in a neighbouring church,where no strange eyes lookedon,CharlesDarnayandLucieManettewerehappilymarried.Besidestheglancingtearsthatshoneamongthesmilesofthelittlegroupwhenitwasdone,somediamonds,verybrightandsparkling,glancedonthebride'shand,whichwerenewlyreleasedfromthedarkobscurityofoneofMr.Lorry's pockets.They returned home to breakfast, and allwentwell, and induecoursethegoldenhairthathadmingledwiththepoorshoemaker'swhitelocks in the Paris garret, were mingled with them again in the morningsunlight,onthethresholdofthedooratparting.Itwasahardparting, though itwasnot for long.Buther father cheeredher, and said at last, gently disengaging himself from her enfolding arms,"Takeher,Charles!Sheisyours!"Andheragitatedhandwavedtothemfromachaisewindow,andshewasgone.The corner being out of the way of the idle and curious, and the

preparationshavingbeenverysimpleandfew,theDoctor,Mr.Lorry,andMissPross,wereleftquitealone.Itwaswhentheyturnedintothewelcomeshadeofthecoololdhall,thatMr.Lorryobservedagreatchangetohavecomeoverthe Doctor; as if the golden arm uplifted there, had struck him a poisonedblow.He had naturally repressed much, and some revulsion might have beenexpectedinhimwhentheoccasionforrepressionwasgone.But,itwastheoldscared lost look that troubledMr. Lorry; and through his absentmanner ofclaspinghisheadanddrearilywanderingawayintohisownroomwhentheygotup-stairs,Mr.LorrywasremindedofDefarge thewine-shopkeeper,andthestarlightride."Ithink,"hewhisperedtoMissPross,afteranxiousconsideration,"Ithinkwehadbestnotspeaktohimjustnow,oratalldisturbhim.ImustlookinatTellson's; so Iwillgo thereatonceandcomebackpresently.Then,wewilltakehimarideintothecountry,anddinethere,andallwillbewell."It was easier for Mr. Lorry to look in at Tellson's, than to look out ofTellson's.Hewasdetained twohours.Whenhecameback,heascended theold staircasealone,havingaskednoquestionof the servant;going thus intotheDoctor'srooms,hewasstoppedbyalowsoundofknocking."GoodGod!"hesaid,withastart."What'sthat?"MissPross,withaterrifiedface,wasathisear."Ome,Ome!Allislost!"cried she,wringing her hands. "What is to be told to Ladybird?He doesn'tknowme,andismakingshoes!"Mr. Lorry said what he could to calm her, and went himself into theDoctor'sroom.Thebenchwasturnedtowardsthelight,asithadbeenwhenhehadseentheshoemakerathisworkbefore,andhisheadwasbentdown,andhewasverybusy."DoctorManette.Mydearfriend,DoctorManette!"TheDoctor looked at him for amoment—half inquiringly, half as if hewereangryatbeingspokento—andbentoverhisworkagain.Hehadlaidasidehiscoatandwaistcoat;hisshirtwasopenatthethroat,asitusedtobewhenhedidthatwork;andeventheoldhaggard,fadedsurfaceofface had come back to him. He worked hard—impatiently—as if in somesenseofhavingbeeninterrupted.Mr.Lorryglancedattheworkinhishand,andobservedthatitwasashoeoftheoldsizeandshape.Hetookupanotherthatwaslyingbyhim,andaskedwhatitwas."Ayounglady'swalkingshoe,"hemuttered,withoutlookingup."Itoughttohavebeenfinishedlongago.Letitbe.""But,DoctorManette.Lookatme!"

Heobeyed,intheoldmechanicallysubmissivemanner,withoutpausinginhiswork."You know me, my dear friend? Think again. This is not your properoccupation.Think,dearfriend!"Nothingwouldinducehimtospeakmore.Helookedup,foraninstantatatime,whenhewasrequestedtodoso;but,nopersuasionwouldextractawordfromhim.Heworked,andworked,andworked,insilence,andwordsfellonhimastheywouldhavefallenonanecholesswall,orontheair.TheonlyrayofhopethatMr.Lorrycoulddiscover,was,thathesometimesfurtivelylookedupwithoutbeingasked.Inthat,thereseemedafaintexpressionofcuriosityorperplexity—asthoughheweretryingtoreconcilesomedoubtsinhismind.TwothingsatonceimpressedthemselvesonMr.Lorry,asimportantaboveallothers;thefirst,thatthismustbekeptsecretfromLucie;thesecond,thatitmustbekeptsecretfromallwhoknewhim.InconjunctionwithMissPross,he took immediatesteps towards the latterprecaution,bygivingout that theDoctorwasnotwell,andrequiredafewdaysofcompleterest. Inaidof thekind deception to be practised on his daughter, Miss Pross was to write,describing his having been called away professionally, and referring to animaginaryletteroftwoorthreehurriedlinesinhisownhand,representedtohavebeenaddressedtoherbythesamepost.Thesemeasures,advisabletobetakeninanycase,Mr.Lorrytookinthehope of his coming to himself. If that should happen soon, he kept anothercourse in reserve;whichwas, to have a certain opinion that he thought thebest,ontheDoctor'scase.Inthehopeofhisrecovery,andofresorttothisthirdcoursebeingtherebyrenderedpracticable,Mr.Lorryresolvedtowatchhimattentively,withaslittleappearanceaspossibleofdoingso.Hethereforemadearrangementstoabsenthimself fromTellson's for the first time inhis life, and tookhispost by thewindowinthesameroom.Hewasnotlongindiscoveringthatitwasworsethanuselesstospeaktohim,since,onbeingpressed,hebecameworried.Heabandonedthatattemptonthefirstday,andresolvedmerelytokeephimselfalwaysbeforehim,asasilentprotestagainstthedelusionintowhichhehadfallen,orwasfalling.Heremained, therefore, in his seat near the window, reading and writing, andexpressinginasmanypleasantandnaturalwaysashecouldthinkof, that itwasafreeplace.DoctorManettetookwhatwasgivenhimtoeatanddrink,andworkedon,thatfirstday,untilitwastoodarktosee—workedon,halfanhourafterMr.Lorrycouldnothaveseen,forhislife,toreadorwrite.Whenheputhistoolsasideasuseless,untilmorning,Mr.Lorryroseandsaidtohim:"Willyougoout?"

He looked down at the floor on either side of him in the old manner,lookedupintheoldmanner,andrepeatedintheoldlowvoice:"Out?""Yes;forawalkwithme.Whynot?"Hemade no effort to saywhy not, and said not awordmore. But,Mr.Lorrythoughthesaw,asheleanedforwardonhisbenchinthedusk,withhiselbowsonhiskneesandhisheadinhishands,thathewasinsomemistywayaskinghimself,"Whynot?"Thesagacityofthemanofbusinessperceivedanadvantagehere,anddeterminedtoholdit.MissProssandhedividedthenightintotwowatches,andobservedhimatintervals from the adjoining room. He paced up and down for a long timebeforehelaydown;but,whenhedidfinallylayhimselfdown,hefellasleep.Inthemorning,hewasupbetimes,andwentstraighttohisbenchandtowork.On this second day,Mr. Lorry saluted him cheerfully by his name, andspoketohimontopicsthathadbeenoflatefamiliartothem.Hereturnednoreply,butitwasevidentthatheheardwhatwassaid,andthathethoughtaboutit,howeverconfusedly.ThisencouragedMr.LorrytohaveMissProssinwithherwork,several timesduring theday;at those times, theyquietlyspokeofLucie,andofherfatherthenpresent,preciselyintheusualmanner,andasifthere were nothing amiss. This was done without any demonstrativeaccompaniment, not long enough, or often enough to harass him; and itlightenedMr.Lorry'sfriendlyheart tobelievethathe lookedupoftener,andthat he appeared to be stirred by some perception of inconsistenciessurroundinghim.Whenitfelldarkagain,Mr.Lorryaskedhimasbefore:"DearDoctor,willyougoout?"Asbefore,herepeated,"Out?""Yes;forawalkwithme.Whynot?"This time,Mr.Lorry feigned togooutwhenhecouldextractnoanswerfromhim,and,afterremainingabsentforanhour,returned.Inthemeanwhile,theDoctorhadremovedtotheseatinthewindow,andhadsattherelookingdown at the plane-tree; but, on Mr. Lorry's return, he slipped away to hisbench.The timewent very slowly on, andMr. Lorry's hope darkened, and hisheart grew heavier again, and grew yet heavier and heavier every day. Thethirddaycameandwent,thefourth,thefifth.Fivedays,sixdays,sevendays,eightdays,ninedays.Withahopeeverdarkening,andwithaheartalwaysgrowingheavierandheavier,Mr.Lorrypassedthroughthisanxioustime.Thesecretwaswellkept,andLuciewasunconsciousandhappy;buthecouldnotfailtoobservethatthe

shoemaker,whosehandhadbeena littleoutatfirst,wasgrowingdreadfullyskilful,and thathehadneverbeenso intentonhiswork,and thathishandshadneverbeensonimbleandexpert,asintheduskoftheninthevening.

AnOpinion

Wornoutbyanxiouswatching,Mr.Lorry fell asleep at hispost.On thetenthmorningofhissuspense,hewasstartledbytheshiningof thesunintotheroomwhereaheavyslumberhadovertakenhimwhenitwasdarknight.Herubbedhiseyesandrousedhimself;buthedoubted,whenhehaddoneso,whetherhewasnotstillasleep.For,goingtothedooroftheDoctor'sroomand looking in, he perceived that the shoemaker's bench and toolswere putasideagain,andthattheDoctorhimselfsatreadingatthewindow.Hewasinhisusualmorningdress,andhisface(whichMr.Lorrycoulddistinctlysee),thoughstillverypale,wascalmlystudiousandattentive.Even when he had satisfied himself that he was awake, Mr. Lorry feltgiddilyuncertain forsomefewmomentswhether the lateshoemakingmightnotbeadisturbeddreamofhisown;for,didnothiseyesshowhimhisfriendbeforehiminhisaccustomedclothingandaspect,andemployedasusual;andwas there any sign within their range, that the change of which he had sostronganimpressionhadactuallyhappened?Itwasbuttheinquiryofhisfirstconfusionandastonishment,theanswerbeingobvious. If the impressionwerenotproducedbya real correspondingandsufficientcause,howcamehe,JarvisLorry,there?Howcamehetohavefallenasleep,inhisclothes,onthesofainDoctorManette'sconsulting-room,andtobedebatingthesepointsoutsidetheDoctor'sbedroomdoorintheearlymorning?Withinafewminutes,MissProssstoodwhisperingathisside.Ifhehadhadanyparticleofdoubtleft,hertalkwouldofnecessityhaveresolvedit;buthewasbythattimeclear-headed,andhadnone.Headvisedthattheyshouldlet the timegobyuntil the regularbreakfast-hour,andshould thenmeet theDoctor as if nothing unusual had occurred. If he appeared to be in hiscustomary state of mind,Mr. Lorry would then cautiously proceed to seekdirection and guidance from the opinion he had been, in his anxiety, soanxioustoobtain.Miss Pross, submitting herself to his judgment, the schemewasworkedoutwithcare.Havingabundanceoftimeforhisusualmethodicaltoilette,Mr.Lorry presented himself at the breakfast-hour in his usual white linen, andwithhisusualneatleg.TheDoctorwassummonedintheusualway,andcametobreakfast.So far as itwaspossible to comprehendhimwithout overstepping those

delicate and gradual approaches which Mr. Lorry felt to be the only safeadvance, he at first supposed that his daughter's marriage had taken placeyesterday. An incidental allusion, purposely thrown out, to the day of theweek,andthedayofthemonth,sethimthinkingandcounting,andevidentlymade him uneasy. In all other respects, however, he was so composedlyhimself,thatMr.Lorrydeterminedtohavetheaidhesought.Andthataidwashisown.Therefore,whenthebreakfastwasdoneandclearedaway,andheandtheDoctorwerelefttogether,Mr.Lorrysaid,feelingly:"MydearManette,Iamanxioustohaveyouropinion,inconfidence,onavery curious case inwhich I am deeply interested; that is to say, it is verycurioustome;perhaps,toyourbetterinformationitmaybelessso."Glancingathishands,whichwerediscolouredbyhislatework,theDoctorlookedtroubled,andlistenedattentively.Hehadalreadyglancedathishandsmorethanonce."DoctorManette,"saidMr.Lorry,touchinghimaffectionatelyonthearm,"thecaseisthecaseofaparticularlydearfriendofmine.Praygiveyourmindtoit,andadvisemewellforhissake—andaboveall,forhisdaughter's—hisdaughter's,mydearManette.""IfIunderstand,"saidtheDoctor,inasubduedtone,"somementalshock—?""Yes!""Beexplicit,"saidtheDoctor."Sparenodetail."Mr.Lorrysawthattheyunderstoodoneanother,andproceeded."MydearManette,itisthecaseofanoldandaprolongedshock,ofgreatacutenessandseveritytotheaffections,thefeelings,the—the—asyouexpressit—themind.Themind.Itisthecaseofashockunderwhichthesuffererwasborne down, one cannot say for how long, because I believe he cannotcalculate thetimehimself,andtherearenoothermeansofgettingat it. It isthe caseof a shock fromwhich the sufferer recovered, by a process that hecannottracehimself—asIonceheardhimpubliclyrelateinastrikingmanner.Itisthecaseofashockfromwhichhehasrecovered,socompletely,astobeahighlyintelligentman,capableofcloseapplicationofmind,andgreatexertionofbody,andofconstantlymakingfreshadditionstohisstockofknowledge,whichwasalreadyverylarge.But,unfortunately, therehasbeen,"hepausedandtookadeepbreath—"aslightrelapse."TheDoctor,inalowvoice,asked,"Ofhowlongduration?""Ninedaysandnights.""How did it show itself? I infer," glancing at his hands again, "in theresumptionofsomeoldpursuitconnectedwiththeshock?"

"Thatisthefact.""Now,didyoueverseehim,"askedtheDoctor,distinctlyandcollectedly,thoughinthesamelowvoice,"engagedinthatpursuitoriginally?""Once.""And when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respects—or in allrespects—ashewasthen?""Ithinkinallrespects.""Youspokeofhisdaughter.Doeshisdaughterknowoftherelapse?""No.Ithasbeenkeptfromher,andIhopewillalwaysbekeptfromher.Itisknownonlytomyself,andtooneotherwhomaybetrusted."TheDoctorgraspedhishand, andmurmured, "Thatwasverykind.Thatwasverythoughtful!"Mr.Lorrygraspedhishandinreturn,andneitherofthetwospokeforalittlewhile."Now,mydearManette,"saidMr.Lorry,atlength,inhismostconsiderateandmostaffectionateway, "Iamameremanofbusiness, andunfit tocopewith such intricate and difficult matters. I do not possess the kind ofinformation necessary; I do not possess the kind of intelligence; I wantguiding. There is no man in this world on whom I could so rely for rightguidance, as on you. Tell me, how does this relapse come about? Is theredanger of another? Could a repetition of it be prevented? How should arepetitionofitbetreated?Howdoesitcomeaboutatall?WhatcanIdoformyfriend?Nomanevercanhavebeenmoredesirousinhishearttoserveafriend,thanIamtoservemine,ifIknewhow."But I don't know how to originate, in such a case. If your sagacity,knowledge,andexperience,couldputmeontherighttrack,Imightbeabletodosomuch;unenlightenedandundirected, Icandoso little.Praydiscuss itwithme;prayenablemetoseeitalittlemoreclearly,andteachmehowtobealittlemoreuseful."DoctorManettesatmeditatingaftertheseearnestwordswerespoken,andMr.Lorrydidnotpresshim."Ithinkitprobable,"saidtheDoctor,breakingsilencewithaneffort,"thattherelapseyouhavedescribed,mydearfriend,wasnotquiteunforeseenbyitssubject.""Wasitdreadedbyhim?"Mr.Lorryventuredtoask."Verymuch."Hesaiditwithaninvoluntaryshudder."You have no idea how such an apprehension weighs on the sufferer'smind, and how difficult—how almost impossible—it is, for him to forcehimselftoutteraworduponthetopicthatoppresseshim.""Would he," asked Mr. Lorry, "be sensibly relieved if he could prevail

uponhimselftoimpartthatsecretbroodingtoanyone,whenitisonhim?""Ithinkso.Butitis,asIhavetoldyou,nexttoimpossible.Ievenbelieveit—insomecases—tobequiteimpossible.""Now,"saidMr.Lorry,gentlylayinghishandontheDoctor'sarmagain,afterashortsilenceonbothsides,"towhatwouldyoureferthisattack?""I believe," returned DoctorManette, "that there had been a strong andextraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance that was thefirst cause of the malady. Some intense associations of a most distressingnaturewerevividlyrecalled,Ithink.Itisprobablethattherehadlongbeenadread lurking in his mind, that those associations would be recalled—say,undercertaincircumstances—say,onaparticularoccasion.Hetriedtopreparehimself in vain; perhaps the effort topreparehimselfmadehim less able tobearit.""Would he rememberwhat took place in the relapse?" askedMr. Lorry,withnaturalhesitation.The Doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head, andanswered,inalowvoice,"Notatall.""Now,astothefuture,"hintedMr.Lorry."As to the future," said theDoctor, recovering firmness, "I should havegreathope.AsitpleasedHeaveninitsmercytorestorehimsosoon,Ishouldhavegreathope.He,yieldingunderthepressureofacomplicatedsomething,longdreadedandlongvaguelyforeseenandcontendedagainst,andrecoveringafterthecloudhadburstandpassed,Ishouldhopethattheworstwasover.""Well,well!That'sgoodcomfort.Iamthankful!"saidMr.Lorry."Iamthankful!"repeatedtheDoctor,bendinghisheadwithreverence."Therearetwootherpoints,"saidMr.Lorry,"onwhichIamanxioustobeinstructed.Imaygoon?""You cannot do your friend a better service." The Doctor gave him hishand."To the first, then.He isofa studioushabit, andunusuallyenergetic;heapplieshimselfwithgreatardourtotheacquisitionofprofessionalknowledge,to the conducting of experiments, to many things. Now, does he do toomuch?""Ithinknot.Itmaybethecharacterofhismind,tobealwaysinsingularneedof occupation.Thatmaybe, in part, natural to it; in part, the result ofaffliction.Thelessitwasoccupiedwithhealthythings,themoreitwouldbeindangerofturningintheunhealthydirection.Hemayhaveobservedhimself,andmadethediscovery.""Youaresurethatheisnotundertoogreatastrain?"

"IthinkIamquitesureofit.""MydearManette,ifhewereoverworkednow—""MydearLorry, Idoubt if thatcouldeasilybe.Therehasbeenaviolentstressinonedirection,anditneedsacounterweight.""Excuseme,asapersistentmanofbusiness.Assumingforamoment,thathewasoverworked;itwouldshowitselfinsomerenewalofthisdisorder?""Idonotthinkso.Idonotthink,"saidDoctorManettewiththefirmnessofself-conviction,"thatanythingbuttheonetrainofassociationwouldrenewit.Ithinkthat,henceforth,nothingbutsomeextraordinaryjarringofthatchordcould renew it. After what has happened, and after his recovery, I find itdifficulttoimagineanysuchviolentsoundingofthatstringagain.Itrust,andIalmostbelieve,thatthecircumstanceslikelytorenewitareexhausted."Hespokewiththediffidenceofamanwhoknewhowslightathingwouldoversetthedelicateorganisationofthemind,andyetwiththeconfidenceofaman who had slowly won his assurance out of personal endurance anddistress. It was not for his friend to abate that confidence. He professedhimselfmorerelievedandencouragedthanhereallywas,andapproachedhissecond and last point. He felt it to be the most difficult of all; but,remembering his old Sunday morning conversation with Miss Pross, andrememberingwhathehadseeninthelastninedays,heknewthathemustfaceit."Theoccupationresumedundertheinfluenceofthispassingafflictionsohappily recovered from," saidMr.Lorry, clearinghis throat, "wewill call—Blacksmith'swork,Blacksmith'swork.Wewillsay,toputacaseandforthesakeofillustration,thathehadbeenused,inhisbadtime,toworkatalittleforge.Wewillsaythathewasunexpectedlyfoundathisforgeagain.Isitnotapitythatheshouldkeepitbyhim?"TheDoctorshadedhisforeheadwithhishand,andbeathisfootnervouslyontheground."Hehasalwayskeptitbyhim,"saidMr.Lorry,withananxiouslookathisfriend."Now,woulditnotbebetterthatheshouldletitgo?"Still, the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beat his foot nervously on theground."Youdonotfinditeasytoadviseme?"saidMr.Lorry."Iquiteunderstandittobeanicequestion.AndyetIthink—"Andthereheshookhishead,andstopped."Yousee,"saidDoctorManette,turningtohimafteranuneasypause,"itisveryhardtoexplain,consistently, theinnermostworkingsof thispoorman'smind. He once yearned so frightfully for that occupation, and it was sowelcomewhenitcame;nodoubtitrelievedhispainsomuch,bysubstitutingtheperplexityofthefingersfortheperplexityofthebrain,andbysubstituting,

ashebecamemorepractised,theingenuityofthehands,fortheingenuityofthementaltorture;thathehasneverbeenabletobearthethoughtofputtingitquiteoutofhisreach.Evennow,whenIbelieveheismorehopefulofhimselfthanhehaseverbeen,andevenspeaksofhimselfwithakindofconfidence,theideathathemightneedthatoldemployment,andnotfindit,giveshimasuddensenseofterror,likethatwhichonemayfancystrikestotheheartofalostchild."Helookedlikehisillustration,asheraisedhiseyestoMr.Lorry'sface."Butmaynot—mind!Iaskforinformation,asaploddingmanofbusinesswho only deals with such material objects as guineas, shillings, and bank-notes—maynottheretentionofthethinginvolvetheretentionoftheidea?Ifthethingweregone,mydearManette,mightnotthefeargowithit?Inshort,isitnotaconcessiontothemisgiving,tokeeptheforge?"Therewasanothersilence."Yousee,too,"saidtheDoctor,tremulously,"itissuchanoldcompanion.""Iwouldnotkeep it," saidMr.Lorry, shakinghishead; forhegained infirmness as he saw the Doctor disquieted. "I would recommend him tosacrificeit.Ionlywantyourauthority.Iamsureitdoesnogood.Come!Giveme your authority, like a dear goodman. For his daughter's sake, my dearManette!"Verystrangetoseewhatastruggletherewaswithinhim!"Inhername, then, let it bedone; I sanction it.But, Iwouldnot take itawaywhilehewaspresent.Let itbe removedwhenhe isnot there; lethimmisshisoldcompanionafteranabsence."Mr.Lorry readily engaged for that, and the conferencewasended.Theypassedthedayinthecountry,andtheDoctorwasquiterestored.Onthethreefollowingdaysheremainedperfectlywell,andonthefourteenthdayhewentaway to joinLucie and her husband.The precaution that had been taken toaccountforhissilence,Mr.Lorryhadpreviouslyexplainedtohim,andhehadwrittentoLucieinaccordancewithit,andshehadnosuspicions.Onthenightofthedayonwhichheleftthehouse,Mr.Lorrywentintohisroom with a chopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended by Miss Prosscarrying a light. There, with closed doors, and in a mysterious and guiltymanner,Mr.Lorryhackedtheshoemaker'sbenchtopieces,whileMissProssheldthecandleasifshewereassistingatamurder—forwhich,indeed,inhergrimness,shewasnounsuitablefigure.Theburningof thebody(previouslyreducedtopiecesconvenientforthepurpose)wascommencedwithoutdelayinthekitchenfire;andthetools,shoes,andleather,wereburiedinthegarden.Sowickeddodestructionandsecrecyappeartohonestminds,thatMr.LorryandMiss Pross, while engaged in the commission of their deed and in theremoval of its traces, almost felt, and almost looked, like accomplices in a

horriblecrime.

APlea

Whenthenewly-marriedpaircamehome,thefirstpersonwhoappeared,toofferhiscongratulations,wasSydneyCarton.Theyhadnotbeenathomemanyhours,whenhepresentedhimself.Hewasnotimprovedinhabits,orinlooks,orinmanner;buttherewasacertainruggedairoffidelityabouthim,whichwasnewtotheobservationofCharlesDarnay.HewatchedhisopportunityoftakingDarnayasideintoawindow,andofspeakingtohimwhennooneoverheard."Mr.Darnay,"saidCarton,"Iwishwemightbefriends.""Wearealreadyfriends,Ihope.""Youaregoodenoughtosayso,asafashionofspeech;but,Idon'tmeanany fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be friends, Iscarcelymeanquitethat,either."Charles Darnay—as was natural—asked him, in all good-humour andgood-fellowship,whathedidmean?"Uponmylife,"saidCarton,smiling,"Ifindthateasiertocomprehendinmyownmind,thantoconveytoyours.However,letmetry.YourememberacertainfamousoccasionwhenIwasmoredrunkthan—thanusual?""I remember a certain famous occasionwhen you forcedme to confessthatyouhadbeendrinking.""Irememberit too.Thecurseofthoseoccasionsisheavyuponme,forIalwaysrememberthem.Ihopeitmaybetakenintoaccountoneday,whenalldaysareatanendforme!Don'tbealarmed;Iamnotgoingtopreach.""Iamnotatall alarmed.Earnestness inyou, isanythingbutalarming tome.""Ah!"saidCarton,withacarelesswaveofhishand,as ifhewaved thataway. "On thedrunkenoccasion inquestion (oneof a largenumber, as youknow), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I wish youwouldforgetit.""Iforgotitlongago.""Fashionofspeechagain!But,Mr.Darnay,oblivionisnotsoeasytome,asyourepresent it tobe toyou.Ihavebynomeansforgotten it,anda lightanswerdoesnothelpmetoforgetit.""Ifitwasalightanswer,"returnedDarnay,"Ibegyourforgivenessforit.Ihadnootherobjectthantoturnaslightthing,which,tomysurprise,seemsto

troubleyoutoomuch,aside.Ideclaretoyou,onthefaithofagentleman,thatI have long dismissed it from my mind. Good Heaven, what was there todismiss!HaveIhadnothingmoreimportanttoremember,inthegreatserviceyourenderedmethatday?""Astothegreatservice,"saidCarton,"Iamboundtoavowtoyou,whenyouspeakofitinthatway,thatitwasmereprofessionalclaptrap,Idon'tknowthat I caredwhat became of you,when I rendered it.—Mind! I saywhen Irenderedit;Iamspeakingofthepast.""Youmakelightoftheobligation,"returnedDarnay,"butIwillnotquarrelwithyourlightanswer.""Genuinetruth,Mr.Darnay,trustme!Ihavegoneasidefrommypurpose;Iwasspeakingaboutourbeingfriends.Now,youknowme;youknowIamincapable of all the higher and better flights of men. If you doubt it, askStryver,andhe'lltellyouso.""Iprefertoformmyownopinion,withouttheaidofhis.""Well!Atanyrateyouknowmeasadissolutedog,whohasneverdoneanygood,andneverwill.""Idon'tknowthatyou'neverwill.'""ButIdo,andyoumusttakemywordforit.Well!Ifyoucouldenduretohave such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferent reputation,comingandgoingatoddtimes,IshouldaskthatImightbepermittedtocomeandgoasaprivilegedpersonhere;thatImightberegardedasanuseless(andIwouldadd,ifitwerenotfortheresemblanceIdetectedbetweenyouandme,anunornamental)pieceoffurniture,toleratedforitsoldservice,andtakennonoticeof.IdoubtifIshouldabusethepermission.ItisahundredtooneifIshouldavailmyselfofitfourtimesinayear.Itwouldsatisfyme,Idaresay,toknowthatIhadit.""Willyoutry?""That is another way of saying that I am placed on the footing I haveindicated.Ithankyou,Darnay.Imayusethatfreedomwithyourname?""Ithinkso,Carton,bythistime."They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. Within a minuteafterwards,hewas,toalloutwardappearance,asunsubstantialasever.When he was gone, and in the course of an evening passed withMissPross,theDoctor,andMr.Lorry,CharlesDarnaymadesomementionofthisconversation in general terms, and spokeofSydneyCarton as a problemofcarelessness and recklessness. He spoke of him, in short, not bitterly ormeaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybodymightwho saw him as heshowedhimself.Hehadnoideathatthiscoulddwellinthethoughtsofhisfairyoungwife;

but,whenheafterwardsjoinedherintheirownrooms,hefoundherwaitingforhimwiththeoldprettyliftingoftheforeheadstronglymarked."Wearethoughtfulto-night!"saidDarnay,drawinghisarmabouther."Yes,dearestCharles,"withherhandsonhisbreast,andtheinquiringandattentiveexpressionfixeduponhim;"weareratherthoughtfulto-night,forwehavesomethingonourmindto-night.""Whatisit,myLucie?""Willyoupromisenottopressonequestiononme,ifIbegyounottoaskit?""WillIpromise?WhatwillInotpromisetomyLove?"What,indeed,withhishandputtingasidethegoldenhairfromthecheek,andhisotherhandagainsttheheartthatbeatforhim!"Ithink,Charles,poorMr.Cartondeservesmoreconsiderationandrespectthanyouexpressedforhimto-night.""Indeed,myown?Whyso?""Thatiswhatyouarenottoaskme.ButIthink—Iknow—hedoes.""Ifyouknowit,itisenough.Whatwouldyouhavemedo,myLife?""Iwouldaskyou,dearest,tobeverygenerouswithhimalways,andverylenientonhisfaultswhenheisnotby.Iwouldaskyoutobelievethathehasahearthevery,veryseldomreveals,andthat therearedeepwoundsin it.Mydear,Ihaveseenitbleeding.""It is a painful reflection tome," said Charles Darnay, quite astounded,"thatIshouldhavedonehimanywrong.Ineverthoughtthisofhim.""Myhusband,itisso.Ifearheisnottobereclaimed;thereisscarcelyahopethatanythinginhischaracterorfortunesisreparablenow.But,Iamsurethatheiscapableofgoodthings,gentlethings,evenmagnanimousthings."Shelookedsobeautifulinthepurityofherfaithinthislostman,thatherhusbandcouldhavelookedatherasshewasforhours."And,OmydearestLove!"sheurged,clingingnearer tohim, layingherheaduponhisbreast,and raisinghereyes tohis, "rememberhowstrongweareinourhappiness,andhowweakheisinhismisery!"The supplication touched him home. "I will always remember it, dearHeart!IwillrememberitaslongasIlive."Hebentoverthegoldenhead,andputtherosylipstohis,andfoldedherinhis arms. If one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets, could haveheard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the drops of pity kissedaway by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of that husband, hemighthavecriedtothenight—andthewordswouldnothavepartedfromhis

lipsforthefirsttime—"Godblessherforhersweetcompassion!"

EchoingFootsteps

Awonderfulcornerforechoes,ithasbeenremarked,thatcornerwheretheDoctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden thread which bound herhusband,andherfather,andherself,andherolddirectressandcompanion,ina life of quiet bliss,Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resoundingcorner,listeningtotheechoingfootstepsofyears.At first, therewere times, thoughshewasaperfectlyhappyyoungwife,when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would bedimmed.For,therewassomethingcomingintheechoes,somethinglight,afaroff,andscarcelyaudibleyet,thatstirredherhearttoomuch.Flutteringhopesanddoubts—hopes,ofaloveasyetunknowntoher:doubts,ofherremaininguponearth,toenjoythatnewdelight—dividedherbreast.Amongtheechoesthen, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; andthoughtsofthehusbandwhowouldbeleftsodesolate,andwhowouldmournforhersomuch,swelledtohereyes,andbrokelikewaves.Thattimepassed,andherlittleLucielayonherbosom.Then,amongtheadvancing echoes, therewas the tread of her tiny feet and the sound of herprattlingwords.Letgreaterechoesresoundastheywould,theyoungmotheratthecradlesidecouldalwayshearthosecoming.Theycame,andtheshadyhousewas sunnywith a child's laugh, and theDivine friend of children, towhom in her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take her child in hisarms,asHetookthechildofold,andmadeitasacredjoytoher.Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together,weavingtheserviceofherhappyinfluencethroughthetissueofalltheirlives,andmakingitpredominatenowhere,Lucieheardintheechoesofyearsnonebut friendly and soothing sounds. Her husband's step was strong andprosperous among them; her father's firm and equal. Lo, Miss Pross, inharnessofstring,awakeningtheechoes,asanunrulycharger,whip-corrected,snortingandpawingtheearthundertheplane-treeinthegarden!Evenwhen there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were notharshnorcruel.Evenwhengoldenhair,likeherown,layinahaloonapillowround theworn faceof a littleboy, andhe said,witha radiant smile, "Dearpapaandmamma,Iamverysorrytoleaveyouboth,andtoleavemyprettysister;butIamcalled,andImustgo!"thosewerenottearsallofagonythatwettedhisyoungmother'scheek,asthespiritdepartedfromherembracethathad been entrusted to it. Suffer them and forbid them not. They see my

Father'sface.OFather,blessedwords!Thus,therustlingofanAngel'swingsgotblendedwiththeotherechoes,and theywere not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of Heaven.Sighsofthewindsthatblewoveralittlegarden-tombweremingledwiththemalso,andbothwereaudibletoLucie,inahushedmurmur—likethebreathingof a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore—as the little Lucie, comicallystudiousatthetaskofthemorning,ordressingadollathermother'sfootstool,chatteredinthetonguesoftheTwoCitiesthatwereblendedinherlife.TheEchoes rarely answered to the actual treadofSydneyCarton.Somehalf-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of coming inuninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he had oncedone often. He never came there heated with wine. And one other thingregardinghimwaswhisperedintheechoes,whichhasbeenwhisperedbyalltrueechoesforagesandages.No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with ablamelessthoughanunchangedmind,whenshewasawifeandamother,butherchildrenhadastrangesympathywithhim—aninstinctivedelicacyofpityforhim.Whatfinehiddensensibilitiesaretouchedinsuchacase,noechoestell;butitisso,anditwassohere.CartonwasthefirststrangertowhomlittleLucieheldoutherchubbyarms,andhekepthisplacewithherasshegrew.Thelittleboyhadspokenofhim,almostat the last."PoorCarton!Kisshimforme!"Mr. Stryver shouldered hisway through the law, like some great engineforcingitselfthroughturbidwater,anddraggedhisusefulfriendinhiswake,likeaboattowedastern.Astheboatsofavouredisusuallyinaroughplight,andmostlyunderwater, so,Sydneyhada swamped lifeof it.But,easyandstrong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger in him than anystimulatingsenseofdesertordisgrace,madeitthelifehewastolead;andheno more thought of emerging from his state of lion's jackal, than any realjackalmaybesupposedtothinkofrisingtobealion.Stryverwasrich;hadmarried a florid widow with property and three boys, who had nothingparticularlyshiningaboutthembutthestraighthairoftheirdumplingheads.Thesethreeyounggentlemen,Mr.Stryver,exudingpatronageofthemostoffensivequalityfromeverypore,hadwalkedbeforehimlikethreesheeptothe quiet corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie's husband:delicately saying "Halloa!here are three lumpsofbread-and-cheese towardsyourmatrimonialpicnic,Darnay!"Thepolite rejectionof the three lumpsofbread-and-cheese had quite bloatedMr. Stryver with indignation, which heafterwards turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, bydirectingthemtobewareoftheprideofBeggars,likethattutor-fellow.HewasalsointhehabitofdeclaimingtoMrs.Stryver,overhisfull-bodiedwine,onthe arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to "catch" him, and on thediamond-cut-diamondartsinhimself,madam,whichhadrenderedhim"notto

becaught."SomeofhisKing'sBenchfamiliars,whowereoccasionallypartiestothefull-bodiedwineandthelie,excusedhimforthelatterbysayingthathehad told it so often, that he believed it himself—which is surely such anincorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any suchoffender'sbeingcarriedofftosomesuitablyretiredspot,andtherehangedoutoftheway.These were among the echoes to which Lucie, sometimes pensive,sometimesamusedandlaughing,listenedintheechoingcorner,untilherlittledaughterwas six years old.Hownear to her heart the echoes of her child'stread came, and those of her own dear father's, always active and self-possessed, and those of her dear husband's, need not be told. Nor, how thelightest echoof their unitedhome, directedbyherselfwith such awise andelegantthriftthatitwasmoreabundantthananywaste,wasmusictoher.Nor,howtherewereechoesallabouther,sweetinherears,ofthemanytimesherfather had told her that he found her more devoted to himmarried (if thatcouldbe)thansingle,andofthemanytimesherhusbandhadsaidtoherthatnocaresanddutiesseemedtodivideherloveforhimorherhelptohim,andaskedher"Whatisthemagicsecret,mydarling,ofyourbeingeverythingtoallofus,asiftherewereonlyoneofus,yetneverseemingtobehurried,ortohavetoomuchtodo?"But,therewereotherechoes,fromadistance,thatrumbledmenacinglyinthecornerallthroughthisspaceoftime.Anditwasnow,aboutlittleLucie'ssixthbirthday,thattheybegantohaveanawfulsound,asofagreatstorminFrancewithadreadfulsearising.Onanightinmid-July,onethousandsevenhundredandeighty-nine,Mr.Lorry came in late, fromTellson's, and sat himself down by Lucie and herhusbandinthedarkwindow.Itwasahot,wildnight,andtheywereallthreeremindedoftheoldSundaynightwhentheyhadlookedatthelightningfromthesameplace."I began to think," saidMr. Lorry, pushing his brownwig back, "that IshouldhavetopassthenightatTellson's.Wehavebeensofullofbusinessallday,thatwehavenotknownwhattodofirst,orwhichwaytoturn.ThereissuchanuneasinessinParis,thatwehaveactuallyarunofconfidenceuponus!Ourcustomersoverthere,seemnottobeabletoconfidetheirpropertytousfastenough.ThereispositivelyamaniaamongsomeofthemforsendingittoEngland.""Thathasabadlook,"saidDarnay—"A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don't know whatreasonthere is in it.Peoplearesounreasonable!SomeofusatTellson'saregettingold,andwereallycan'tbetroubledoutoftheordinarycoursewithoutdueoccasion.""Still,"saidDarnay,"youknowhowgloomyandthreateningtheskyis."

"Iknow that, tobe sure,"assentedMr.Lorry, trying topersuadehimselfthathissweettemperwassoured,andthathegrumbled,"butIamdeterminedtobepeevishaftermylongday'sbotheration.WhereisManette?""Hereheis,"saidtheDoctor,enteringthedarkroomatthemoment."I am quite glad you are at home; for these hurries and forebodings bywhich I have been surrounded all day long, havemademenervouswithoutreason.Youarenotgoingout,Ihope?""No; I am going to play backgammon with you, if you like," said theDoctor."Idon't thinkIdolike,ifImayspeakmymind.Iamnotfit tobepittedagainstyouto-night.Istheteaboardstillthere,Lucie?Ican'tsee.""Ofcourse,ithasbeenkeptforyou.""Thankye,mydear.Thepreciouschildissafeinbed?""Andsleepingsoundly.""That's right; all safe and well! I don't know why anything should beotherwise thansafeandwellhere, thankGod;but Ihavebeensoputoutallday,andIamnotasyoungasIwas!Mytea,mydear!Thankye.Now,comeandtakeyourplaceinthecircle,andletussitquiet,andheartheechoesaboutwhichyouhaveyourtheory.""Notatheory;itwasafancy.""Afancy,then,mywisepet,"saidMr.Lorry,pattingherhand."Theyareverynumerousandveryloud,though,aretheynot?Onlyhearthem!"Headlong,mad,anddangerousfootstepstoforcetheirwayintoanybody'slife, footsteps not easilymade clean again if once stained red, the footstepsraging in Saint Antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in the dark Londonwindow.SaintAntoine had been, thatmorning, a vast duskymass of scarecrowsheaving to and fro, with frequent gleams of light above the billowy heads,where steel blades and bayonets shone in the sun.A tremendous roar arosefromthethroatofSaintAntoine,andaforestofnakedarmsstruggledintheair like shrivelled branches of trees in a winter wind: all the fingersconvulsively clutching at everyweapon or semblance of aweapon thatwasthrownupfromthedepthsbelow,nomatterhowfaroff.Who gave them out,whence they last came,where they began, throughwhat agency they crookedly quivered and jerked, scores at a time, over theheadsofthecrowd,likeakindoflightning,noeyeinthethrongcouldhavetold; but, muskets were being distributed—so were cartridges, powder, andball,barsofironandwood,knives,axes,pikes,everyweaponthatdistractedingenuitycoulddiscoverordevise.Peoplewhocouldlayholdofnothingelse,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-feverstrain and at high-fever heat. Every living creature there held life as of noaccount,andwasdementedwithapassionatereadinesstosacrificeit.As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centre point, so, all this ragingcircledroundDefarge'swine-shop,andeveryhumandropinthecaldronhadatendency to be sucked towards the vortex where Defarge himself, alreadybegrimedwith gunpowder and sweat, issued orders, issued arms, thrust thismanback,draggedthismanforward,disarmedonetoarmanother, labouredandstroveinthethickestoftheuproar."Keep near tome, JacquesThree," criedDefarge; "and do you, JacquesOne and Two, separate and put yourselves at the head of asmany of thesepatriotsasyoucan.Whereismywife?""Eh, well! Here you seeme!" saidmadame, composed as ever, but notknitting to-day.Madame's resolute right handwas occupiedwith an axe, inplaceoftheusualsofterimplements,andinhergirdlewereapistolandacruelknife."Wheredoyougo,mywife?""Igo,"saidmadame,"withyouatpresent.Youshallseemeattheheadofwomen,by-and-bye.""Come,then!"criedDefarge,inaresoundingvoice."Patriotsandfriends,weareready!TheBastille!"WitharoarthatsoundedasifallthebreathinFrancehadbeenshapedintothe detested word, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on depth, andoverflowedthecitytothatpoint.Alarm-bellsringing,drumsbeating,thesearagingandthunderingonitsnewbeach,theattackbegan.Deepditches,doubledrawbridge,massivestonewalls,eightgreattowers,cannon,muskets,fireandsmoke.Throughthefireandthroughthesmoke—inthefireandinthesmoke,fortheseacasthimupagainstacannon,andontheinstant he became a cannonier—Defarge of the wine-shop worked like amanfulsoldier,Twofiercehours.Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers,cannon,muskets,fireandsmoke.Onedrawbridgedown!"Work,comradesall,work!Work,JacquesOne,JacquesTwo,JacquesOneThousand,JacquesTwoThousand,JacquesFive-and-TwentyThousand;inthenameofalltheAngelsortheDevils—whichyouprefer—work!"ThusDefargeofthewine-shop,stillathisgun,whichhadlonggrownhot."Tome,women!"criedmadamehiswife."What!Wecankillaswellasthemenwhentheplaceistaken!"Andtoher,withashrillthirstycry,troopingwomenvariouslyarmed,butallarmedalikeinhungerandrevenge.Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, still the deep ditch, the singledrawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers. Slight

displacements of the raging sea, made by the falling wounded. Flashingweapons, blazing torches, smokingwaggonloads ofwet straw, hardwork atneighbouringbarricadesinalldirections,shrieks,volleys,execrations,braverywithout stint, boom smash and rattle, and the furious soundingof the livingsea;but,stillthedeepditch,andthesingledrawbridge,andthemassivestonewalls,andtheeightgreattowers,andstillDefargeofthewine-shopathisgun,growndoublyhotbytheserviceofFourfiercehours.Awhiteflagfromwithinthefortress,andaparley—thisdimlyperceptiblethrough the raging storm, nothing audible in it—suddenly the sea roseimmeasurablywiderandhigher,andsweptDefargeofthewine-shopoverthelowered drawbridge, past themassive stone outerwalls, in among the eightgreattowerssurrendered!Soresistlesswastheforceoftheoceanbearinghimon,thateventodrawhisbreathorturnhisheadwasasimpracticableasifhehadbeenstrugglinginthe surf at the South Sea, until hewas landed in the outer courtyard of theBastille.There,againstanangleofawall,hemadeastruggle to lookabouthim. Jacques Three was nearly at his side; Madame Defarge, still headingsomeofherwomen,wasvisibleintheinnerdistance,andherknifewasinherhand. Everywhere was tumult, exultation, deafening and maniacalbewilderment,astoundingnoise,yetfuriousdumb-show."ThePrisoners!""TheRecords!""Thesecretcells!""Theinstrumentsoftorture!""ThePrisoners!"Ofallthesecries,andtenthousandincoherences,"ThePrisoners!"wasthecrymost taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if therewere an eternity ofpeople,aswellasof timeandspace.Whentheforemostbillowsrolledpast,bearing the prison officerswith them, and threatening them allwith instantdeathifanysecretnookremainedundisclosed,Defargelaidhisstronghandonthebreastofoneof thesemen—amanwithagreyhead,whohada lightedtorchinhishand—separatedhimfromtherest,andgothimbetweenhimselfandthewall."ShowmetheNorthTower!"saidDefarge."Quick!""Iwillfaithfully,"repliedtheman,"ifyouwillcomewithme.Butthereisnoonethere.""What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North Tower?" askedDefarge."Quick!""Themeaning,monsieur?""Does itmean a captive, or a placeof captivity?Ordoyoumean that I

shallstrikeyoudead?""Killhim!"croakedJacquesThree,whohadcomecloseup."Monsieur,itisacell.""Showitme!""Passthisway,then."JacquesThree,withhisusualcravingonhim,andevidentlydisappointedbythedialoguetakingaturnthatdidnotseemtopromisebloodshed,heldbyDefarge's armasheheldby the turnkey's.Their threeheadshadbeen closetogetherduringthisbriefdiscourse,andithadbeenasmuchastheycoulddoto hear one another, even then: so tremendous was the noise of the livingocean, in its irruption into theFortress, and its inundation of the courts andpassagesandstaircases.Allaroundoutside,too,itbeatthewallswithadeep,hoarseroar,fromwhich,occasionally,somepartialshoutsoftumultbrokeandleapedintotheairlikespray.Through gloomy vaults where the light of day had never shone, pasthideous doors of dark dens and cages, down cavernous flights of steps, andagainupsteepruggedascentsofstoneandbrick,morelikedrywaterfallsthanstaircases,Defarge,theturnkey,andJacquesThree,linkedhandandarm,wentwith all the speed they could make. Here and there, especially at first, theinundationstartedonthemandsweptby;butwhentheyhaddonedescending,andwerewindingandclimbingupatower,theywerealone.Hemmedinherebythemassivethicknessofwallsandarches,thestormwithinthefortressandwithoutwasonlyaudibletotheminadull,subduedway,asifthenoiseoutofwhichtheyhadcomehadalmostdestroyedtheirsenseofhearing.Theturnkeystoppedatalowdoor,putakeyinaclashinglock,swungthedoorslowlyopen,andsaid,astheyallbenttheirheadsandpassedin:"Onehundredandfive,NorthTower!"Therewasasmall,heavily-grated,unglazedwindowhighinthewall,withastonescreenbeforeit,sothattheskycouldbeonlyseenbystoopinglowandlooking up. There was a small chimney, heavily barred across, a few feetwithin.Therewasaheapofoldfeatherywood-ashesonthehearth.Therewasastool,andtable,andastrawbed.Therewerethefourblackenedwalls,andarustedironringinoneofthem."Pass that torch slowly along these walls, that I may see them," saidDefargetotheturnkey.Themanobeyed,andDefargefollowedthelightcloselywithhiseyes."Stop!—Lookhere,Jacques!""A.M.!"croakedJacquesThree,ashereadgreedily."AlexandreManette,"saidDefargeinhisear,followingtheletterswithhis

swart forefinger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. "And here he wrote 'apoor physician.'And itwas he,without doubt,who scratched a calendar onthisstone.Whatisthatinyourhand?Acrowbar?Giveitme!"Hehad still the linstockof his gun inhis ownhand.Hemade a suddenexchange of the two instruments, and turning on the worm-eaten stool andtable,beatthemtopiecesinafewblows."Holdthelighthigher!"hesaid,wrathfully, totheturnkey."Lookamongthosefragmentswithcare,Jacques.Andsee!Hereismyknife,"throwingittohim;"ripopenthatbed,andsearchthestraw.Holdthelighthigher,you!"With a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon the hearth, and,peeringup the chimney, struckandprised at its sideswith the crowbar, andworkedat the irongratingacross it. Inafewminutes,somemortaranddustcamedroppingdown,whichheavertedhisfacetoavoid;andinit,andintheoldwood-ashes,and inacrevice in thechimney intowhichhisweaponhadslippedorwroughtitself,hegropedwithacautioustouch."Nothinginthewood,andnothinginthestraw,Jacques?""Nothing.""Let us collect them together, in themiddle of the cell. So!Light them,you!"Theturnkeyfiredthelittlepile,whichblazedhighandhot.Stoopingagaintocomeoutatthelow-archeddoor,theyleftitburning,andretracedtheirwaytothecourtyard;seemingtorecovertheirsenseofhearingastheycamedown,untiltheywereintheragingfloodoncemore.They found it surging and tossing, in quest of Defarge himself. SaintAntoinewas clamorous to have itswine-shop keeper foremost in the guardupon the governor who had defended the Bastille and shot the people.Otherwise, the governor would not be marched to the Hotel de Ville forjudgment. Otherwise, the governor would escape, and the people's blood(suddenlyofsomevalue,aftermanyyearsofworthlessness)beunavenged.In the howling universe of passion and contention that seemed toencompass this grim old officer conspicuous in his grey coat and reddecoration, there was but one quite steady figure, and that was a woman's."See, there ismyhusband!"shecried,pointinghimout."SeeDefarge!"Shestoodimmovableclosetothegrimoldofficer,andremainedimmovableclosetohim;remainedimmovableclosetohimthroughthestreets,asDefargeandtherestborehimalong; remained immovableclose tohimwhenhewasgotnear his destination, and began to be struck at from behind; remainedimmovableclosetohimwhenthelong-gatheringrainofstabsandblowsfellheavy; was so close to himwhen he dropped dead under it, that, suddenlyanimated,sheputherfootuponhisneck,andwithhercruelknife—longready—hewedoffhishead.

Thehourwascome,whenSaintAntoinewastoexecutehishorribleideaofhoistingupmenforlampstoshowwhathecouldbeanddo.SaintAntoine'sbloodwasup,andthebloodoftyrannyanddominationbytheironhandwasdown—downonthestepsoftheHoteldeVillewherethegovernor'sbodylay—downonthesoleoftheshoeofMadameDefargewhereshehadtroddenonthe body to steady it for mutilation. "Lower the lamp yonder!" cried SaintAntoine, after glaring round for a newmeans of death; "here is one of hissoldiers tobe leftonguard!"Theswingingsentinelwasposted, and the searushedon.Theseaofblackandthreateningwaters,andofdestructiveupheavingofwaveagainstwave,whosedepthswereyetunfathomedandwhoseforceswereyet unknown. The remorseless sea of turbulently swaying shapes, voices ofvengeance,andfaceshardenedinthefurnacesofsufferinguntil thetouchofpitycouldmakenomarkonthem.But,intheoceanoffaceswhereeveryfierceandfuriousexpressionwasinvividlife,thereweretwogroupsoffaces—eachseveninnumber—sofixedlycontrastingwiththerest, thatneverdidsearollwhichboremorememorablewreckswithit.Sevenfacesofprisoners,suddenlyreleasedbythestormthathad burst their tomb, were carried high overhead: all scared, all lost, allwonderingandamazed,asiftheLastDaywerecome,andthosewhorejoicedaround themwere lost spirits. Other seven faces therewere, carried higher,sevendeadfaces,whosedroopingeyelidsandhalf-seeneyesawaitedtheLastDay.Impassivefaces,yetwithasuspended—notanabolished—expressiononthem;faces,rather,inafearfulpause,ashavingyettoraisethedroppedlidsoftheeyes,andbearwitnesswiththebloodlesslips,"THOUDIDSTIT!"Seven prisoners released, seven gory heads on pikes, the keys of theaccursedfortressoftheeightstrongtowers,somediscoveredlettersandothermemorials of prisoners of old time, long dead of broken hearts,—such, andsuch—like, the loudlyechoing footstepsofSaintAntoineescort through theParis streets inmid-July,one thousandsevenhundredandeighty-nine.Now,Heavendefeat the fancyofLucieDarnay,andkeep these feet faroutofherlife!For,theyareheadlong,mad,anddangerous;andintheyearssolongafterthe breaking of the cask at Defarge's wine-shop door, they are not easilypurifiedwhenoncestainedred.

TheSeaStillRises

HaggardSaintAntoinehadhadonlyoneexultantweek,inwhichtosoftenhismodicumofhardandbitterbreadtosuchextentashecould,withtherelishof fraternal embraces and congratulations,whenMadameDefarge sat at hercounter,asusual,presidingoverthecustomers.MadameDefargeworenorose

inherhead,forthegreatbrotherhoodofSpieshadbecome,eveninoneshortweek,extremelycharyoftrustingthemselvestothesaint'smercies.Thelampsacrosshisstreetshadaportentouslyelasticswingwiththem.MadameDefarge,withherarmsfolded,satinthemorninglightandheat,contemplatingthewine-shopandthestreet.Inboth,therewereseveralknotsof loungers, squalid andmiserable, butnowwith amanifest senseofpowerenthronedontheirdistress.Theraggedestnightcap,awryon thewretchedesthead,hadthiscrookedsignificancein it:"Iknowhowhardithasgrownforme,thewearerofthis,tosupportlifeinmyself;butdoyouknowhoweasyithasgrownforme,thewearerofthis,todestroylifeinyou?"Everyleanbarearm, that had beenwithout work before, had this work always ready for itnow,thatitcouldstrike.Thefingersoftheknittingwomenwerevicious,withtheexperiencethat theycouldtear.TherewasachangeintheappearanceofSaintAntoine;theimagehadbeenhammeringintothisforhundredsofyears,andthelastfinishingblowshadtoldmightilyontheexpression.MadameDefargesatobservingit,withsuchsuppressedapprovalaswastobedesired in the leader of theSaintAntoinewomen.Oneof her sisterhoodknittedbesideher.The short, ratherplumpwifeofa starvedgrocer, and themother of two children withal, this lieutenant had already earned thecomplimentarynameofTheVengeance."Hark!"saidTheVengeance."Listen,then!Whocomes?"As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of SaintAntoineQuarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreadingmurmurcamerushingalong."ItisDefarge,"saidmadame."Silence,patriots!"Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and lookedaround him! "Listen, everywhere!" said madame again. "Listen to him!"Defargestood,panting,againstabackgroundofeagereyesandopenmouths,formed outside the door; all thosewithin thewine-shop had sprung to theirfeet."Saythen,myhusband.Whatisit?""Newsfromtheotherworld!""How,then?"criedmadame,contemptuously."Theotherworld?""DoeseverybodyhererecalloldFoulon,whotoldthefamishedpeoplethattheymighteatgrass,andwhodied,andwenttoHell?""Everybody!"fromallthroats."Thenewsisofhim.Heisamongus!""Amongus!"fromtheuniversalthroatagain."Anddead?""Not dead! He feared us so much—and with reason—that he caused

himself to be represented as dead, and had a grandmock-funeral. But theyhavefoundhimalive,hidinginthecountry,andhavebroughthimin.Ihaveseenhimbutnow,onhiswaytotheHoteldeVille,aprisoner.Ihavesaidthathehadreasontofearus.Sayall!Hadhereason?"Wretchedoldsinnerofmorethanthreescoreyearsandten,ifhehadneverknownityet,hewouldhaveknownit inhisheartofheartsifhecouldhaveheardtheansweringcry.A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife lookedsteadfastlyatoneanother.TheVengeancestooped,andthejarofadrumwasheardasshemoveditatherfeetbehindthecounter."Patriots!"saidDefarge,inadeterminedvoice,"areweready?"InstantlyMadameDefarge'sknifewasinhergirdle;thedrumwasbeatingin the streets, as if it andadrummerhad flown togetherbymagic; andTheVengeance,utteringterrificshrieks,andflingingherarmsaboutherheadlikeall the forty Furies at once, was tearing from house to house, rousing thewomen.Themenwereterrible,inthebloody-mindedangerwithwhichtheylookedfromwindows,caughtupwhatarms theyhad,andcamepouringdown intothe streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the boldest. From suchhouseholdoccupationsastheirbarepovertyyielded,fromtheirchildren,fromtheir aged and their sick crouchingon thebareground famishedandnaked,they ran out with streaming hair, urging one another, and themselves, tomadnesswith thewildest cries and actions.VillainFoulon taken,my sister!OldFoulontaken,mymother!MiscreantFoulontaken,mydaughter!Then,ascoreofothersranintothemidstofthese,beatingtheirbreasts, tearingtheirhair, andscreaming,Foulonalive!Foulonwho told thestarvingpeople theymighteatgrass!Foulonwhotoldmyoldfatherthathemighteatgrass,whenIhadnobreadtogivehim!Foulonwhotoldmybabyitmightsuckgrass,whenthesebreastsweredrywithwant!OmotherofGod, thisFoulon!OHeavenoursuffering!Hearme,mydeadbabyandmywitheredfather:Iswearonmyknees,onthesestones,toavengeyouonFoulon!Husbands,andbrothers,andyoungmen,GiveusthebloodofFoulon,GiveustheheadofFoulon,Giveusthe heart of Foulon,Give us the body and soul of Foulon, Rend Foulon topieces,anddighimintotheground,thatgrassmaygrowfromhim!Withthesecries,numbersofthewomen,lashedintoblindfrenzy,whirledabout,strikingand tearing at their own friendsuntil theydropped into apassionate swoon,andwereonlysavedbythemenbelongingtothemfrombeingtrampledunderfoot.Nevertheless,notamomentwas lost;notamoment!ThisFoulonwasattheHoteldeVille,andmightbeloosed.Never,ifSaintAntoineknewhisownsufferings, insults, and wrongs! Armedmen and women flocked out of theQuartersofast,anddreweventheselastdregsafterthemwithsuchaforceof

suction, thatwithin a quarter of an hour therewas not a human creature inSaintAntoine'sbosombutafewoldcronesandthewailingchildren.No.TheywereallbythattimechokingtheHallofExaminationwherethisoldman,uglyandwicked,was,andoverflowingintotheadjacentopenspaceand streets. The Defarges, husband and wife, The Vengeance, and JacquesThree,wereinthefirstpress,andatnogreatdistancefromhimintheHall."See!"criedmadame,pointingwithherknife."Seetheoldvillainboundwithropes.Thatwaswelldonetotieabunchofgrassuponhisback.Ha,ha!Thatwaswelldone.Lethimeatitnow!"Madameputherknifeunderherarm,andclappedherhandsasataplay.ThepeopleimmediatelybehindMadameDefarge,explainingthecauseofhersatisfactiontothosebehindthem,andthoseagainexplainingtoothers,andthosetoothers,theneighbouringstreetsresoundedwiththeclappingofhands.Similarly, during two or three hours of drawl, and the winnowing ofmanybushelsofwords,MadameDefarge'sfrequentexpressionsofimpatienceweretakenup,withmarvellousquickness,atadistance:themorereadily,becausecertainmenwho had by somewonderful exercise of agility climbed up theexternal architecture to look in from the windows, knewMadame Defargewell,andactedasatelegraphbetweenherandthecrowdoutsidethebuilding.At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope orprotection, directly down upon the old prisoner's head. The favour was toomuch to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had stoodsurprisinglylong,wenttothewinds,andSaintAntoinehadgothim!Itwasknowndirectly, tothefurthestconfinesofthecrowd.Defargehadbut sprung over a railing and a table, and folded themiserablewretch in adeadlyembrace—MadameDefargehadbut followedand turnedherhand inoneoftheropeswithwhichhewastied—TheVengeanceandJacquesThreewerenotyetupwiththem,andthemenatthewindowshadnotyetswoopedintotheHall,likebirdsofpreyfromtheirhighperches—whenthecryseemedtogoup,alloverthecity,"Bringhimout!Bringhimtothelamp!"Down,andup,andheadforemostonthestepsofthebuilding;now,onhisknees;now,onhisfeet;now,onhisback;dragged,andstruckat,andstifledbythebunchesofgrassandstrawthatwerethrustintohisfacebyhundredsofhands; torn,bruised,panting,bleeding,yetalwaysentreatingandbeseechingformercy; now full of vehement agony of action, with a small clear spaceabouthimasthepeopledrewoneanotherbackthattheymightsee;now,alogof deadwood drawn through a forest of legs; hewas hauled to the neareststreetcornerwhereoneofthefatallampsswung,andthereMadameDefargelet him go—as a cat might have done to a mouse—and silently andcomposedlylookedathimwhiletheymadeready,andwhilehebesoughther:thewomenpassionately screeching at him all the time, and themen sternlycallingouttohavehimkilledwithgrassinhismouth.Once,hewentaloft,and

the ropebroke,and theycaughthimshrieking; twice,hewentaloft,and theropebroke,and theycaughthimshrieking; then, the ropewasmerciful, andheldhim,andhisheadwassoonuponapike,withgrassenoughinthemouthforallSaintAntoinetodanceatthesightof.Norwasthistheendoftheday'sbadwork,forSaintAntoinesoshoutedanddancedhisangrybloodup,thatitboiledagain,onhearingwhenthedayclosed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the people'senemies and insulters, was coming into Paris under a guard five hundredstrong, incavalryalone.SaintAntoinewrotehiscrimeson flaring sheetsofpaper,seizedhim—wouldhavetornhimoutofthebreastofanarmytobearFouloncompany—sethisheadandheartonpikes,andcarriedthethreespoilsoftheday,inWolf-processionthroughthestreets.Notbeforedarknightdidthemenandwomencomebacktothechildren,wailingandbreadless.Then, themiserablebakers' shopswerebesetby longfilesofthem,patientlywaitingtobuybadbread;andwhiletheywaitedwithstomachsfaintandempty,theybeguiledthetimebyembracingoneanotheronthetriumphsoftheday,andachievingthemagainingossip.Gradually,thesestrings of ragged people shortened and frayed away; and then poor lightsbegantoshineinhighwindows,andslenderfiresweremadeinthestreets,atwhichneighbourscookedincommon,afterwardssuppingattheirdoors.Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent ofmeat, as ofmostother sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused somenourishmentintotheflintyviands,andstrucksomesparksofcheerfulnessoutofthem.Fathersandmotherswhohadhadtheirfullshareintheworstoftheday,playedgentlywith theirmeagrechildren;and lovers,withsuchaworldaroundthemandbeforethem,lovedandhoped.Itwasalmostmorning,whenDefarge'swine-shoppartedwithitslastknotofcustomers,andMonsieurDefargesaidtomadamehiswife,inhuskytones,whilefasteningthedoor:"Atlastitiscome,mydear!""Ehwell!"returnedmadame."Almost."SaintAntoineslept,theDefargesslept:evenTheVengeancesleptwithherstarved grocer, and the drumwas at rest. The drum'swas the only voice inSaint Antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. The Vengeance, ascustodianofthedrum,couldhavewakenedhimupandhadthesamespeechoutofhimasbeforetheBastillefell,oroldFoulonwasseized;notsowiththehoarsetonesofthemenandwomeninSaintAntoine'sbosom.

FireRises

Therewasachangeonthevillagewherethefountainfell,andwherethemenderofroadswentforthdailytohammeroutofthestonesonthehighwaysuchmorselsofbreadasmightserveforpatchestoholdhispoorignorantsouland his poor reduced body together. The prison on the crag was not sodominantasofyore;thereweresoldierstoguardit,butnotmany;therewereofficerstoguardthesoldiers,butnotoneofthemknewwhathismenwoulddo—beyondthis:thatitwouldprobablynotbewhathewasordered.Farandwidelayaruinedcountry,yieldingnothingbutdesolation.Everygreenleaf,everybladeofgrassandbladeofgrain,wasasshrivelledandpooras themiserable people. Everything was bowed down, dejected, oppressed,andbroken.Habitations,fences,domesticatedanimals,men,women,children,andthesoilthatborethem—allwornout.Monseigneur (often amostworthy individual gentleman)was a nationalblessing,gaveachivalroustoneto things,wasapoliteexampleof luxuriousand shining life, and a great deal more to equal purpose; nevertheless,Monseigneurasaclasshad,somehoworother,broughtthingstothis.StrangethatCreation,designedexpresslyforMonseigneur,shouldbesosoonwrungdry and squeezed out!Theremust be something short-sighted in the eternalarrangements,surely!Thusitwas,however;andthelastdropofbloodhavingbeen extracted from the flints, and the last screw of the rack having beenturnedsooftenthatitspurchasecrumbled,anditnowturnedandturnedwithnothing tobite,Monseigneurbegantorunawayfromaphenomenonso lowandunaccountable.But,thiswasnotthechangeonthevillage,andonmanyavillagelikeit.Forscoresofyearsgoneby,Monseigneurhadsqueezeditandwrungit,andhadseldomgraceditwithhispresenceexceptforthepleasuresofthechase—now,foundinhuntingthepeople;now,foundinhuntingthebeasts,forwhosepreservation Monseigneur made edifying spaces of barbarous and barrenwilderness.No. The change consisted in the appearance of strange faces oflow caste, rather than in the disappearance of the high caste, chiselled, andotherwisebeautifiedandbeautifyingfeaturesofMonseigneur.For,inthesetimes,asthemenderofroadsworked,solitary,inthedust,notoftentroublinghimselftoreflectthatdusthewasandtodusthemustreturn,being for themostpart toomuchoccupied in thinkinghow littlehehad forsupperandhowmuchmorehewouldeat ifhehad it—in these times,asheraisedhiseyesfromhislonelylabour,andviewedtheprospect,hewouldseesomeroughfigureapproachingonfoot,thelikeofwhichwasonceararityinthoseparts,butwasnowafrequentpresence.Asitadvanced, themenderofroads would discern without surprise, that it was a shaggy-haired man, ofalmost barbarian aspect, tall, inwooden shoes thatwere clumsy even to theeyesofamenderofroads,grim,rough,swart,steepedinthemudanddustofmany highways, dank with the marshy moisture of many low grounds,sprinkled with the thorns and leaves and moss of many byways through

woods.Suchamancameuponhim,likeaghost,atnoonintheJulyweather,ashesatonhisheapofstonesunderabank,takingsuchshelterashecouldgetfromashowerofhail.Themanlookedathim,lookedatthevillageinthehollow,atthemill,andat the prison on the crag. When he had identified these objects in whatbenightedmindhehad,hesaid,inadialectthatwasjustintelligible:"Howgoesit,Jacques?""Allwell,Jacques.""Touchthen!"Theyjoinedhands,andthemansatdownontheheapofstones."Nodinner?""Nothingbutsuppernow,"saidthemenderofroads,withahungryface."Itisthefashion,"growledtheman."Imeetnodinneranywhere."Hetookoutablackenedpipe,filledit,lighteditwithflintandsteel,pulledatituntilitwasinabrightglow:then,suddenlyhelditfromhimanddroppedsomethingintoitfrombetweenhisfingerandthumb,thatblazedandwentoutinapuffofsmoke."Touch then." Itwas the turnof themenderof roads to say it this time,afterobservingtheseoperations.Theyagainjoinedhands."To-night?"saidthemenderofroads."To-night,"saidtheman,puttingthepipeinhismouth."Where?""Here."Heand themenderof roadssaton theheapof stones lookingsilentlyatone another, with the hail driving in between them like a pigmy charge ofbayonets,untiltheskybegantoclearoverthevillage."Showme!"saidthetravellerthen,movingtothebrowofthehill."See!"returnedthemenderofroads,withextendedfinger."Yougodownhere,andstraightthroughthestreet,andpastthefountain—""TotheDevilwithallthat!"interruptedtheother,rollinghiseyeoverthelandscape."Igothroughnostreetsandpastnofountains.Well?""Well! About two leagues beyond the summit of that hill above thevillage.""Good.Whendoyouceasetowork?""Atsunset."

"Willyouwakeme,beforedeparting? Ihavewalked twonightswithoutresting.Letmefinishmypipe,andIshallsleep likeachild.Willyouwakeme?""Surely."Thewayfarersmokedhispipeout,putitinhisbreast,slippedoffhisgreatwoodenshoes,andlaydownonhisbackontheheapofstones.Hewasfastasleepdirectly.As the road-mender plied his dusty labour, and the hail-clouds, rollingaway, revealed bright bars and streaks of sky which were responded to bysilvergleamsuponthelandscape,thelittleman(whoworearedcapnow,inplaceofhisblueone)seemedfascinatedbythefigureontheheapofstones.Hiseyesweresooftenturnedtowardsit,thatheusedhistoolsmechanically,and,onewouldhavesaid,toverypooraccount.Thebronzeface,theshaggyblackhairandbeard, thecoarsewoollen redcap, the roughmedleydressofhome-spunstuffandhairy skinsofbeasts, thepowerful frameattenuatedbyspare living, and the sullen and desperate compression of the lips in sleep,inspiredthemenderofroadswithawe.Thetravellerhadtravelledfar,andhisfeetwerefootsore,andhisankleschafedandbleeding;hisgreatshoes,stuffedwithleavesandgrass,hadbeenheavytodragoverthemanylongleagues,andhis clothes were chafed into holes, as he himself was into sores. Stoopingdownbesidehim,theroad-mendertriedtogetapeepatsecretweaponsinhisbreastorwherenot;but,invain,forhesleptwithhisarmscrosseduponhim,andsetas resolutelyashis lips.Fortified townswith their stockades,guard-houses,gates,trenches,anddrawbridges,seemedtothemenderofroads,tobesomuchairasagainstthisfigure.Andwhenheliftedhiseyesfromittothehorizonandlookedaround,hesawinhissmallfancysimilarfigures,stoppedbynoobstacle,tendingtocentresalloverFrance.Themanslepton,indifferenttoshowersofhailandintervalsofbrightness,tosunshineonhisfaceandshadow,tothepalteringlumpsofdull iceonhisbody and thediamonds intowhich the sun changed them,until the sunwaslowinthewest,andtheskywasglowing.Then,themenderofroadshavinggothistoolstogetherandallthingsreadytogodownintothevillage,rousedhim."Good!" said the sleeper, rising on his elbow. "Two leagues beyond thesummitofthehill?""About.""About.Good!"The mender of roads went home, with the dust going on before himaccording to the set of the wind, and was soon at the fountain, squeezinghimselfinamongtheleankinebroughttheretodrink,andappearingeventowhisper to them in his whispering to all the village.When the village hadtakenitspoorsupper,itdidnotcreeptobed,asitusuallydid,butcameoutof

doorsagain,andremainedthere.Acuriouscontagionofwhisperingwasuponit, and also, when it gathered together at the fountain in the dark, anothercurious contagion of looking expectantly at the sky in one direction only.MonsieurGabelle,chieffunctionaryoftheplace,becameuneasy;wentoutonhis house-top alone, and looked in that direction too; glanced down frombehind his chimneys at the darkening faces by the fountain below, and sentwordtothesacristanwhokeptthekeysofthechurch,thattheremightbeneedtoringthetocsinby-and-bye.The night deepened. The trees environing the old chateau, keeping itssolitarystateapart,movedinarisingwind,asthoughtheythreatenedthepileofbuildingmassiveanddarkinthegloom.Upthetwoterraceflightsofstepstherainranwildly,andbeatatthegreatdoor,likeaswiftmessengerrousingthose within; uneasy rushes of wind went through the hall, among the oldspearsandknives,andpassedlamentingupthestairs,andshookthecurtainsof the bedwhere the lastMarquis had slept. East,West, North, and South,through the woods, four heavy-treading, unkempt figures crushed the highgrassandcrackedthebranches,stridingoncautiouslytocometogetherinthecourtyard.Fourlightsbrokeoutthere,andmovedawayindifferentdirections,andallwasblackagain.But, not for long. Presently, the chateau began to make itself strangelyvisiblebysomelightofitsown,asthoughitweregrowingluminous.Then,aflickering streak played behind the architecture of the front, picking outtransparentplaces,andshowingwherebalustrades,arches,andwindowswere.Then it soaredhigher,andgrewbroaderandbrighter.Soon, fromascoreofthe greatwindows, flames burst forth, and the stone faces awakened, staredoutoffire.Afaintmurmuraroseaboutthehousefromthefewpeoplewhowereleftthere,andtherewasasaddlingofahorseandridingaway.Therewasspurringandsplashingthroughthedarkness,andbridlewasdrawninthespacebythevillage fountain, and the horse in a foam stood atMonsieurGabelle's door."Help,Gabelle!Help,everyone!"Thetocsinrangimpatiently,butotherhelp(ifthatwereany)therewasnone.Themenderofroads,andtwohundredandfiftyparticularfriends,stoodwithfoldedarmsat thefountain, lookingat thepillar of fire in the sky. "Itmust be forty feet high," said they, grimly; andnevermoved.The rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam, clattered awaythroughthevillage,andgallopedupthestonysteep,totheprisononthecrag.Atthegate,agroupofofficerswerelookingatthefire;removedfromthem,agroupofsoldiers."Help,gentlemen—officers!Thechateauisonfire;valuableobjectsmaybesavedfromtheflamesbytimelyaid!Help,help!"Theofficerslooked towards the soldiers who looked at the fire; gave no orders; andanswered,withshrugsandbitingoflips,"Itmustburn."Astheriderrattleddownthehillagainandthroughthestreet,thevillage

was illuminating. The mender of roads, and the two hundred and fiftyparticularfriends,inspiredasonemanandwomanbytheideaoflightingup,haddartedintotheirhouses,andwereputtingcandlesineverydulllittlepaneof glass. The general scarcity of everything, occasioned candles to beborrowed in a rather peremptory manner of Monsieur Gabelle; and in amomentofreluctanceandhesitationonthatfunctionary'spart,themenderofroads,oncesosubmissivetoauthority,hadremarkedthatcarriagesweregoodtomakebonfireswith,andthatpost-horseswouldroast.Thechateauwaslefttoitselftoflameandburn.Intheroaringandragingoftheconflagration,ared-hotwind,drivingstraightfromtheinfernalregions,seemed to be blowing the edifice away. With the rising and falling of theblaze,thestonefacesshowedasiftheywereintorment.Whengreatmassesofstoneandtimberfell,thefacewiththetwodintsinthenosebecameobscured:anon struggled out of the smoke again, as if it were the face of the cruelMarquis,burningatthestakeandcontendingwiththefire.Thechateauburned;thenearesttrees,laidholdofbythefire,scorchedandshrivelled; trees at a distance, fired by the four fierce figures, begirt theblazingedificewithanewforestofsmoke.Moltenleadandironboiledinthemarblebasinof the fountain; thewater randry; the extinguisher topsof thetowersvanished like icebefore theheat,and trickleddown into four ruggedwells of flame. Great rents and splits branched out in the solid walls, likecrystallisation; stupefied birds wheeled about and dropped into the furnace;four fierce figures trudged away, East, West, North, and South, along thenight-enshroudedroads,guidedbythebeacontheyhadlighted,towardstheirnext destination. The illuminated village had seized hold of the tocsin, and,abolishingthelawfulringer,rangforjoy.Not only that; but the village, light-headed with famine, fire, and bell-ringing, and bethinking itself that Monsieur Gabelle had to do with thecollectionofrentandtaxes—thoughitwasbutasmallinstalmentoftaxes,andnorentatall,thatGabellehadgotinthoselatterdays—becameimpatientforan interviewwithhim, and, surroundinghis house, summonedhim to comeforthforpersonalconference.Whereupon,MonsieurGabelledidheavilybarhisdoor,andretiretoholdcounselwithhimself.Theresultofthatconferencewas,thatGabelleagainwithdrewhimselftohishousetopbehindhisstackofchimneys; this time resolved, if his door were broken in (he was a smallSouthernmanofretaliativetemperament),topitchhimselfheadforemostovertheparapet,andcrushamanortwobelow.Probably,MonsieurGabellepassedalongnightupthere,withthedistantchateauforfireandcandle,andthebeatingathisdoor,combinedwiththejoy-ringing,formusic;nottomentionhishavinganill-omenedlampslungacrossthe road before his posting-house gate, which the village showed a livelyinclinationtodisplaceinhisfavour.Atryingsuspense,tobepassingawholesummernightonthebrinkoftheblackocean,readytotakethatplungeintoit

uponwhichMonsieurGabellehadresolved!But,thefriendlydawnappearingat last, and the rush-candles of the village guttering out, the people happilydispersed, andMonsieurGabelle came down bringing his lifewith him forthatwhile.Within a hundredmiles, and in the light of other fires, therewere otherfunctionaries less fortunate, thatnightandothernights,whomtherisingsunfound hanging across once-peaceful streets, where they had been born andbred;also, therewereothervillagersandtownspeoplelessfortunatethanthemender of roads andhis fellows, uponwhom the functionaries and soldieryturnedwith success, andwhom they strung up in their turn. But, the fiercefigures were steadily wending East, West, North, and South, be that as itwould; and whosoever hung, fire burned. The altitude of the gallows thatwould turn to water and quench it, no functionary, by any stretch ofmathematics,wasabletocalculatesuccessfully.

DrawntotheLoadstoneRock

In such risings of fire and risings of sea—the firm earth shaken by therushesofanangryoceanwhichhadnownoebb,butwasalwaysontheflow,higher andhigher, to the terror andwonderof thebeholderson the shore—three years of tempestwere consumed.Threemore birthdays of littleLuciehadbeenwovenbythegoldenthreadintothepeacefultissueofthelifeofherhome.Manyanightandmanyadayhaditsinmateslistenedtotheechoesinthecorner,withhearts that failed themwhen theyheard the thronging feet.For,the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a people,tumultuousunderaredflagandwiththeircountrydeclaredindanger,changedintowildbeasts,byterribleenchantmentlongpersistedin.Monseigneur,asaclass,haddissociatedhimselffromthephenomenonofhisnotbeingappreciated:ofhisbeingsolittlewantedinFrance,as to incurconsiderabledangerof receivinghisdismissal from it, and this life together.Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devil with infinite pains, and was soterrified at the sight of him that he could ask the Enemy no question, butimmediately fled; so, Monseigneur, after boldly reading the Lord's Prayerbackwards for a great number of years, and performing many other potentspellsforcompellingtheEvilOne,nosoonerbeheldhiminhisterrorsthanhetooktohisnobleheels.TheshiningBull'sEyeoftheCourtwasgone,or itwouldhavebeenthemarkforahurricaneofnationalbullets.Ithadneverbeenagoodeyetoseewith—had long had themote in it ofLucifer's pride, Sardanapalus's luxury,andamole'sblindness—butithaddroppedoutandwasgone.TheCourt,from

thatexclusiveinnercircle to itsoutermostrottenringof intrigue,corruption,anddissimulation,wasallgonetogether.Royaltywasgone;hadbeenbesiegedinitsPalaceand"suspended,"whenthelasttidingscameover.TheAugustof theyearone thousandsevenhundredandninety-twowascome,andMonseigneurwasbythistimescatteredfarandwide.As was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place ofMonseigneur,inLondon,wasTellson'sBank.Spiritsaresupposedtohaunttheplaceswhere their bodiesmost resorted, andMonseigneurwithout a guineahaunted the spotwherehisguineasused tobe.Moreover, itwas the spot towhichsuchFrenchintelligenceaswasmosttobereliedupon,camequickest.Again:Tellson'swasamunificenthouse,andextendedgreat liberality tooldcustomerswhohadfallenfromtheirhighestate.Again:thosenobleswhohadseen thecomingstormin time,andanticipatingplunderorconfiscation,hadmadeprovidentremittancestoTellson's,werealwaystobeheardoftherebytheirneedybrethren.Towhich itmustbeadded thateverynew-comer fromFrance reported himself and his tidings at Tellson's, almost as a matter ofcourse. For such variety of reasons,Tellson'swas at that time, as toFrenchintelligence, a kind of High Exchange; and this was so well known to thepublic, and the inquiriesmade therewere in consequence sonumerous, thatTellson'ssometimeswrotethelatestnewsoutinalineorsoandpostedit intheBankwindows,forallwhoranthroughTempleBartoread.On a steaming, misty afternoon,Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and CharlesDarnaystood leaningon it, talkingwithhim ina lowvoice.Thepenitentialden once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news-Exchange,andwasfilledtooverflowing.Itwaswithinhalfanhourorsoofthetimeofclosing."But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived," said CharlesDarnay,ratherhesitating,"Imuststillsuggesttoyou—""Iunderstand.ThatIamtooold?"saidMr.Lorry."Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, adisorganisedcountry,acitythatmaynotbeevensafeforyou.""MydearCharles," saidMr.Lorry,withcheerfulconfidence,"you touchsomeofthereasonsformygoing:notformystayingaway.Itissafeenoughforme;nobodywillcaretointerferewithanoldfellowofharduponfourscorewhentherearesomanypeopletheremuchbetterworthinterferingwith.Astoitsbeingadisorganisedcity,ifitwerenotadisorganisedcitytherewouldbenooccasiontosendsomebodyfromourHouseheretoourHousethere,whoknowsthecityandthebusiness,ofold,andisinTellson'sconfidence.Astotheuncertaintravelling,thelongjourney,andthewinterweather,ifIwerenotprepared tosubmitmyself toa few inconveniences for thesakeofTellson's,afteralltheseyears,whooughttobe?""Iwish Iweregoingmyself," saidCharlesDarnay, somewhat restlessly,

andlikeonethinkingaloud."Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!" exclaimed Mr.Lorry."Youwishyouweregoingyourself?AndyouaFrenchmanborn?Youareawisecounsellor.""MydearMr.Lorry,itisbecauseIamaFrenchmanborn,thatthethought(which I did notmean to utter here, however) has passed throughmymindoften.Onecannothelpthinking,havinghadsomesympathyforthemiserablepeople, and having abandoned something to them," he spoke here in hisformerthoughtfulmanner,"thatonemightbelistenedto,andmighthavethepower to persuade to some restraint. Only last night, after you had left us,whenIwastalkingtoLucie—""WhenyouweretalkingtoLucie,"Mr.Lorryrepeated."Yes.Iwonderyouarenot ashamed tomention thenameofLucie!Wishingyouweregoing toFranceatthistimeofday!""However,Iamnotgoing,"saidCharlesDarnay,withasmile."Itismoretothepurposethatyousayyouare.""And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles," Mr. Lorryglanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, "you can have noconceptionofthedifficultywithwhichourbusinessis transacted,andoftheperilinwhichourbooksandpapersoveryonderareinvolved.TheLordaboveknowswhatthecompromisingconsequenceswouldbetonumbersofpeople,ifsomeofourdocumentswereseizedordestroyed;andtheymightbe,atanytime,youknow,forwhocansaythatParisisnotsetafireto-day,orsackedto-morrow!Now,a judiciousselectionfromthesewith the leastpossibledelay,and theburyingof them,orotherwisegettingof themoutofharm'sway, iswithin the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one butmyself,ifanyone.AndshallIhangback,whenTellson'sknowsthisandsaysthis—Tellson's,whosebread Ihaveeaten these sixtyyears—because I amalittlestiffabout the joints?Why,Iamaboy,sir, tohalfadozenoldcodgershere!""HowIadmirethegallantryofyouryouthfulspirit,Mr.Lorry.""Tut!Nonsense,sir!—And,mydearCharles,"saidMr.Lorry,glancingattheHouseagain,"youaretoremember,thatgettingthingsoutofParisatthispresent time, nomatter what things, is next to an impossibility. Papers andprecious matters were this very day brought to us here (I speak in strictconfidence;itisnotbusiness-liketowhisperit,eventoyou),bythestrangestbearersyoucan imagine, everyoneofwhomhadhisheadhangingonbyasinglehairashepassedtheBarriers.Atanothertime,ourparcelswouldcomeand go, as easily as in business-like Old England; but now, everything isstopped.""Anddoyoureallygoto-night?"

"I really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit ofdelay.""Anddoyoutakenoonewithyou?""Allsortsofpeoplehavebeenproposedtome,butIwillhavenothingtosay to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. Jerry has beenmybodyguard onSundaynightsforalongtimepastandIamusedtohim.NobodywillsuspectJerryofbeinganythingbutanEnglishbull-dog,orofhavinganydesigninhisheadbuttoflyatanybodywhotoucheshismaster.""ImustsayagainthatIheartilyadmireyourgallantryandyouthfulness.""Imust say again, nonsense, nonsense!When I have executed this littlecommission,Ishall,perhaps,acceptTellson'sproposaltoretireandliveatmyease.Timeenough,then,tothinkaboutgrowingold."ThisdialoguehadtakenplaceatMr.Lorry'susualdesk,withMonseigneurswarmingwithinayardortwoofit,boastfulofwhathewoulddotoavengehimself on the rascal-people before long. It was too much the way ofMonseigneurunderhis reversesasa refugee,and itwasmuch toomuch thewayofnativeBritishorthodoxy,totalkofthisterribleRevolutionasifitwerethe only harvest ever known under the skies that had not been sown—as ifnothinghadeverbeendone,oromitted tobedone, thathad led to it—as ifobserversofthewretchedmillionsinFrance,andofthemisusedandpervertedresources that shouldhavemade themprosperous,hadnotseen it inevitablycoming, years before, and had not in plain words recorded what they saw.Suchvapouring,combinedwiththeextravagantplotsofMonseigneurfortherestorationofastateofthingsthathadutterlyexhausteditself,andwornoutHeaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be endured without someremonstrancebyanysanemanwhoknewthetruth.Anditwassuchvapouringall 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 CharlesDarnayrestless,andwhichstillkepthimso.Amongthetalkers,wasStryver,oftheKing'sBenchBar,faronhiswaytostatepromotion,and,therefore,loudonthetheme:broachingtoMonseigneur,hisdevicesforblowingthepeopleupandexterminatingthemfromthefaceoftheearth,anddoingwithoutthem:andforaccomplishingmanysimilarobjectsakinintheirnaturetotheabolitionofeaglesbysprinklingsaltonthetailsoftherace.Him,Darnayheardwithaparticularfeelingofobjection;andDarnaystooddividedbetweengoingawaythathemighthearnomore,andremainingto interposehisword,whenthe thing thatwas tobe,wenton toshape itselfout.TheHouseapproachedMr.Lorry,andlayingasoiledandunopenedletterbeforehim,askedifhehadyetdiscoveredanytracesofthepersontowhomitwasaddressed?TheHouselaidtheletterdownsoclosetoDarnaythathesawthe direction—the more quickly because it was his own right name. The

address,turnedintoEnglish,ran:"Very pressing. ToMonsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evremonde, ofFrance.Confided to thecaresofMessrs.TellsonandCo.,Bankers,London,England."Onthemarriagemorning,DoctorManettehadmadeithisoneurgentandexpress request toCharlesDarnay, that the secret of this name should be—unlesshe,theDoctor,dissolvedtheobligation—keptinviolatebetweenthem.Nobodyelseknewittobehisname;hisownwifehadnosuspicionofthefact;Mr.Lorrycouldhavenone."No,"saidMr.Lorry,inreplytotheHouse;"Ihavereferredit,Ithink,toeverybody now here, and no one can tellmewhere this gentleman is to befound."Thehandsof theclockvergingupon thehourofclosing theBank, therewasageneralsetof thecurrentof talkerspastMr.Lorry'sdesk.Heheldtheletter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the person of thisplottingandindignantrefugee;andMonseigneurlookedatitinthepersonofthat plotting and indignant refugee; and This, That, and The Other, all hadsomethingdisparagingtosay,inFrenchorinEnglish,concerningtheMarquiswhowasnottobefound."Nephew, I believe—but in any case degenerate successor—of thepolishedMarquiswhowasmurdered,"saidone."Happytosay,Ineverknewhim.""Acravenwhoabandonedhispost,"saidanother—thisMonseigneurhadbeen got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay—"someyearsago.""Infected with the new doctrines," said a third, eyeing the directionthrough his glass in passing; "set himself in opposition to the lastMarquis,abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left them to the ruffianherd.Theywillrecompensehimnow,Ihope,ashedeserves.""Hey?"criedtheblatantStryver."Didhethough?Isthatthesortoffellow?Letuslookathisinfamousname.D—nthefellow!"Darnay,unabletorestrainhimselfanylonger,touchedMr.Stryverontheshoulder,andsaid:"Iknowthefellow.""Doyou,byJupiter?"saidStryver."Iamsorryforit.""Why?""Why,Mr.Darnay?D'yehearwhathedid?Don'task,why,inthesetimes.""ButIdoaskwhy?""ThenItellyouagain,Mr.Darnay,Iamsorryforit.Iamsorrytohearyou

puttingany suchextraordinaryquestions.Here is a fellow,who, infectedbythe most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilry that ever was known,abandonedhispropertytothevilestscumoftheearththateverdidmurderbywholesale, and you askmewhy I am sorry that amanwho instructs youthknowshim?Well, but I'll answer you. I am sorrybecause I believe there iscontaminationinsuchascoundrel.That'swhy."Mindful of the secret,Darnaywith great difficulty checked himself, andsaid:"Youmaynotunderstandthegentleman.""Iunderstandhowtoputyouinacorner,Mr.Darnay,"saidBullyStryver,"andI'lldoit.Ifthisfellowisagentleman,Idon'tunderstandhim.Youmaytellhimso,withmycompliments.Youmayalsotellhim,fromme,thatafterabandoninghisworldlygoodsandpositiontothisbutcherlymob,Iwonderheisnotattheheadofthem.But,no,gentlemen,"saidStryver,lookingallround,andsnappinghisfingers,"Iknowsomethingofhumannature,andItellyouthatyou'llneverfindafellowlikethisfellow,trustinghimselftothemerciesofsuchpreciousprotégés.No,gentlemen;he'llalwaysshow'emacleanpairofheelsveryearlyinthescuffle,andsneakaway."Withthosewords,andafinalsnapofhisfingers,Mr.Stryvershoulderedhimself into Fleet-street, amidst the general approbation of his hearers.Mr.LorryandCharlesDarnaywereleftaloneatthedesk,inthegeneraldeparturefromtheBank."Willyoutakechargeoftheletter?"saidMr.Lorry."Youknowwheretodeliverit?""Ido.""Willyouundertaketoexplain,thatwesupposeittohavebeenaddressedhere,onthechanceofourknowingwheretoforwardit,andthatithasbeenheresometime?""Iwilldoso.DoyoustartforParisfromhere?""Fromhere,ateight.""Iwillcomeback,toseeyouoff."Veryillateasewithhimself,andwithStryverandmostothermen,DarnaymadethebestofhiswayintothequietoftheTemple,openedtheletter,andreadit.Thesewereitscontents:"PrisonoftheAbbaye,Paris."June21,1792."MONSIEURHERETOFORETHEMARQUIS."Afterhavinglongbeenindangerofmylifeatthehandsofthevillage,Ihave been seized, with great violence and indignity, and brought a longjourneyonfoottoParis.OntheroadIhavesufferedagreatdeal.Noristhatall;myhousehasbeendestroyed—razedtotheground.

"ThecrimeforwhichIamimprisoned,MonsieurheretoforetheMarquis,andforwhichIshallbesummonedbeforethetribunal,andshalllosemylife(withoutyoursogeneroushelp),is,theytellme,treasonagainstthemajestyofthepeople, in that I have acted against them for an emigrant. It is in vain Irepresent that I have acted for them, and not against, according to yourcommands.It is invainIrepresentthat,beforethesequestrationofemigrantproperty, I had remitted the imposts they had ceased to pay; that I hadcollectednorent;thatIhadhadrecoursetonoprocess.Theonlyresponseis,thatIhaveactedforanemigrant,andwhereisthatemigrant?"Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is thatemigrant? I cry inmy sleepwhere is he? I demand ofHeaven,will he notcometodeliverme?Noanswer.AhMonsieurheretoforetheMarquis,Isendmydesolatecryacrossthesea,hopingitmayperhapsreachyourearsthroughthegreatbankofTilsonknownatParis!"For the loveofHeaven,of justice, ofgenerosity, of thehonourofyournoblename,Isupplicateyou,MonsieurheretoforetheMarquis,tosuccourandreleaseme.Myfaultis,thatIhavebeentruetoyou.OhMonsieurheretoforetheMarquis,Iprayyoubeyoutruetome!"From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer andnearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, theassuranceofmydolorousandunhappyservice."Yourafflicted,"Gabelle."The latent uneasiness inDarnay'smindwas roused to vigourous life bythisletter.Theperilofanoldservantandagoodone,whoseonlycrimewasfidelitytohimselfandhisfamily,staredhimsoreproachfullyintheface,that,ashewalkedtoandfrointheTempleconsideringwhattodo,healmosthidhisfacefromthepassersby.Heknewverywell,thatinhishorrorofthedeedwhichhadculminatedthebad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his resentfulsuspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his conscienceregarded thecrumbling fabric thathewas supposed touphold,hehadactedimperfectly.Heknewverywell,thatinhisloveforLucie,hisrenunciationofhissocialplace,thoughbynomeansnewtohisownmind,hadbeenhurriedand incomplete.Heknewthatheought tohavesystematicallyworked itoutandsupervised it,and thathehadmeant todo it,and that ithadneverbeendone.The happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of beingalwaysactively employed, the swift changes and troublesof the timewhichhadfollowedononeanothersofast, that theeventsof thisweekannihilatedtheimmatureplansoflastweek,andtheeventsof theweekfollowingmadeallnewagain;heknewverywell,thattotheforceofthesecircumstanceshe

had yielded:—not without disquiet, but still without continuous andaccumulatingresistance.Thathehadwatchedthe timesfora timeofaction,and that they had shifted and struggled until the time had gone by, and thenobilitywere trooping fromFrance by every highway and byway, and theirpropertywas incourseofconfiscationanddestruction,andtheirverynameswere blotting out,was aswell known to himself as it could be to any newauthorityinFrancethatmightimpeachhimforit.But,hehadoppressednoman,hehadimprisonednoman;hewassofarfrom having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relinquishedthemofhisownwill,thrownhimselfonaworldwithnofavourinit,wonhisownprivateplacethere,andearnedhisownbread.MonsieurGabellehadheldthe impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare thepeople, to give them what little there was to give—such fuel as the heavycreditors would let them have in the winter, and such produce as could besavedfromthesamegripinthesummer—andnodoubthehadputthefactinpleaandproof,forhisownsafety,sothatitcouldnotbutappearnow.ThisfavouredthedesperateresolutionCharlesDarnayhadbeguntomake,thathewouldgotoParis.Yes.Like themariner in theoldstory, thewindsandstreamshaddrivenhimwithin the influenceof theLoadstoneRock, and itwasdrawinghim toitself,andhemustgo.Everythingthatarosebeforehisminddriftedhimon,fasterandfaster,moreandmoresteadily, to the terribleattraction.His latentuneasinesshadbeen,thatbadaimswerebeingworkedoutinhisownunhappylandbybadinstruments,andthathewhocouldnotfail toknowthathewasbetterthanthey,wasnotthere,tryingtodosomethingtostaybloodshed,andasserttheclaimsofmercyandhumanity.Withthisuneasinesshalfstifled,andhalf reproaching him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison ofhimselfwiththebraveoldgentlemaninwhomdutywassostrong;uponthatcomparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers ofMonseigneur,whichhadstunghimbitterly,andthoseofStryver,whichaboveall were coarse and galling, for old reasons. Upon those, had followedGabelle'sletter: theappealofaninnocentprisoner,indangerofdeath,tohisjustice,honour,andgoodname.Hisresolutionwasmade.HemustgotoParis.Yes.TheLoadstoneRockwasdrawinghim,andhemustsailon,untilhestruck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. The intentionwithwhichhehaddonewhathehaddone,evenalthoughhehadleftitincomplete,presenteditbeforehiminanaspectthatwouldbegratefullyacknowledgedinFrance on his presenting himself to assert it. Then, that glorious vision ofdoinggood,which is sooften the sanguinemirageof somanygoodminds,arosebeforehim,andheevensawhimselfintheillusionwithsomeinfluencetoguidethisragingRevolutionthatwasrunningsofearfullywild.

As he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered thatneitherLucienorherfathermustknowofituntilhewasgone.Lucieshouldbe spared thepainof separation; andher father, always reluctant to turnhisthoughtstowardsthedangerousgroundofold,shouldcometotheknowledgeofthestep,asasteptaken,andnotinthebalanceofsuspenseanddoubt.Howmuch of the incompleteness of his situation was referable to her father,throughthepainfulanxietytoavoidrevivingoldassociationsofFranceinhismind,hedidnotdiscusswithhimself.But,thatcircumstancetoo,hadhaditsinfluenceinhiscourse.Hewalkedtoandfro,withthoughtsverybusy,untilitwastimetoreturnto Tellson's and take leave ofMr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in Paris hewould present himself to this old friend, but he must say nothing of hisintentionnow.A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry wasbootedandequipped."Ihavedeliveredthat letter,"saidCharlesDarnaytoMr.Lorry."Iwouldnotconsent toyourbeingchargedwithanywrittenanswer,butperhapsyouwilltakeaverbalone?""ThatIwill,andreadily,"saidMr.Lorry,"ifitisnotdangerous.""Notatall.ThoughitistoaprisonerintheAbbaye.""What is his name?" said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in hishand."Gabelle.""Gabelle.AndwhatisthemessagetotheunfortunateGabelleinprison?""Simply,'thathehasreceivedtheletter,andwillcome.'""Anytimementioned?""Hewillstartuponhisjourneyto-morrownight.""Anypersonmentioned?""No."HehelpedMr.Lorrytowraphimselfinanumberofcoatsandcloaks,andwentoutwithhimfromthewarmatmosphereoftheoldBank,intothemistyairofFleet-street. "My love toLucie, and to littleLucie," saidMr.Lorryatparting, "and take precious care of them till I come back." Charles Darnayshookhisheadanddoubtfullysmiled,asthecarriagerolledaway.Thatnight—itwasthefourteenthofAugust—hesatuplate,andwrotetwofervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he wasunder togo toParis,andshowingher,at length, thereasons thathehad, forfeelingconfidentthathecouldbecomeinvolvedinnopersonaldangerthere;theotherwasto theDoctor,confidingLucieandtheirdearchild tohiscare,

and dwelling on the same topicswith the strongest assurances. To both, hewrotethathewoulddespatchletters inproofofhissafety, immediatelyafterhisarrival.Itwasahardday,thatdayofbeingamongthem,withthefirstreservationoftheirjointlivesonhismind.Itwasahardmattertopreservetheinnocentdeceit of which they were profoundly unsuspicious. But, an affectionateglanceathiswife,sohappyandbusy,madehimresolutenottotellherwhatimpended(hehadbeenhalfmovedtodoit,sostrangeitwastohimtoactinanything without her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly. Early in theeveningheembracedher,andherscarcelylessdearnamesake,pretendingthathewouldreturnby-and-bye(an imaginaryengagement tookhimout,andhehadsecretedavaliseofclothesready),andsoheemergedintotheheavymistoftheheavystreets,withaheavierheart.Theunseenforcewasdrawinghimfasttoitself,now,andallthetidesandwindsweresettingstraightandstrongtowardsit.Helefthistwoletterswithatrustyporter,tobedeliveredhalfanhourbeforemidnight,andnosooner;tookhorseforDover;andbeganhisjourney."FortheloveofHeaven,ofjustice,ofgenerosity, of the honour of your noble name!"was the poor prisoner's crywithwhichhe strengthenedhis sinkingheart, ashe left all thatwasdearonearthbehindhim,andfloatedawayfortheLoadstoneRock.Theendofthesecondbook.

BooktheThird—theTrackofaStormInSecret

The traveller fared slowly on his way, who fared towards Paris fromEngland in the autumnof the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two.Morethanenoughofbadroads,badequipages,andbadhorses,hewouldhave encountered to delay him, though the fallen and unfortunate King ofFrancehadbeenuponhisthroneinallhisglory;but,thechangedtimeswerefraughtwith other obstacles than these.Every town-gate and village taxing-house had its bandof citizen-patriots,with their nationalmuskets in amostexplosive state of readiness, who stopped all comers and goers, cross-questionedthem,inspectedtheirpapers,lookedfortheirnamesinlistsoftheirown, turned them back, or sent them on, or stopped them and laid them inhold, as their capricious judgment or fancy deemed best for the dawningRepublicOneandIndivisible,ofLiberty,Equality,Fraternity,orDeath.A very few French leagues of his journey were accomplished, whenCharlesDarnaybegantoperceivethatforhimalongthesecountryroadstherewas no hope of return until he should have been declared a good citizen at

Paris.Whatevermightbefallnow,hemustontohisjourney'send.Notameanvillagecloseduponhim,notacommonbarrierdroppedacrosstheroadbehindhim, but he knew it to be another iron door in the series that was barredbetweenhimandEngland.Theuniversalwatchfulnesssoencompassedhim,thatifhehadbeentakeninanet,orwerebeingforwardedtohisdestinationinacage,hecouldnothavefelthisfreedommorecompletelygone.Thisuniversalwatchfulnessnotonlystoppedhimonthehighwaytwentytimesinastage,butretardedhisprogresstwentytimesinaday,byridingafterhimandtakinghimback,ridingbeforehimandstoppinghimbyanticipation,riding with him and keeping him in charge. He had been days upon hisjourneyinFrancealone,whenhewenttobedtiredout,inalittletownonthehighroad,stillalongwayfromParis.NothingbuttheproductionoftheafflictedGabelle'sletterfromhisprisonoftheAbbayewouldhavegothimonsofar.Hisdifficultyattheguard-housein thissmallplacehadbeensuch, thathefelthis journey tohavecome toacrisis. And he was, therefore, as little surprised as aman could be, to findhimself awakened at the small inn to which he had been remitted untilmorning,inthemiddleofthenight.Awakenedbya timidlocalfunctionaryandthreearmedpatriots inroughredcapsandwithpipesintheirmouths,whosatdownonthebed."Emigrant," said the functionary, "I am going to send you on to Paris,underanescort.""Citizen, I desire nothing more than to get to Paris, though I coulddispensewiththeescort.""Silence!"growledared-cap,strikingatthecoverletwiththebutt-endofhismusket."Peace,aristocrat!""Itisasthegoodpatriotsays,"observedthetimidfunctionary."Youareanaristocrat,andmusthaveanescort—andmustpayforit.""Ihavenochoice,"saidCharlesDarnay."Choice!Listentohim!"criedthesamescowlingred-cap."Asifitwasnotafavourtobeprotectedfromthelamp-iron!""Itisalwaysasthegoodpatriotsays,"observedthefunctionary."Riseanddressyourself,emigrant."Darnay complied, and was taken back to the guard-house, where otherpatriotsinroughredcapsweresmoking,drinking,andsleeping,byawatch-fire.Herehepaidaheavypriceforhisescort,andhencehestartedwithitonthewet,wetroadsatthreeo'clockinthemorning.The escort were two mounted patriots in red caps and tri-colouredcockades, armedwith nationalmuskets and sabres, who rode one on eithersideofhim.

Theescortedgovernedhisownhorse,butalooselinewasattachedtohisbridle,theendofwhichoneofthepatriotskeptgirdedroundhiswrist.Inthisstate they set forthwith the sharp rain driving in their faces: clattering at aheavydragoon trotover theuneven townpavement, andoutupon themire-deeproads. In thisstate they traversedwithoutchange,exceptofhorsesandpace,allthemire-deepleaguesthatlaybetweenthemandthecapital.They travelled in the night, halting an hour or two after daybreak, andlying by until the twilight fell. The escort were sowretchedly clothed, thattheytwistedstrawroundtheirbarelegs,andthatchedtheirraggedshoulderstokeepthewetoff.Apartfromthepersonaldiscomfortofbeingsoattended,andapart from such considerations of present danger as arose from one of thepatriots being chronically drunk, and carrying his musket very recklessly,CharlesDarnaydidnotallowtherestraintthatwaslaiduponhimtoawakenanyseriousfearsinhisbreast;for,hereasonedwithhimselfthatitcouldhavenoreferencetothemeritsofanindividualcasethatwasnotyetstated,andofrepresentations,confirmablebytheprisonerintheAbbaye,thatwerenotyetmade.ButwhentheycametothetownofBeauvais—whichtheydidateventide,whenthestreetswerefilledwithpeople—hecouldnotconcealfromhimselfthat the aspect of affairswasvery alarming.Anominous crowdgathered tosee him dismount of the posting-yard, and many voices called out loudly,"Downwiththeemigrant!"Hestoppedintheactofswinginghimselfoutofhissaddle,and,resumingitashissafestplace,said:"Emigrant,my friends!Do you not seeme here, in France, ofmy ownwill?""You are a cursed emigrant," cried a farrier,making at him in a furiousmannerthroughthepress,hammerinhand;"andyouareacursedaristocrat!"Thepostmasterinterposedhimselfbetweenthismanandtherider'sbridle(atwhichhewasevidentlymaking),andsoothinglysaid,"Lethimbe;lethimbe!HewillbejudgedatParis.""Judged!"repeatedthefarrier,swinginghishammer."Ay!andcondemnedasatraitor."Atthisthecrowdroaredapproval.Checkingthepostmaster,whowasforturninghishorse'sheadtotheyard(the drunken patriot sat composedly in his saddle looking on, with the lineroundhiswrist),Darnaysaid,assoonashecouldmakehisvoiceheard:"Friends,youdeceiveyourselves,oryouaredeceived.Iamnotatraitor.""He lies!" cried the smith. "He is a traitor since the decree. His life isforfeittothepeople.Hiscursedlifeisnothisown!"At the instantwhenDarnay saw a rush in the eyes of the crowd,whichanotherinstantwouldhavebroughtuponhim,thepostmasterturnedhishorse

into the yard, the escort rode in close upon his horse's flanks, and thepostmastershutandbarred thecrazydoublegates.The farrier struckablowuponthemwithhishammer,andthecrowdgroaned;but,nomorewasdone."What is this decree that the smith spoke of?" Darnay asked thepostmaster,whenhehadthankedhim,andstoodbesidehimintheyard."Truly,adecreeforsellingthepropertyofemigrants.""Whenpassed?""Onthefourteenth.""ThedayIleftEngland!""Everybodysaysitisbutoneofseveral,andthattherewillbeothers—ifthere are not already—banishing all emigrants, and condemning all to deathwhoreturn.Thatiswhathemeantwhenhesaidyourlifewasnotyourown.""Buttherearenosuchdecreesyet?""What do I know!" said the postmaster, shrugging his shoulders; "theremaybe,ortherewillbe.Itisallthesame.Whatwouldyouhave?"Theyrestedonsomestrawinaloftuntilthemiddleofthenight,andthenrode forward again when all the town was asleep. Among the many wildchangesobservableon familiar thingswhichmade thiswild rideunreal,nottheleastwastheseemingrarityofsleep.Afterlongandlonelyspurringoverdreary roads, theywould come to a cluster of poor cottages, not steeped indarkness,butallglitteringwithlights,andwouldfindthepeople,inaghostlymannerinthedeadofthenight,circlinghandinhandroundashrivelledtreeofLiberty,oralldrawnuptogethersingingaLibertysong.Happily,however,therewassleepinBeauvaisthatnighttohelpthemoutofitandtheypassedononcemoreintosolitudeandloneliness:jinglingthroughtheuntimelycoldandwet, among impoverished fields that had yielded no fruits of the earth thatyear,diversifiedbytheblackenedremainsofburnthouses,andbythesuddenemergencefromambuscade,andsharpreiningupacrosstheirway,ofpatriotpatrolsonthewatchonalltheroads.DaylightatlastfoundthembeforethewallofParis.Thebarrierwasclosedandstronglyguardedwhentheyrodeuptoit."Wherearethepapersofthisprisoner?"demandedaresolute-lookingmaninauthority,whowassummonedoutbytheguard.Naturally struckby thedisagreeableword,CharlesDarnay requested thespeakertotakenoticethathewasafreetravellerandFrenchcitizen,inchargeofanescortwhichthedisturbedstateof thecountryhadimposeduponhim,andwhichhehadpaidfor."Where," repeated the same personage, without taking any heed of himwhatever,"arethepapersofthisprisoner?"

Thedrunkenpatriothadtheminhiscap,andproducedthem.Castinghiseyes over Gabelle's letter, the same personage in authority showed somedisorderandsurprise,andlookedatDarnaywithacloseattention.Heleftescortandescortedwithoutsayingaword,however,andwentintothe guard-room; meanwhile, they sat upon their horses outside the gate.Lookingabouthimwhile in thisstateofsuspense,CharlesDarnayobservedthatthegatewasheldbyamixedguardofsoldiersandpatriots,thelatterfaroutnumbering the former; and that while ingress into the city for peasants'carts bringing in supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easyenough,egress,evenforthehomeliestpeople,wasverydifficult.Anumerousmedley of men and women, not to mention beasts and vehicles of varioussorts,waswaitingtoissueforth;but,thepreviousidentificationwassostrict,thattheyfilteredthroughthebarrierveryslowly.Someofthesepeopleknewtheirturnforexaminationtobesofaroff,thattheylaydownonthegroundtosleep or smoke,while others talked together, or loitered about. The red capandtri-colourcockadewereuniversal,bothamongmenandwomen.Whenhehadsatinhissaddlesomehalf-hour,takingnoteofthesethings,Darnayfoundhimselfconfrontedbythesamemaninauthority,whodirectedtheguardtoopenthebarrier.Thenhedeliveredtotheescort,drunkandsober,areceiptfortheescorted,andrequestedhimtodismount.Hedidso,andthetwopatriots,leadinghistiredhorse,turnedandrodeawaywithoutenteringthecity.He accompanied his conductor into a guard-room, smelling of commonwineandtobacco,wherecertainsoldiersandpatriots,asleepandawake,drunkand sober, and in various neutral states between sleeping and waking,drunkenness and sobriety, were standing and lying about. The light in theguard-house, half derived from the waning oil-lamps of the night, and halffrom the overcast day, was in a correspondingly uncertain condition. Someregisterswere lyingopenonadesk, andanofficerof a coarse,darkaspect,presidedoverthese."CitizenDefarge,"saidhetoDarnay'sconductor,ashetookaslipofpapertowriteon."IsthistheemigrantEvremonde?""Thisistheman.""Yourage,Evremonde?""Thirty-seven.""Married,Evremonde?""Yes.""Wheremarried?""InEngland.""Withoutdoubt.Whereisyourwife,Evremonde?"

"InEngland.""Without doubt. You are consigned, Evremonde, to the prison of LaForce.""Just Heaven!" exclaimed Darnay. "Under what law, and for whatoffence?"Theofficerlookedupfromhisslipofpaperforamoment."Wehavenewlaws,Evremonde,andnewoffences,sinceyouwerehere."Hesaiditwithahardsmile,andwentonwriting."IentreatyoutoobservethatIhavecomeherevoluntarily,inresponsetothatwrittenappealofafellow-countrymanwhichliesbeforeyou.Idemandnomorethantheopportunitytodosowithoutdelay.Isnotthatmyright?""Emigrantshavenorights,Evremonde,"was thestolidreply.Theofficerwroteuntilhehadfinished,readovertohimselfwhathehadwritten,sandedit,andhandedittoDefarge,withthewords"Insecret."Defargemotionedwiththepapertotheprisonerthathemustaccompanyhim.Theprisonerobeyed,andaguardoftwoarmedpatriotsattendedthem."Isityou,"saidDefarge,inalowvoice,astheywentdowntheguardhousesteps and turned into Paris, "who married the daughter of DoctorManette,onceaprisonerintheBastillethatisnomore?""Yes,"repliedDarnay,lookingathimwithsurprise."My name is Defarge, and I keep a wine-shop in the Quarter SaintAntoine.Possiblyyouhaveheardofme.""Mywifecametoyourhousetoreclaimherfather?Yes!"Theword"wife"seemedtoserveasagloomyremindertoDefarge,tosaywith sudden impatience, "In the nameof that sharp female newly-born, andcalledLaGuillotine,whydidyoucometoFrance?""Youheardmesaywhy,aminuteago.Doyounotbelieveitisthetruth?""A bad truth for you," said Defarge, speaking with knitted brows, andlookingstraightbeforehim."Indeed I am lost here. All here is so unprecedented, so changed, sosuddenandunfair,thatIamabsolutelylost.Willyourendermealittlehelp?""None."Defargespoke,alwayslookingstraightbeforehim."Willyouanswermeasinglequestion?""Perhaps.Accordingtoitsnature.Youcansaywhatitis.""In this prison that I am going to so unjustly, shall I have some freecommunicationwiththeworldoutside?""Youwillsee."

"I am not to be buried there, prejudged, and without any means ofpresentingmycase?""Youwillsee.But,whatthen?Otherpeoplehavebeensimilarlyburiedinworseprisons,beforenow.""Butneverbyme,CitizenDefarge."Defargeglanceddarklyathimforanswer,andwalkedoninasteadyandsetsilence.Thedeeperhesankintothissilence,thefainterhopetherewas—orsoDarnaythought—ofhissofteninginanyslightdegree.He,therefore,madehastetosay:"Itisoftheutmostimportancetome(youknow,Citizen,evenbetterthanI, of how much importance), that I should be able to communicate to Mr.LorryofTellson'sBank,anEnglishgentlemanwhoisnowinParis,thesimplefact,withoutcomment, that Ihavebeen thrown into theprisonofLaForce.Willyoucausethattobedoneforme?""Iwilldo,"Defargedoggedlyrejoined,"nothingforyou.MydutyistomycountryandthePeople.Iamtheswornservantofboth,againstyou.Iwilldonothingforyou."CharlesDarnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, and his pridewastouchedbesides.Astheywalkedoninsilence,hecouldnotbutseehowusedthe peoplewere to the spectacle of prisoners passing along the streets. Thevery children scarcely noticed him.A few passers turned their heads, and afewshooktheirfingersathimasanaristocrat;otherwise,thatamaningoodclothesshouldbegoingtoprison,wasnomoreremarkablethanthatalabourerinworking clothes should be going towork. In one narrow, dark, and dirtystreet throughwhichtheypassed,anexcitedorator,mountedonastool,wasaddressinganexcitedaudienceon thecrimesagainst thepeople,of thekingandtheroyalfamily.Thefewwordsthathecaughtfromthisman'slips,firstmade it known toCharlesDarnay that the kingwas in prison, and that theforeign ambassadors had one and all left Paris. On the road (except atBeauvais) he had heard absolutely nothing. The escort and the universalwatchfulnesshadcompletelyisolatedhim.That he had fallen among far greater dangers than those which haddeveloped themselves when he left England, he of course knew now. Thatperilshadthickenedabouthimfast,andmightthickenfasterandfasteryet,heofcourseknewnow.Hecouldnotbutadmittohimselfthathemightnothavemadethisjourney,ifhecouldhaveforeseentheeventsofafewdays.Andyethismisgivingswerenot sodark as, imaginedby the light of this later time,theywouldappear.Troubledasthefuturewas,itwastheunknownfuture,andin its obscurity there was ignorant hope. The horrible massacre, days andnightslong,which,withinafewroundsoftheclock,wastosetagreatmarkof blood upon the blessed garnering time of harvest, was as far out of hisknowledgeasifithadbeenahundredthousandyearsaway.The"sharpfemale

newly-born, and called LaGuillotine," was hardly known to him, or to thegeneralityofpeople,byname.Thefrightfuldeedsthatweretobesoondone,wereprobablyunimaginedatthattimeinthebrainsofthedoers.Howcouldtheyhaveaplaceintheshadowyconceptionsofagentlemind?Ofunjusttreatmentindetentionandhardship,andincruelseparationfromhis wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or the certainty; but,beyondthis,hedreadednothingdistinctly.Withthisonhismind,whichwasenoughtocarryintoadrearyprisoncourtyard,hearrivedattheprisonofLaForce.Amanwith a bloated face opened the strongwicket, towhomDefargepresented"TheEmigrantEvremonde.""WhattheDevil!Howmanymoreofthem!"exclaimedthemanwiththebloatedface.Defarge tookhisreceiptwithoutnoticingtheexclamation,andwithdrew,withhistwofellow-patriots."What theDevil, I say again!" exclaimed the gaoler, left with his wife."Howmanymore!"Thegaoler'swife,beingprovidedwithnoanswertothequestion,merelyreplied, "One must have patience, my dear!" Three turnkeys who enteredresponsive toabellsherang,echoed thesentiment,andoneadded,"For theloveofLiberty;"whichsoundedinthatplacelikeaninappropriateconclusion.TheprisonofLaForcewasagloomyprison,darkandfilthy,andwithahorriblesmelloffoulsleepinit.Extraordinaryhowsoonthenoisomeflavourofimprisonedsleep,becomesmanifestinallsuchplacesthatareillcaredfor!"Insecret,too,"grumbledthegaoler,lookingatthewrittenpaper."AsifIwasnotalreadyfulltobursting!"Hestuckthepaperonafile,inanill-humour,andCharlesDarnayawaitedhisfurtherpleasureforhalfanhour:sometimes,pacingtoandfrointhestrongarchedroom:sometimes,restingonastoneseat:ineithercasedetainedtobeimprintedonthememoryofthechiefandhissubordinates."Come!" said the chief, at length taking up his keys, "come with me,emigrant."Through thedismalprison twilight,hisnewchargeaccompaniedhimbycorridor and staircase,many doors clanging and locking behind them, untiltheycameintoalarge,low,vaultedchamber,crowdedwithprisonersofbothsexes.Thewomenwereseatedata longtable, readingandwriting,knitting,sewing, and embroidering; themenwere for themost part standing behindtheirchairs,orlingeringupanddowntheroom.In the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime anddisgrace, the new-comer recoiled from this company. But the crowning

unrealityofhis longunreal ride,was, theirallatonce rising to receivehim,witheveryrefinementofmannerknowntothetime,andwithalltheengaginggracesandcourtesiesoflife.So strangely cloudedwere these refinements by the prisonmanners andgloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor andmiserythrough which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand in acompanyofthedead.Ghostsall!Theghostofbeauty,theghostofstateliness,theghost of elegance, theghost of pride, theghost of frivolity, theghost ofwit, theghostofyouth, theghostofage,allwaitingtheirdismissalfromthedesolate shore, all turningonhimeyes thatwere changedby thedeath theyhaddiedincomingthere.It struck himmotionless. The gaoler standing at his side, and the othergaolersmovingabout,whowouldhavebeenwellenoughastoappearanceinthe ordinary exercise of their functions, looked so extravagantly coarsecontrastedwithsorrowingmothersandbloomingdaughterswhowerethere—withtheapparitionsofthecoquette,theyoungbeauty,andthematurewomandelicatelybred—thattheinversionofallexperienceandlikelihoodwhichthesceneofshadowspresented,washeightenedtoitsutmost.Surely,ghostsall.Surely,thelongunrealridesomeprogressofdiseasethathadbroughthimtothesegloomyshades!"In the name of the assembled companions in misfortune," said agentleman of courtly appearance and address, coming forward, "I have thehonourofgivingyouwelcometoLaForce,andofcondolingwithyouonthecalamity that has brought you among us.May it soon terminate happily! Itwouldbean impertinenceelsewhere,but it isnot sohere, toaskyournameandcondition?"Charles Darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, inwordsassuitableashecouldfind."ButIhope,"saidthegentleman,followingthechiefgaolerwithhiseyes,whomovedacrosstheroom,"thatyouarenotinsecret?""Idonotunderstandthemeaningof the term,butIhaveheardthemsayso.""Ah,whatapity!Wesomuchregretit!Buttakecourage;severalmembersofoursocietyhavebeeninsecret,atfirst,andithaslastedbutashorttime."Thenheadded,raisinghisvoice,"Igrievetoinformthesociety—insecret."There was a murmur of commiseration as Charles Darnay crossed theroom to a grated door where the gaoler awaited him, and many voices—amongwhich,thesoftandcompassionatevoicesofwomenwereconspicuous—gavehimgoodwishesandencouragement.Heturnedatthegrateddoor,torender the thanks of his heart; it closed under the gaoler's hand; and theapparitionsvanishedfromhissightforever.

Thewicketopenedona stone staircase, leadingupward.When theyhadascendedfortysteps(theprisonerofhalfanhouralreadycountedthem),thegaoleropenedalowblackdoor,andtheypassedintoasolitarycell.Itstruckcoldanddamp,butwasnotdark."Yours,"saidthegaoler."WhyamIconfinedalone?""HowdoIknow!""Icanbuypen,ink,andpaper?""Sucharenotmyorders.Youwillbevisited,andcanaskthen.Atpresent,youmaybuyyourfood,andnothingmore."Therewereinthecell,achair,atable,andastrawmattress.Asthegaolermadeageneralinspectionoftheseobjects,andofthefourwalls,beforegoingout, a wandering fancy wandered through themind of the prisoner leaningagainst the wall opposite to him, that this gaoler was so unwholesomelybloated,bothinfaceandperson,astolooklikeamanwhohadbeendrownedand filled with water. When the gaoler was gone, he thought in the samewanderingway, "Now am I left, as if Iwere dead." Stopping then, to lookdownatthemattress,heturnedfromitwithasickfeeling,andthought,"Andhereinthesecrawlingcreaturesisthefirstconditionofthebodyafterdeath.""Fivepacesbyfourandahalf,fivepacesbyfourandahalf,fivepacesbyfour and a half." The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting itsmeasurement, and the roar of the city arose likemuffleddrumswith awildswell of voices added to them. "He made shoes, he made shoes, he madeshoes."Theprisonercountedthemeasurementagain,andpacedfaster,todrawhismindwithhimfromthatlatterrepetition."Theghoststhatvanishedwhenthe wicket closed. There was one among them, the appearance of a ladydressedinblack,whowasleaningintheembrasureofawindow,andshehadalightshininguponhergoldenhair,andshelookedlike****Letusrideonagain, for God's sake, through the illuminated villages with the people allawake!****Hemadeshoes,hemadeshoes,hemadeshoes.****Fivepacesbyfourandahalf."Withsuchscrapstossingandrollingupwardfromthe depths of his mind, the prisoner walked faster and faster, obstinatelycountingandcounting;andtheroarofthecitychangedtothisextent—thatitstillrolledinlikemuffleddrums,butwiththewailofvoicesthatheknew,intheswellthatroseabovethem.

TheGrindstone

Tellson'sBank,establishedintheSaintGermainQuarterofParis,wasinawingofalargehouse,approachedbyacourtyardandshutofffromthestreet

byahighwallandastronggate.Thehousebelongedtoagreatnoblemanwhohadlivedinituntilhemadeaflightfromthetroubles,inhisowncook'sdress,andgotacrosstheborders.Amerebeastofthechaseflyingfromhunters,hewas still in his metempsychosis no other than the same Monseigneur, thepreparationofwhosechocolateforwhoselipshadonceoccupiedthreestrongmenbesidesthecookinquestion.Monseigneur gone, and the three strongmen absolving themselves fromthesinofhavingdrawnhishighwages,bybeingmorethanreadyandwillingtocuthis throaton thealtarof thedawningRepubliconeand indivisibleofLiberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, Monseigneur's house had been firstsequestrated, and thenconfiscated.For, all thingsmovedso fast, anddecreefolloweddecreewiththatfierceprecipitation,thatnowuponthethirdnightofthe autumn month of September, patriot emissaries of the law were inpossessionofMonseigneur'shouse,andhadmarkeditwiththetri-colour,andweredrinkingbrandyinitsstateapartments.A place of business in London like Tellson's place of business in Paris,wouldsoonhavedriventheHouseoutof itsmindandintotheGazette.For,whatwouldstaidBritishresponsibilityandrespectabilityhavesaidtoorange-treesinboxesinaBankcourtyard,andeventoaCupidoverthecounter?Yetsuchthingswere.Tellson'shadwhitewashedtheCupid,buthewasstilltobeseen on the ceiling, in the coolest linen, aiming (as he very often does) atmoneyfrommorningtonight.BankruptcymustinevitablyhavecomeofthisyoungPagan,inLombard-street,London,andalsoofacurtainedalcoveintherearoftheimmortalboy,andalsoofalooking-glassletintothewall,andalsoofclerksnotatallold,whodancedinpublicontheslightestprovocation.Yet,a French Tellson's could get onwith these things exceedinglywell, and, aslongas the timesheld together,nomanhad takenfrightat them,anddrawnouthismoney.WhatmoneywouldbedrawnoutofTellson'shenceforth,andwhatwouldlie there, lostandforgotten;whatplateand jewelswould tarnish inTellson'shiding-places, while the depositors rusted in prisons, andwhen they shouldhave violently perished; how many accounts with Tellson's never to bebalancedinthisworld,mustbecarriedoverintothenext;nomancouldhavesaid, that night, any more than Mr. Jarvis Lorry could, though he thoughtheavilyofthesequestions.Hesatbyanewly-lightedwoodfire(theblightedandunfruitfulyearwasprematurelycold),andonhishonestandcourageousface there was a deeper shade than the pendent lamp could throw, or anyobjectintheroomdistortedlyreflect—ashadeofhorror.Heoccupiedroomsin theBank, inhisfidelity to theHouseofwhichhehadgrowntobeapart,likestrongroot-ivy.Itchancedthattheyderivedakindof security from the patriotic occupation of themain building, but the true-hearted old gentleman never calculated about that. All such circumstanceswere indifferent to him, so that hedidhis duty.On theopposite sideof the

courtyard,underacolonnade,wasextensivestanding—forcarriages—where,indeed, somecarriagesofMonseigneuryet stood.Against twoof thepillarswerefastenedtwogreatflaringflambeaux,andinthelightofthese,standingout in the open air,was a large grindstone: a roughlymounted thingwhichappeared to have hurriedly been brought there from some neighbouringsmithy, or other workshop. Rising and looking out of window at theseharmlessobjects,Mr.Lorryshivered,andretiredtohisseatbythefire.Hehadopened,notonlytheglasswindow,butthelatticeblindoutsideit,andhehadclosedbothagain,andheshiveredthroughhisframe.Fromthestreetsbeyondthehighwallandthestronggate,therecametheusual 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 weregoinguptoHeaven."ThankGod," saidMr. Lorry, clasping his hands, "that no one near anddeartomeis in thisdreadful townto-night.MayHehavemercyonallwhoareindanger!"Soonafterwards,thebellatthegreatgatesounded,andhethought,"Theyhavecomeback!"andsatlistening.But, therewasnoloudirruptionintothecourtyard,ashehadexpected,andheheardthegateclashagain,andallwasquiet.The nervousness and dread that were upon him inspired that vagueuneasinessrespectingtheBank,whichagreatchangewouldnaturallyawaken,withsuchfeelingsroused.Itwaswellguarded,andhegotuptogoamongthetrustypeoplewhowerewatchingit,whenhisdoorsuddenlyopened,andtwofiguresrushedin,atsightofwhichhefellbackinamazement.Lucieandherfather!Luciewithherarmsstretchedout tohim,andwiththatoldlookofearnestnesssoconcentratedandintensified,thatitseemedasthoughithadbeenstampeduponherfaceexpresslytogiveforceandpowertoitinthisonepassageofherlife."What is this?" cried Mr. Lorry, breathless and confused. "What is thematter? Lucie!Manette!What has happened?What has brought you here?Whatisit?"Withthelookfixeduponhim,inherpalenessandwildness,shepantedoutinhisarms,imploringly,"Omydearfriend!Myhusband!""Yourhusband,Lucie?""Charles.""WhatofCharles?""Here."Here,inParis?""Has been here some days—three or four—I don't know howmany—I

can'tcollectmythoughts.Anerrandofgenerositybroughthimhereunknowntous;hewasstoppedatthebarrier,andsenttoprison."Theoldmanutteredanirrepressiblecry.Almostatthesamemoment,thebeg of the great gate rang again, and a loud noise of feet and voices camepouringintothecourtyard."Whatisthatnoise?"saidtheDoctor,turningtowardsthewindow."Don'tlook!"criedMr.Lorry."Don'tlookout!Manette,foryourlife,don'ttouchtheblind!"TheDoctor turned,withhishandupon the fasteningof thewindow,andsaid,withacool,boldsmile:"Mydearfriend,Ihaveacharmedlifeinthiscity.IhavebeenaBastilleprisoner.ThereisnopatriotinParis—inParis?InFrance—who,knowingmetohavebeenaprisonerintheBastille,wouldtouchme,excepttooverwhelmmewithembraces,orcarrymeintriumph.Myoldpainhasgivenmeapowerthathasbroughtusthroughthebarrier,andgainedusnewsofCharlesthere,andbroughtushere.Iknewitwouldbeso;IknewIcouldhelpCharlesoutofalldanger;ItoldLucieso.—Whatisthatnoise?"Hishandwasagainuponthewindow."Don't look!"criedMr.Lorry,absolutelydesperate."No,Lucie,mydear,noryou!"Hegothisarmroundher,andheldher."Don'tbeso terrified,mylove. I solemnly swear to you that I know of no harm having happened toCharles; that I had no suspicion even of his being in this fatal place.Whatprisonishein?""LaForce!""LaForce!Lucie,mychild,ifeveryouwerebraveandserviceableinyourlife—and you were always both—you will compose yourself now, to doexactlyasIbidyou;formoredependsuponitthanyoucanthink,orIcansay.There is no help for you in any action on your part to-night; you cannotpossiblystirout. I say this,becausewhat Imustbidyou todo forCharles'ssake,isthehardestthingtodoofall.Youmustinstantlybeobedient,still,andquiet.Youmust letmeput you in a roomat thebackhere.Youmust leaveyourfatherandmealonefortwominutes,andasthereareLifeandDeathintheworldyoumustnotdelay.""Iwill be submissive to you. I see in your face that youknow I can donothingelsethanthis.Iknowyouaretrue."Theoldmankissedher,andhurriedherintohisroom,andturnedthekey;then, came hurrying back to theDoctor, and opened thewindow and partlyopenedtheblind,andputhishandupontheDoctor'sarm,andlookedoutwithhimintothecourtyard.Lookedoutuponathrongofmenandwomen:notenoughinnumber,ornear 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 hadrushedintoworkatthegrindstone;ithadevidentlybeensetuptherefortheirpurpose,asinaconvenientandretiredspot.But,suchawfulworkers,andsuchawfulwork!The grindstone had a double handle, and, turning at it madly were twomen,whose faces,as their longhair flappedbackwhen thewhirlingsof thegrindstone brought their faces up, were more horrible and cruel than thevisages of the wildest savages in their most barbarous disguise. Falseeyebrows and false moustaches were stuck upon them, and their hideouscountenanceswereallbloodyandsweaty,andallawrywithhowling,andallstaring and glaring with beastly excitement and want of sleep. As theseruffians turned and turned, theirmatted locks now flung forward over theireyes,nowflungbackwardover theirnecks, somewomenheldwine to theirmouths that theymightdrink;andwhatwithdroppingblood,andwhatwithdroppingwine,andwhatwiththestreamofsparksstruckoutofthestone,alltheirwickedatmosphereseemedgoreandfire.Theeyecouldnotdetectonecreatureinthegroupfreefromthesmearofblood.Shoulderingoneanothertogetnextatthesharpening-stone,weremenstrippedtothewaist,withthestainallover their limbsandbodies;men inall sortsof rags,with the stainuponthose rags;men devilishly set offwith spoils ofwomen's lace and silk andribbon, with the stain dyeing those trifles through and through. Hatchets,knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be sharpened, were all redwith it.Someofthehackedswordsweretiedtothewristsofthosewhocarriedthem,with stripsof linenand fragmentsofdress: ligaturesvarious inkind,but alldeepoftheonecolour.Andasthefranticwieldersoftheseweaponssnatchedthem from the streamof sparksand toreaway into the streets, the same redhue was red in their frenzied eyes;—eyes which any unbrutalised beholderwouldhavegiventwentyyearsoflife,topetrifywithawell-directedgun.Allthiswasseeninamoment,asthevisionofadrowningman,orofanyhumancreatureatanyverygreatpass,couldseeaworldifitwerethere.Theydrew back from the window, and the Doctor looked for explanation in hisfriend'sashyface."Theyare,"Mr.Lorrywhisperedthewords,glancingfearfullyroundatthelockedroom,"murderingtheprisoners.Ifyouaresureofwhatyousay;ifyoureally have the power you think you have—as I believe you have—makeyourselfknowntothesedevils,andgettakentoLaForce.Itmaybetoolate,Idon'tknow,butletitnotbeaminutelater!"DoctorManette pressed his hand, hastened bareheaded out of the room,andwasinthecourtyardwhenMr.Lorryregainedtheblind.His streaming white hair, his remarkable face, and the impetuousconfidenceofhismanner,asheputtheweaponsasidelikewater,carriedhimin an instant to the heart of the concourse at the stone. For a fewmoments

therewasapause,andahurry,andamurmur,andtheunintelligiblesoundofhisvoice;andthenMr.Lorrysawhim,surroundedbyall,andinthemidstofalineoftwentymenlong,alllinkedshouldertoshoulder,andhandtoshoulder,hurried outwith cries of—"Live theBastille prisoner!Help for theBastilleprisoner'skindredinLaForce!RoomfortheBastilleprisonerinfrontthere!SavetheprisonerEvremondeatLaForce!"andathousandansweringshouts.Heclosedthelatticeagainwithaflutteringheart,closedthewindowandthecurtain,hastenedtoLucie,andtoldherthatherfatherwasassistedbythepeople,andgoneinsearchofherhusband.HefoundherchildandMissProsswithher;but,itneveroccurredtohimtobesurprisedbytheirappearanceuntilalongtimeafterwards,whenhesatwatchingtheminsuchquietasthenightknew.Luciehad,bythattime,fallenintoastuporonthefloorathisfeet,clingingtohishand.MissProsshadlaidthechilddownonhisownbed,andherheadhadgraduallyfallenon thepillowbesideherprettycharge.Othe long, longnight,withthemoansof thepoorwife!AndOthelong, longnight,withnoreturnofherfatherandnotidings!Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded, and theirruptionwas repeated, and the grindstonewhirled and spluttered. "What isit?"criedLucie,affrighted."Hush!Thesoldiers'swordsaresharpenedthere,"saidMr. Lorry. "The place is national property now, and used as a kind ofarmoury,mylove."Twicemore inall;but, the lastspellofworkwasfeebleandfitful.Soonafterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly detached himself from theclaspinghand,andcautiouslylookedoutagain.Aman,sobesmearedthathemighthavebeenasorelywoundedsoldiercreepingbacktoconsciousnessonafieldofslain,wasrisingfromthepavementbythesideofthegrindstone,andlookingabouthimwithavacantair.Shortly,thisworn-outmurdererdescriedintheimperfectlightoneofthecarriagesofMonseigneur,and,staggeringtothatgorgeousvehicle,climbedinatthedoor,andshuthimselfuptotakehisrestonitsdaintycushions.Thegreatgrindstone,Earth,hadturnedwhenMr.Lorrylookedoutagain,and thesunwas redon thecourtyard.But, the lessergrindstonestoodalonethereinthecalmmorningair,withareduponitthatthesunhadnevergiven,andwouldnevertakeaway.

TheShadow

One of the first considerationswhich arose in the businessmind ofMr.Lorry when business hours came round, was this:—that he had no right to

imperilTellson'sbyshelteringthewifeofanemigrantprisonerundertheBankroof.Hisownpossessions,safety,life,hewouldhavehazardedforLucieandherchild,withoutamoment'sdemur;but thegreat trustheheldwasnothisown,andastothatbusinesschargehewasastrictmanofbusiness.At first, hismind reverted toDefarge, andhe thought of findingout thewine-shopagainandtakingcounselwith itsmaster inreferenceto thesafestdwelling-place in thedistractedstateof thecity.But, thesameconsiderationthatsuggestedhim,repudiatedhim;helivedinthemostviolentQuarter,anddoubtlesswasinfluentialthere,anddeepinitsdangerousworkings.Noon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every minute's delaytendingtocompromiseTellson's,Mr.LorryadvisedwithLucie.Shesaidthatherfatherhadspokenofhiringalodgingforashortterm,inthatQuarter,nearthe Banking-house. As there was no business objection to this, and as heforesawthatevenifitwereallwellwithCharles,andheweretobereleased,he could not hope to leave the city,Mr. Lorrywent out in quest of such alodging,and foundasuitableone,highup ina removedby-streetwhere theclosed blinds in all the other windows of a high melancholy square ofbuildingsmarkeddesertedhomes.TothislodgingheatonceremovedLucieandherchild,andMissPross:givingthemwhatcomforthecould,andmuchmorethanhehadhimself.HeleftJerrywiththem,asafiguretofilladoorwaythatwouldbearconsiderableknockingon thehead,and retained tohisownoccupations.Adisturbedanddolefulmindhebrought tobearupon them,and slowlyandheavily thedaylaggedonwithhim.Itworeitselfout,andworehimoutwithit,untiltheBankclosed.Hewasagain alone in his roomof the previous night, consideringwhat to do next,when he heard a foot upon the stair. In a fewmoments, aman stood in hispresence, who, with a keenly observant look at him, addressed him by hisname."Yourservant,"saidMr.Lorry."Doyouknowme?"Hewasastronglymademanwithdarkcurlinghair,fromforty-fivetofiftyyears of age. For answer he repeated, without any change of emphasis, thewords:"Doyouknowme?""Ihaveseenyousomewhere.""Perhapsatmywine-shop?"Much interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: "You come from DoctorManette?""Yes.IcomefromDoctorManette.""Andwhatsayshe?Whatdoeshesendme?"

Defarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It bore thewordsintheDoctor'swriting:"Charlesissafe,butIcannotsafelyleavethisplaceyet.IhaveobtainedthefavourthatthebearerhasashortnotefromCharlestohiswife.Letthebearerseehiswife."ItwasdatedfromLaForce,withinanhour."Willyouaccompanyme,"saidMr.Lorry,joyfullyrelievedafterreadingthisnotealoud,"towherehiswiferesides?""Yes,"returnedDefarge.Scarcelynoticingasyet,inwhatacuriouslyreservedandmechanicalwayDefarge spoke, Mr. Lorry put on his hat and they went down into thecourtyard.There,theyfoundtwowomen;one,knitting."MadameDefarge,surely!"saidMr.Lorry,whohadleftherinexactlythesameattitudesomeseventeenyearsago."Itisshe,"observedherhusband."DoesMadamegowithus?"inquiredMr.Lorry,seeingthatshemovedastheymoved."Yes.Thatshemaybeabletorecognisethefacesandknowthepersons.Itisfortheirsafety."BeginningtobestruckbyDefarge'smanner,Mr.Lorrylookeddubiouslyathim,andledtheway.Boththewomenfollowed;thesecondwomanbeingTheVengeance.They passed through the intervening streets as quickly as they might,ascendedthestaircaseofthenewdomicile,wereadmittedbyJerry,andfoundLucie weeping, alone. She was thrown into a transport by the tidings Mr.Lorrygaveherofherhusband,andclaspedthehandthatdeliveredhisnote—littlethinkingwhatithadbeendoingnearhiminthenight,andmight,butforachance,havedonetohim.

"DEAREST,—Takecourage.Iamwell,andyourfatherhasinfluencearoundme.Youcannotanswerthis.Kissourchildforme."Thatwasallthewriting.Itwassomuch,however,toherwhoreceivedit,that she turned fromDefarge to his wife, and kissed one of the hands thatknitted. Itwas a passionate, loving, thankful,womanly action, but the handmadenoresponse—droppedcoldandheavy,andtooktoitsknittingagain.TherewassomethinginitstouchthatgaveLucieacheck.Shestoppedintheactofputtingthenoteinherbosom,and,withherhandsyetatherneck,lookedterrifiedatMadameDefarge.MadameDefargemettheliftedeyebrowsandforeheadwithacold,impassivestare.

"Mydear,"saidMr.Lorry,strikingintoexplain;"therearefrequentrisingsinthestreets;and,althoughitisnotlikelytheywillevertroubleyou,MadameDefargewishestoseethosewhomshehasthepowertoprotectatsuchtimes,to theend thatshemayknowthem—thatshemay identify them.Ibelieve,"saidMr.Lorry,ratherhaltinginhisreassuringwords,asthestonymannerofall the three impressed itself upon him more and more, "I state the case,CitizenDefarge?"Defargelookedgloomilyathiswife,andgavenootheranswerthanagruffsoundofacquiescence."Youhadbetter,Lucie,"saidMr.Lorry,doingallhecouldtopropitiate,bytone andmanner, "have the dear child here, and our good Pross. Our goodPross,Defarge,isanEnglishlady,andknowsnoFrench."The lady inquestion,whose rooted conviction that shewasmore than amatch for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and, danger,appearedwithfoldedarms,andobservedinEnglishtoTheVengeance,whomhereyesfirstencountered,"Well, Iamsure,Boldface! Ihopeyou are prettywell!"ShealsobestowedaBritishcoughonMadameDefarge;but,neitherofthetwotookmuchheedofher."Isthathischild?"saidMadameDefarge,stoppinginherworkforthefirsttime,andpointingherknitting-needleatlittleLucieasifitwerethefingerofFate."Yes,madame," answeredMr.Lorry; "this is our poor prisoner's darlingdaughter,andonlychild."TheshadowattendantonMadameDefargeandherpartyseemedtofallsothreateninganddarkonthechild,thathermotherinstinctivelykneeledontheground beside her, and held her to her breast. The shadow attendant onMadameDefargeandherpartyseemedthentofall, threateninganddark,onboththemotherandthechild."Itisenough,myhusband,"saidMadameDefarge."Ihaveseenthem.Wemaygo."But, thesuppressedmannerhadenoughofmenace in it—notvisibleandpresented,butindistinctandwithheld—toalarmLucieintosaying,asshelaidherappealinghandonMadameDefarge'sdress:"Youwillbegoodtomypoorhusband.Youwilldohimnoharm.Youwillhelpmetoseehimifyoucan?""Your husband is not my business here," returned Madame Defarge,lookingdownatherwithperfectcomposure."Itisthedaughterofyourfatherwhoismybusinesshere.""Formysake,then,bemercifultomyhusband.Formychild'ssake!Shewillputherhandstogetherandprayyoutobemerciful.Wearemoreafraidofyouthanoftheseothers."

MadameDefargereceiveditasacompliment,andlookedatherhusband.Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and looking at her,collectedhisfaceintoasternerexpression."What is it that your husband says in that little letter?" askedMadameDefarge, with a lowering smile. "Influence; he says something touchinginfluence?""Thatmy father," saidLucie,hurriedly taking thepaper fromherbreast,butwithheralarmedeyesonherquestionerandnotonit,"hasmuchinfluencearoundhim.""Surelyitwillreleasehim!"saidMadameDefarge."Letitdoso.""As a wife andmother," cried Lucie, most earnestly, "I implore you tohavepityonmeandnot toexerciseanypower thatyoupossess,againstmyinnocenthusband,buttouseitinhisbehalf.Osister-woman,thinkofme.Asawifeandmother!"MadameDefargelooked,coldlyasever,atthesuppliant,andsaid,turningtoherfriendTheVengeance:"Thewivesandmotherswehavebeenusedtosee,sincewewereaslittleas this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? We haveknown their husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, oftenenough?All our lives,wehave seenour sister-women suffer, in themselvesand in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery,oppressionandneglectofallkinds?""Wehaveseennothingelse,"returnedTheVengeance."Wehavebornethisalongtime,"saidMadameDefarge,turninghereyesagain upon Lucie. "Judge you! Is it likely that the trouble of onewife andmotherwouldbemuchtousnow?"Sheresumedherknittingandwentout.TheVengeancefollowed.Defargewentlast,andclosedthedoor."Courage, my dear Lucie," said Mr. Lorry, as he raised her. "Courage,courage!Sofarallgoeswellwithus—much,muchbetter than ithasof lategonewithmanypoorsouls.Cheerup,andhaveathankfulheart.""I am not thankless, I hope, but that dreadful woman seems to throw ashadowonmeandonallmyhopes.""Tut, tut!" saidMr. Lorry; "what is this despondency in the brave littlebreast?Ashadowindeed!Nosubstanceinit,Lucie."But theshadowof themannerof theseDefargeswasdarkuponhimself,forallthat,andinhissecretmindittroubledhimgreatly.

CalminStorm

DoctorManettedidnot returnuntil themorningof the fourthdayofhisabsence.Somuchofwhathadhappenedinthatdreadfultimeascouldbekeptfrom theknowledgeofLuciewas sowell concealed fromher, thatnotuntillongafterwards,whenFranceandshewerefarapart,didsheknowthatelevenhundreddefencelessprisonersofboth sexes andall ageshadbeenkilledbythe populace; that four days and nights had been darkened by this deed ofhorror; and that the air around her had been tainted by the slain. She onlyknewthattherehadbeenanattackupontheprisons,thatallpoliticalprisonershad been in danger, and that some had been dragged out by the crowd andmurdered.ToMr.Lorry,theDoctorcommunicatedunderaninjunctionofsecrecyonwhichhehadnoneedtodwell,thatthecrowdhadtakenhimthroughasceneofcarnagetotheprisonofLaForce.That,intheprisonhehadfoundaself-appointed Tribunal sitting, before which the prisoners were brought singly,andbywhichtheywererapidlyorderedtobeputforthtobemassacred,ortobereleased,or(inafewcases)tobesentbacktotheircells.That,presentedby his conductors to this Tribunal, he had announced himself by name andprofessionashavingbeenforeighteenyearsasecretandunaccusedprisonerin the Bastille; that, one of the body so sitting in judgment had risen andidentifiedhim,andthatthismanwasDefarge.That,hereuponhehadascertained,throughtheregistersonthetable,thathis son-in-lawwas among the living prisoners, and had pleaded hard to theTribunal—ofwhomsomememberswereasleepandsomeawake,somedirtywith murder and some clean, some sober and some not—for his life andliberty. That, in the first frantic greetings lavished on himself as a notablesufferer under the overthrown system, it had been accorded to him to haveCharles Darnay brought before the lawless Court, and examined. That, heseemedonthepointofbeingatoncereleased,whenthetideinhisfavourmetwithsomeunexplainedcheck (not intelligible to theDoctor),which led toafewwords of secret conference.That, theman sitting as President had theninformedDoctorManettethattheprisonermustremainincustody,butshould,forhissake,beheldinviolateinsafecustody.That,immediately,onasignal,theprisonerwasremovedtotheinterioroftheprisonagain;but,thathe,theDoctor, had then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain and assurehimselfthathisson-in-lawwas,throughnomaliceormischance,deliveredtotheconcoursewhosemurderousyellsoutsidethegatehadoftendrownedtheproceedings, that he had obtained the permission, and had remained in thatHallofBlooduntilthedangerwasover.The sights he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and sleep byintervals,shallremainuntold.Themadjoyovertheprisonerswhoweresaved,hadastoundedhimscarcelylessthanthemadferocityagainstthosewhowere

cuttopieces.Oneprisonertherewas,hesaid,whohadbeendischargedintothestreetfree,butatwhomamistakensavagehadthrustapikeashepassedout.Beingbesoughttogotohimanddressthewound,theDoctorhadpassedout at the same gate, and had found him in the arms of a company ofSamaritans, who were seated on the bodies of their victims. With aninconsistency as monstrous as anything in this awful nightmare, they hadhelpedthehealer,andtendedthewoundedmanwiththegentlestsolicitude—hadmadealitterforhimandescortedhimcarefullyfromthespot—hadthencaughtup theirweaponsandplungedanew intoabutchery sodreadful, thatthe Doctor had covered his eyes with his hands, and swooned away in themidstofit.AsMr.Lorryreceivedtheseconfidences,andashewatchedthefaceofhisfriend now sixty-two years of age, a misgiving arose within him that suchdreadexperienceswouldrevivetheolddanger.But,hehadneverseenhisfriendinhispresentaspect:hehadneveratallknownhiminhispresentcharacter.ForthefirsttimetheDoctorfelt,now,thathis suffering was strength and power. For the first time he felt that in thatsharpfire,hehadslowlyforgedtheironwhichcouldbreaktheprisondoorofhis daughter's husband, and deliver him. "It all tended to a good end, myfriend; itwasnotmerewaste and ruin.Asmybeloved childwashelpful inrestoringme tomyself, Iwillbehelpfulnowinrestoring thedearestpartofherselftoher;bytheaidofHeavenIwilldoit!"Thus,DoctorManette.AndwhenJarvisLorrysawthekindledeyes,theresoluteface,thecalmstronglookand bearing of the man whose life always seemed to him to have beenstopped, like a clock, for somany years, and then set going again with anenergy which had lain dormant during the cessation of its usefulness, hebelieved.Greater things than the Doctor had at that time to contend with, wouldhave yielded before his persevering purpose. While he kept himself in hisplace,asaphysician,whosebusinesswaswithalldegreesofmankind,bondand free, rich and poor, bad and good, he used his personal influence sowisely,thathewassoontheinspectingphysicianofthreeprisons,andamongthemofLaForce.HecouldnowassureLuciethatherhusbandwasnolongerconfinedalone,butwasmixedwiththegeneralbodyofprisoners;hesawherhusbandweekly, and brought sweetmessages to her, straight from his lips;sometimes her husband himself sent a letter to her (though never by theDoctor's hand), but she was not permitted to write to him: for, among themany wild suspicions of plots in the prisons, the wildest of all pointed atemigrantswhowere known to havemade friends or permanent connectionsabroad.This new life of the Doctor's was an anxious life, no doubt; still, thesagaciousMr.Lorrysawthattherewasanewsustainingprideinit.Nothingunbecomingtingedthepride;itwasanaturalandworthyone;butheobserved

itasacuriosity.TheDoctorknew,thatuptothattime,hisimprisonmenthadbeenassociatedinthemindsofhisdaughterandhisfriend,withhispersonalaffliction,deprivation,andweakness.Nowthatthiswaschanged,andheknewhimself to be invested through that old trialwith forces towhich they bothlookedforCharles'sultimatesafetyanddeliverance,hebecamesofarexaltedby thechange, thathe took the leadanddirection, and required themas theweak,totrusttohimasthestrong.TheprecedingrelativepositionsofhimselfandLuciewerereversed,yetonlyastheliveliestgratitudeandaffectioncouldreversethem,forhecouldhavehadnopridebutinrenderingsomeservicetoherwhohadrenderedsomuchtohim."Allcurioustosee,"thoughtMr.Lorry,in his amiably shrewdway, "but all natural and right; so, take the lead,mydearfriend,andkeepit;itcouldn'tbeinbetterhands."But,thoughtheDoctortriedhard,andneverceasedtrying,togetCharlesDarnaysetatliberty,oratleasttogethimbroughttotrial,thepubliccurrentofthetimesettoostrongandfastforhim.Thenewerabegan;thekingwastried,doomed,andbeheaded;theRepublicofLiberty,Equality,Fraternity,orDeath,declaredforvictoryordeathagainsttheworldinarms;theblackflagwaved night and day from the great towers of Notre Dame; three hundredthousandmen,summonedtoriseagainstthetyrantsoftheearth,rosefromallthevaryingsoilsofFrance,asifthedragon'steethhadbeensownbroadcast,andhadyieldedfruitequallyonhillandplain,onrock,ingravel,andalluvialmud,underthebrightskyoftheSouthandunderthecloudsoftheNorth,infellandforest,inthevineyardsandtheolive-groundsandamongthecroppedgrassandthestubbleofthecorn,alongthefruitfulbanksofthebroadrivers,and in the sand of the sea-shore. What private solicitude could rear itselfagainstthedelugeoftheYearOneofLiberty—thedelugerisingfrombelow,notfallingfromabove,andwiththewindowsofHeavenshut,notopened!Therewas no pause, no pity, no peace, no interval of relenting rest, nomeasurement of time. Though days and nights circled as regularly aswhentimewasyoung,andtheeveningandmorningwerethefirstday,othercountoftimetherewasnone.Holdofitwaslostintheragingfeverofanation,asitisinthefeverofonepatient.Now,breakingtheunnaturalsilenceofawholecity, the executioner showed the people the head of the king—and now, itseemed almost in the same breath, the head of his fairwifewhich had hadeightwearymonthsofimprisonedwidowhoodandmisery,toturnitgrey.And yet, observing the strange lawof contradictionwhich obtains in allsuch cases, the time was long, while it flamed by so fast. A revolutionarytribunalinthecapital,andfortyorfiftythousandrevolutionarycommitteesallover the land; a law of the Suspected, which struck away all security forlibertyorlife,anddeliveredoveranygoodandinnocentpersontoanybadandguilty one; prisons gorgedwith peoplewho had committed no offence, andcouldobtainnohearing;thesethingsbecametheestablishedorderandnatureofappointed things, and seemed tobeancientusagebefore theyweremany

weeks old.Above all, one hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had beenbeforethegeneralgazefromthefoundationsof theworld—thefigureof thesharpfemalecalledLaGuillotine.It was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for headache, itinfalliblypreventedthehairfromturninggrey,itimpartedapeculiardelicacytothecomplexion,itwastheNationalRazorwhichshavedclose:whokissedLaGuillotine, lookedthroughthelittlewindowandsneezedintothesack.Itwas thesignof the regenerationof thehumanrace. It superseded theCross.ModelsofitwerewornonbreastsfromwhichtheCrosswasdiscarded,anditwasboweddowntoandbelievedinwheretheCrosswasdenied.Itshearedoffheadssomany,thatit,andthegrounditmostpolluted,werearottenred. Itwas taken topieces, likea toy-puzzle forayoungDevil,andwasput togetheragainwhen theoccasionwanted it. Ithushed theeloquent,struck down the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. Twenty-twofriendsofhighpublicmark,twenty-onelivingandonedead,ithadloppedtheheadsoff,inonemorning,inasmanyminutes.ThenameofthestrongmanofOldScripturehaddescended to thechief functionarywhoworked it;but, soarmed, he was stronger than his namesake, and blinder, and tore away thegatesofGod'sownTempleeveryday.Amongtheseterrors,andthebroodbelongingtothem,theDoctorwalkedwith a steady head: confident in his power, cautiously persistent in his end,neverdoubtingthathewouldsaveLucie'shusbandatlast.Yetthecurrentofthetimesweptby,sostronganddeep,andcarriedthetimeawaysofiercely,thatCharleshadlaininprisononeyearandthreemonthswhentheDoctorwasthus steady and confident. So much more wicked and distracted had theRevolutiongrowninthatDecembermonth, that theriversoftheSouthwereencumberedwiththebodiesoftheviolentlydrownedbynight,andprisonerswereshotinlinesandsquaresunderthesouthernwintrysun.Still,theDoctorwalkedamongtheterrorswithasteadyhead.Nomanbetterknownthanhe,inParisatthatday;nomaninastrangersituation.Silent,humane,indispensableinhospitalandprison,usinghisartequallyamongassassinsandvictims,hewasamanapart.Intheexerciseofhisskill, theappearanceandthestoryoftheBastilleCaptiveremovedhimfromallothermen.Hewasnotsuspectedorbroughtinquestion,anymorethanifhehadindeedbeenrecalledtolifesomeeighteenyearsbefore,orwereaSpiritmovingamongmortals.

TheWood-Sawyer

One year and threemonths. During all that time Lucie was never sure,fromhourtohour,butthattheGuillotinewouldstrikeoffherhusband'sheadnextday.Everyday,throughthestonystreets,thetumbrilsnowjoltedheavily,

filled with Condemned. Lovely girls; bright women, brown-haired, black-haired,andgrey;youths;stalwartmenandold;gentlebornandpeasantborn;allredwineforLaGuillotine,alldailybroughtintolightfromthedarkcellarsof the loathsome prisons, and carried to her through the streets to slake herdevouring thirst. Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death;—the last, much theeasiesttobestow,OGuillotine!Ifthesuddennessofhercalamity,andthewhirlingwheelsofthetime,hadstunnedtheDoctor'sdaughterintoawaitingtheresultinidledespair,itwouldbuthavebeenwithherasitwaswithmany.But,fromthehourwhenshehadtakenthewhiteheadtoherfreshyoungbosominthegarretofSaintAntoine,shehadbeentruetoherduties.Shewastruesttothemintheseasonoftrial,asallthequietlyloyalandgoodwillalwaysbe.Assoonastheywereestablishedintheirnewresidence,andherfatherhadenteredon the routineofhisavocations, shearranged the littlehouseholdasexactlyas ifherhusbandhadbeen there.Everythinghad itsappointedplaceanditsappointedtime.LittleLucieshetaught,asregularly,asiftheyhadallbeenunitedintheirEnglishhome.Theslightdeviceswithwhichshecheatedherself into theshowofabelief that theywouldsoonbereunited—the littlepreparationsforhisspeedyreturn,thesettingasideofhischairandhisbooks—these, and the solemn prayer at night for one dear prisoner especially,among the many unhappy souls in prison and the shadow of death—werealmosttheonlyoutspokenreliefsofherheavymind.She did not greatly alter in appearance. The plain dark dresses, akin tomourning dresses, which she and her child wore, were as neat and as wellattendedtoasthebrighterclothesofhappydays.Shelosthercolour,andtheoldandintentexpressionwasaconstant,notanoccasional,thing;otherwise,she remained very pretty and comely. Sometimes, at night on kissing herfather,shewouldburstintothegriefshehadrepressedallday,andwouldsaythat her sole reliance, under Heaven, was on him. He always resolutelyanswered: "Nothing can happen to himwithoutmy knowledge, and I knowthatIcansavehim,Lucie."Theyhadnotmadetheroundoftheirchangedlifemanyweeks,whenherfathersaidtoher,oncominghomeoneevening:"Mydear, there is anupperwindow in theprison, towhichCharles cansometimesgainaccessatthreeintheafternoon.Whenhecangettoit—whichdependsonmanyuncertaintiesandincidents—hemightseeyouinthestreet,hethinks,ifyoustoodinacertainplacethatIcanshowyou.Butyouwillnotbeabletoseehim,mypoorchild,andevenifyoucould,itwouldbeunsafeforyoutomakeasignofrecognition.""Oshowmetheplace,myfather,andIwillgothereeveryday."Fromthattime,inallweathers,shewaitedtheretwohours.Astheclockstrucktwo,shewasthere,andatfoursheturnedresignedlyaway.Whenitwas

not toowetor inclement forherchild tobewithher, theywent together; atothertimesshewasalone;but,shenevermissedasingleday.Itwasthedarkanddirtycornerofasmallwindingstreet.Thehovelofacutterofwoodintolengthsforburning,wastheonlyhouseatthatend;allelsewaswall.Onthethirddayofherbeingthere,henoticedher."Goodday,citizeness.""Goodday,citizen."This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had beenestablishedvoluntarilysometimeago,amongthemorethoroughpatriots;but,wasnowlawforeverybody."Walkinghereagain,citizeness?""Youseeme,citizen!"Thewood-sawyer,whowasalittlemanwitharedundancyofgesture(hehadoncebeenamenderofroads),castaglanceat theprison,pointedat theprison, and putting his ten fingers before his face to represent bars, peepedthroughthemjocosely."Butit'snotmybusiness,"saidhe.Andwentonsawinghiswood.Next day hewas looking out for her, and accosted her themoment sheappeared."What?Walkinghereagain,citizeness?""Yes,citizen.""Ah!Achildtoo!Yourmother,isitnot,mylittlecitizeness?""DoIsayyes,mamma?"whisperedlittleLucie,drawingclosetoher."Yes,dearest.""Yes,citizen.""Ah!Butit'snotmybusiness.Myworkismybusiness.Seemysaw!IcallitmyLittleGuillotine.La,la,la;La,la,la!Andoffhisheadcomes!"Thebilletfellashespoke,andhethrewitintoabasket."IcallmyselftheSamsonofthefirewoodguillotine.Seehereagain!Loo,loo,loo;Loo,loo,loo!Andoffherheadcomes!Now,achild.Tickle,tickle;Pickle,pickle!Andoffitsheadcomes.Allthefamily!"Lucie shudderedashe threw twomorebillets intohisbasket,but itwasimpossibletobetherewhilethewood-sawyerwasatwork,andnotbeinhissight.Thenceforth,tosecurehisgoodwill,shealwaysspoketohimfirst,andoftengavehimdrink-money,whichhereadilyreceived.Hewasaninquisitivefellow,andsometimeswhenshehadquiteforgottenhimingazingat theprisonroofandgrates,andinliftingherheartuptoher

husband,shewouldcometoherselftofindhimlookingather,withhiskneeonhisbenchandhissawstoppedinitswork."But it'snotmybusiness!"hewouldgenerallysayatthosetimes,andwouldbrisklyfalltohissawingagain.In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter winds ofspring,inthehotsunshineofsummer,intherainsofautumn,andagaininthesnowandfrostofwinter,Luciepassed twohoursofeverydayat thisplace;andeverydayonleavingit,shekissedtheprisonwall.Herhusbandsawher(soshelearnedfromherfather)itmightbeonceinfiveorsixtimes:itmightbetwiceorthricerunning:itmightbe,notforaweekorafortnighttogether.Itwasenoughthathecouldanddidseeherwhenthechancesserved,andonthatpossibilityshewouldhavewaitedouttheday,sevendaysaweek.TheseoccupationsbroughtherroundtotheDecembermonth,whereinherfather walked among the terrors with a steady head. On a lightly-snowingafternoonshearrivedattheusualcorner.Itwasadayofsomewildrejoicing,and a festival. She had seen the houses, as she came along, decoratedwithlittle pikes, andwith little red caps stuck upon them; also, with tricolouredribbons; also, with the standard inscription (tricoloured letters were thefavourite), Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, orDeath!The miserable shop of the wood-sawyer was so small, that its wholesurfacefurnishedveryindifferentspaceforthislegend.Hehadgotsomebodyto scrawl it up for him, however, who had squeezed Death in with mostinappropriate difficulty. On his house-top, he displayed pike and cap, as agoodcitizenmust,andinawindowhehadstationedhissawinscribedashis"Little Sainte Guillotine"—for the great sharp female was by that timepopularly canonised.His shopwas shut and hewas not there,whichwas arelieftoLucie,andleftherquitealone.But,hewasnotfaroff,forpresentlysheheardatroubledmovementandashoutingcomingalong,whichfilledherwithfear.Amomentafterwards,andathrong of people came pouring round the corner by the prison wall, in themidst of whom was the wood-sawyer hand in hand with The Vengeance.Therecouldnotbefewerthanfivehundredpeople,andtheyweredancinglikefivethousanddemons.Therewasnoothermusicthantheirownsinging.TheydancedtothepopularRevolutionsong,keepingaferocioustimethatwaslikea gnashing of teeth in unison. Men and women danced together, womendanced together,mendanced together, ashazardhadbrought them together.Atfirst, theywereamerestormofcoarseredcapsandcoarsewoollenrags;but,astheyfilledtheplace,andstoppedtodanceaboutLucie,someghastlyapparition of a dance-figure gone raving mad arose among them. Theyadvanced, retreated, struck at one another's hands, clutched at one another'sheads, spun round alone, caught one another and spun round in pairs, untilmanyofthemdropped.Whilethoseweredown,therestlinkedhandinhand,andallspunroundtogether:thentheringbroke,andinseparateringsoftwo

and four they turned and turneduntil they all stopped at once, began again,struck, clutched, and tore, and then reversed the spin, and all spun roundanotherway.Suddenlytheystoppedagain,paused,struckoutthetimeafresh,formedintolinesthewidthofthepublicway,and,withtheirheadslowdownand their hands high up, swooped screaming off.No fight could have beenhalf so terrible as this dance. It was so emphatically a fallen sport—asomething, once innocent, delivered over to all devilry—a healthy pastimechanged into a means of angering the blood, bewildering the senses, andsteelingtheheart.Suchgraceaswasvisibleinit,madeittheuglier,showinghow warped and perverted all things good by nature were become. Themaidenlybosombared to this, thepretty almost-child's head thusdistracted,thedelicate footmincing in this sloughofbloodanddirt,were typesof thedisjointedtime.This was the Carmagnole. As it passed, leaving Lucie frightened andbewilderedinthedoorwayofthewood-sawyer'shouse,thefeatherysnowfellasquietlyandlayaswhiteandsoft,asifithadneverbeen."Omyfather!"forhestoodbeforeherwhenshelifteduptheeyesshehadmomentarilydarkenedwithherhand;"suchacruel,badsight.""Iknow,mydear,Iknow.Ihaveseenitmanytimes.Don'tbefrightened!Notoneofthemwouldharmyou.""I am not frightened for myself, my father. But when I think of myhusband,andthemerciesofthesepeople—""Wewillsethimabovetheirmerciesverysoon.Ilefthimclimbingtothewindow,andIcametotellyou.Thereisnooneheretosee.Youmaykissyourhandtowardsthathighestshelvingroof.""Idoso,father,andIsendhimmySoulwithit!""Youcannotseehim,mypoordear?""No, father," said Lucie, yearning and weeping as she kissed her hand,"no."Afootstepinthesnow.MadameDefarge."Isaluteyou,citizeness,"fromtheDoctor. "I salute you, citizen." This in passing.Nothingmore.MadameDefargegone,likeashadowoverthewhiteroad."Givemeyourarm,mylove.Pass fromherewithanairofcheerfulnessandcourage,forhissake.Thatwaswelldone;"theyhadleftthespot;"itshallnotbeinvain.Charlesissummonedforto-morrow.""Forto-morrow!""Thereisnotimetolose.Iamwellprepared,butthereareprecautionstobetaken, thatcouldnotbetakenuntilhewasactuallysummonedbefore theTribunal.Hehasnotreceivedthenoticeyet,butIknowthathewillpresentlybesummonedforto-morrow,andremovedtotheConciergerie;Ihavetimely

information.Youarenotafraid?"Shecouldscarcelyanswer,"Itrustinyou.""Doso,implicitly.Yoursuspenseisnearlyended,mydarling;heshallberestored to you within a few hours; I have encompassed him with everyprotection.ImustseeLorry."Hestopped.Therewasaheavylumberingofwheelswithinhearing.Theyboth knew toowell what it meant. One. Two. Three. Three tumbrils faringawaywiththeirdreadloadsoverthehushingsnow."ImustseeLorry,"theDoctorrepeated,turningheranotherway.Thestauncholdgentlemanwasstillinhistrust;hadneverleftit.Heandhis books were in frequent requisition as to property confiscated andmadenational.Whathecouldsavefortheowners,hesaved.NobettermanlivingtoholdfastbywhatTellson'shadinkeeping,andtoholdhispeace.Amurkyredandyellowsky,andarisingmistfromtheSeine,denotedtheapproachofdarkness.ItwasalmostdarkwhentheyarrivedattheBank.ThestatelyresidenceofMonseigneurwasaltogetherblightedanddeserted.Abovea heap of dust and ashes in the court, ran the letters: National Property.RepublicOneandIndivisible.Liberty,Equality,Fraternity,orDeath!WhocouldthatbewithMr.Lorry—theowneroftheriding-coatuponthechair—whomustnotbe seen?Fromwhomnewlyarrived,didhecomeout,agitated and surprised, to take his favourite in his arms? To whom did heappear to repeather falteringwords,when, raisinghisvoiceand turninghishead towards the door of the room from which he had issued, he said:"RemovedtotheConciergerie,andsummonedforto-morrow?"

Triumph

ThedreadtribunaloffiveJudges,PublicProsecutor,anddeterminedJury,sateveryday.Theirlistswentfortheveryevening,andwerereadoutbythegaolersofthevariousprisonstotheirprisoners.Thestandardgaoler-jokewas,"ComeoutandlistentotheEveningPaper,youinsidethere!""CharlesEvremonde,calledDarnay!"SoatlastbegantheEveningPaperatLaForce.Whenanamewascalled,itsownersteppedapartintoaspotreservedforthosewhowereannouncedasbeingthusfatallyrecorded.CharlesEvremonde,calledDarnay,hadreasontoknowtheusage;hehadseenhundredspassawayso.Hisbloatedgaoler,whoworespectaclestoreadwith,glancedoverthemto

assurehimselfthathehadtakenhisplace,andwentthroughthelist,makingasimilar short pause at each name. Therewere twenty-three names, but onlytwentywererespondedto;foroneoftheprisonerssosummonedhaddiedingaolandbeenforgotten,andtwohadalreadybeenguillotinedandforgotten.The list was read, in the vaulted chamber where Darnay had seen theassociated prisoners on the night of his arrival. Every one of those hadperished in themassacre; every human creature he had since cared for andpartedwith,haddiedonthescaffold.Therewere hurriedwords of farewell and kindness, but the partingwassoonover.Itwastheincidentofeveryday,andthesocietyofLaForcewereengagedinthepreparationofsomegamesofforfeitsandalittleconcert,forthat evening. They crowded to the grates and shed tears there; but, twentyplacesintheprojectedentertainmentshadtoberefilled,andthetimewas,atbest,shorttothelock-uphour,whenthecommonroomsandcorridorswouldbedeliveredover to thegreatdogswhokeptwatch there through thenight.Theprisonerswere far from insensibleorunfeeling; theirwaysaroseoutoftheconditionofthetime.Similarly,thoughwithasubtledifference,aspeciesoffervourorintoxication,known,withoutdoubt,tohaveledsomepersonstobravetheguillotineunnecessarily,andtodiebyit,wasnotmereboastfulness,butawildinfectionofthewildlyshakenpublicmind.Inseasonsofpestilence,some of us will have a secret attraction to the disease—a terrible passinginclinationtodieofit.Andallofushavelikewondershiddeninourbreasts,onlyneedingcircumstancestoevokethem.The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark; the night in itsvermin-hauntedcellswaslongandcold.Nextday,fifteenprisonerswereputto the bar before Charles Darnay's name was called. All the fifteen werecondemned,andthetrialsofthewholeoccupiedanhourandahalf."CharlesEvremonde,calledDarnay,"wasatlengtharraigned.HisjudgessatupontheBenchinfeatheredhats;buttheroughredcapandtricoloured cockadewas thehead-dressotherwiseprevailing.Looking at theJuryandtheturbulentaudience,hemighthavethoughtthattheusualorderofthings was reversed, and that the felons were trying the honest men. Thelowest, cruelest, andworst populace of a city, neverwithout its quantity oflow, cruel, and bad, were the directing spirits of the scene: noisilycommenting, applauding, disapproving, anticipating, and precipitating theresult,without a check.Of themen, the greater partwere armed in variousways;ofthewomen,someworeknives,somedaggers,someateanddrankastheylookedon,manyknitted.Amongtheselast,wasone,withasparepieceofknittingunderherarmassheworked.Shewasinafrontrow,bythesideofamanwhomhehadneverseensincehisarrivalattheBarrier,butwhomhedirectlyrememberedasDefarge.Henoticedthatsheonceortwicewhisperedinhisear,andthatsheseemedtobehiswife;but,whathemostnoticedinthetwo figureswas, that although theywere posted as close to himself as they

could be, they never looked towards him. They seemed to be waiting forsomethingwith a dogged determination, and they looked at the Jury, but atnothingelse.UnderthePresidentsatDoctorManette,inhisusualquietdress.Aswellastheprisonercouldsee,heandMr.Lorryweretheonlymenthere,unconnected with the Tribunal, who wore their usual clothes, and had notassumedthecoarsegarboftheCarmagnole.CharlesEvremonde,calledDarnay,wasaccusedbythepublicprosecutorasanemigrant,whoselifewasforfeittotheRepublic,underthedecreewhichbanishedallemigrantsonpainofDeath. Itwasnothing that thedecreeboredatesincehisreturntoFrance.Therehewas,andtherewasthedecree;hehadbeentakeninFrance,andhisheadwasdemanded."Takeoffhishead!"criedtheaudience."AnenemytotheRepublic!"ThePresident ranghisbell to silence thosecries, andasked theprisonerwhetheritwasnottruethathehadlivedmanyyearsinEngland?Undoubtedlyitwas.Washenotanemigrantthen?Whatdidhecallhimself?Notanemigrant,hehoped,withinthesenseandspiritofthelaw.Whynot?thePresidentdesiredtoknow.Becausehehadvoluntarilyrelinquishedatitlethatwasdistastefultohim,and a station that was distasteful to him, and had left his country—hesubmittedbeforethewordemigrantinthepresentacceptationbytheTribunalwasinuse—tolivebyhisownindustryinEngland,ratherthanontheindustryoftheoverladenpeopleofFrance.Whatproofhadheofthis?He handed in the names of two witnesses; Theophile Gabelle, andAlexandreManette.ButhehadmarriedinEngland?thePresidentremindedhim.True,butnotanEnglishwoman.AcitizenessofFrance?Yes.Bybirth.Hernameandfamily?"LucieManette,onlydaughterofDoctorManette,thegoodphysicianwhositsthere."Thisanswerhadahappyeffectupon theaudience.Cries inexaltationofthewell-knowngoodphysicianrentthehall.Socapriciouslywerethepeoplemoved, that tears immediately rolled down several ferocious countenanceswhichhadbeenglaringattheprisoneramomentbefore,asifwithimpatiencetopluckhimoutintothestreetsandkillhim.

Onthesefewstepsofhisdangerousway,CharlesDarnayhadsethisfootaccording to Doctor Manette's reiterated instructions. The same cautiouscounseldirectedeverystepthatlaybeforehim,andhadpreparedeveryinchofhisroad.ThePresidentasked,whyhadhereturnedtoFrancewhenhedid,andnotsooner?Hehadnotreturnedsooner,hereplied,simplybecausehehadnomeansoflivinginFrance,savethosehehadresigned;whereas,inEngland,helivedbygivinginstructionintheFrenchlanguageandliterature.Hehadreturnedwhenhe did, on the pressing and written entreaty of a French citizen, whorepresentedthathislifewasendangeredbyhisabsence.Hehadcomeback,tosaveacitizen'slife,andtobearhistestimony,atwhateverpersonalhazard,tothetruth.WasthatcriminalintheeyesoftheRepublic?Thepopulacecriedenthusiastically,"No!"andthePresidentranghisbelltoquietthem.Whichitdidnot,fortheycontinuedtocry"No!"untiltheyleftoff,oftheirownwill.ThePresidentrequiredthenameofthatcitizen.Theaccusedexplainedthatthe citizen was his first witness. He also referred with confidence to thecitizen'sletter,whichhadbeentakenfromhimattheBarrier,butwhichhedidnotdoubtwouldbefoundamongthepapersthenbeforethePresident.TheDoctorhadtakencarethatitshouldbethere—hadassuredhimthatitwouldbethere—andatthisstageoftheproceedingsitwasproducedandread.CitizenGabellewascalled toconfirm it, anddidso.CitizenGabellehinted,withinfinitedelicacyandpoliteness,thatinthepressureofbusinessimposedontheTribunalbythemultitudeofenemiesoftheRepublicwithwhichithadtodeal,hehadbeenslightlyoverlookedinhisprisonoftheAbbaye—infact,had rather passed out of the Tribunal's patriotic remembrance—until threedaysago;whenhehadbeensummonedbeforeit,andhadbeensetatlibertyon the Jury's declaring themselves satisfied that the accusation against himwasanswered,astohimself,bythesurrenderofthecitizenEvremonde,calledDarnay.DoctorManettewasnextquestioned.Hishighpersonalpopularity,andtheclearnessofhisanswers,madeagreatimpression;but,asheproceeded,asheshowed that the Accused was his first friend on his release from his longimprisonment;that,theaccusedhadremainedinEngland,alwaysfaithfulanddevoted tohisdaughterandhimself in theirexile; that, so far frombeing infavourwiththeAristocratgovernmentthere,hehadactuallybeentriedforhislifebyit,asthefoeofEnglandandfriendoftheUnitedStates—ashebroughtthese circumstances into view, with the greatest discretion and with thestraightforward force of truth and earnestness, the Jury and the populacebecameone.Atlast,whenheappealedbynametoMonsieurLorry,anEnglishgentleman then and there present,who, like himself, had been awitness on

thatEnglishtrialandcouldcorroboratehisaccountofit,theJurydeclaredthatthey had heard enough, and that they were ready with their votes if thePresidentwerecontenttoreceivethem.Ateveryvote(theJurymenvotedaloudandindividually),thepopulacesetupa shoutofapplause.All thevoiceswere in theprisoner's favour, and thePresidentdeclaredhimfree.Then, began one of those extraordinary sceneswithwhich the populacesometimes gratified their fickleness, or their better impulses towardsgenerosity andmercy, or which they regarded as some set-off against theirswollen account of cruel rage. No man can decide now to which of thesemotivessuchextraordinarysceneswerereferable;itisprobable,toablendingofall the three,with thesecondpredominating.Nosoonerwas theacquittalpronounced,thantearswereshedasfreelyasbloodatanothertime,andsuchfraternalembraceswerebestowedupontheprisonerbyasmanyofbothsexesascouldrushathim,thatafterhislongandunwholesomeconfinementhewasin danger of fainting from exhaustion; none the less because he knew verywell,thattheverysamepeople,carriedbyanothercurrent,wouldhaverushedathimwiththeverysameintensity,torendhimtopiecesandstrewhimoverthestreets.Hisremoval,tomakewayforotheraccusedpersonswhoweretobetried,rescued him from these caresses for the moment. Five were to be triedtogether,next,asenemiesoftheRepublic,forasmuchastheyhadnotassistedit byword or deed. So quickwas theTribunal to compensate itself and thenationforachance lost, that thesefivecamedowntohimbeforehe left theplace,condemnedtodiewithintwenty-fourhours.Thefirstofthemtoldhimso, with the customary prison sign of Death—a raised finger—and they alladdedinwords,"LonglivetheRepublic!"Thefivehadhad,itistrue,noaudiencetolengthentheirproceedings,forwhenheandDoctorManetteemergedfromthegate,therewasagreatcrowdaboutit,inwhichthereseemedtobeeveryfacehehadseeninCourt—excepttwo,forwhichhelookedinvain.Onhiscomingout, theconcoursemadeathim anew, weeping, embracing, and shouting, all by turns and all together,untiltheverytideoftheriveronthebankofwhichthemadscenewasacted,seemedtorunmad,likethepeopleontheshore.Theyputhimintoagreatchairtheyhadamongthem,andwhichtheyhadtakeneitheroutoftheCourtitself,oroneofitsroomsorpassages.Overthechairtheyhadthrownaredflag,andtothebackofittheyhadboundapikewith a red cap on its top. In this car of triumph, not even the Doctor'sentreatiescouldpreventhisbeingcarriedtohishomeonmen'sshoulders,withaconfusedseaofredcapsheavingabouthim,andcastinguptosightfromthestormy deep such wrecks of faces, that he more than once misdoubted hismind being in confusion, and that hewas in the tumbril on his way to theGuillotine.

Inwilddreamlikeprocession,embracingwhomtheymetandpointinghimout, they carried him on. Reddening the snowy streets with the prevailingRepublican colour, in winding and tramping through them, as they hadreddenedthembelowthesnowwithadeeperdye,theycarriedhimthusintothecourtyardofthebuildingwherehelived.Herfatherhadgoneonbefore,toprepareher,andwhenherhusbandstooduponhisfeet,shedroppedinsensibleinhisarms.Asheheldhertohisheartandturnedherbeautifulheadbetweenhisfaceand the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lipsmight come togetherunseen, a few of the people fell to dancing. Instantly, all the rest fell todancing, and the courtyard overflowed with the Carmagnole. Then, theyelevatedintothevacantchairayoungwomanfromthecrowdtobecarriedasthe Goddess of Liberty, and then swelling and overflowing out into theadjacent streets, and along the river's bank, and over the bridge, theCarmagnoleabsorbedthemeveryoneandwhirledthemaway.AftergraspingtheDoctor'shand,ashestoodvictoriousandproudbeforehim; after grasping the hand ofMr. Lorry, who came panting in breathlessfromhisstruggleagainstthewaterspoutoftheCarmagnole;afterkissinglittleLucie, who was lifted up to clasp her arms round his neck; and afterembracingtheeverzealousandfaithfulProsswholiftedher;hetookhiswifeinhisarms,andcarriedheruptotheirrooms."Lucie!Myown!Iamsafe.""O dearest Charles, let me thank God for this on my knees as I haveprayedtoHim."Theyallreverentlybowedtheirheadsandhearts.Whenshewasagaininhisarms,hesaidtoher:"Andnowspeak toyour father, dearest.Nootherman in all thisFrancecouldhavedonewhathehasdoneforme."Shelaidherheaduponherfather'sbreast,asshehadlaidhispoorheadonherownbreast,long,longago.Hewashappyinthereturnhehadmadeher,hewasrecompensedforhissuffering,hewasproudofhisstrength."Youmustnot beweak,my darling," he remonstrated; "don't tremble so. I have savedhim."

AKnockattheDoor

"Ihavesavedhim."Itwasnotanotherofthedreamsinwhichhehadoftencomeback; hewas really here.Andyet hiswife trembled, and a vaguebutheavyfearwasuponher.

All theair roundwasso thickanddark, thepeopleweresopassionatelyrevengeful and fitful, the innocentwere soconstantlyput todeathonvaguesuspicion and black malice, it was so impossible to forget that many asblameless as her husband and as dear to others as hewas to her, every daysharedthefatefromwhichhehadbeenclutched,thatherheartcouldnotbeaslightened of its load as she felt it ought to be. The shadows of the wintryafternoonwerebeginningtofall,andevennowthedreadfulcartswererollingthrough the streets. Her mind pursued them, looking for him among theCondemned;andthensheclungclosertohisrealpresenceandtrembledmore.Her father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superiority to thiswoman'sweakness,whichwaswonderful to see.Nogarret, no shoemaking,noOneHundredandFive,NorthTower,now!Hehadaccomplishedthetaskhehadsethimself,hispromisewasredeemed,hehadsavedCharles.Letthemallleanuponhim.Theirhousekeepingwasofaveryfrugalkind:notonlybecausethatwasthe safestwayof life, involving the leastoffence to thepeople, butbecausetheywerenotrich,andCharles,throughouthisimprisonment,hadhadtopayheavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards the living of thepoorerprisoners.Partlyon this account, andpartly to avoid adomestic spy,they kept no servant; the citizen and citizeness who acted as porters at thecourtyard gate, rendered them occasional service; and Jerry (almost whollytransferredtothembyMr.Lorry)hadbecometheirdailyretainer,andhadhisbedthereeverynight.It was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible of Liberty,Equality,Fraternity,orDeath,thatonthedoorordoorpostofeveryhouse,thenameofeveryinmatemustbelegiblyinscribedinlettersofacertainsize,atacertain convenient height from the ground. Mr. Jerry Cruncher's name,therefore, duly embellished the doorpost down below; and, as the afternoonshadows deepened, the owner of that name himself appeared, fromoverlookingapainterwhomDoctorManettehademployedtoadd to the listthenameofCharlesEvremonde,calledDarnay.In the universal fear and distrust that darkened the time, all the usualharmlesswaysoflifewerechanged.IntheDoctor'slittlehousehold,asinverymany others, the articles of daily consumption that were wanted werepurchased every evening, in small quantities and at various small shops.Toavoidattractingnotice,and togiveas littleoccasionaspossible for talkandenvy,wasthegeneraldesire.For somemonthspast,MissPross andMr.Cruncherhaddischarged theoffice of purveyors; the former carrying the money; the latter, the basket.Every afternoonat about the timewhen thepublic lampswere lighted, theyfaredforthonthisduty,andmadeandbroughthomesuchpurchasesaswereneedful. Although Miss Pross, through her long association with a Frenchfamily,mighthaveknownasmuchoftheirlanguageasofherown,ifshehad

hadamind,shehadnomindinthatdirection;consequentlysheknewnomoreofthat"nonsense"(asshewaspleasedtocallit)thanMr.Cruncherdid.Sohermanner of marketing was to plump a noun-substantive at the head of ashopkeeper without any introduction in the nature of an article, and, if ithappenednot tobe thenameof the thingshewanted, to lookroundfor thatthing, layholdof it, andholdonby ituntil thebargainwasconcluded.Shealwaysmadeabargain for it,byholdingup,asa statementof its justprice,onefingerlessthanthemerchantheldup,whateverhisnumbermightbe."Now,Mr.Cruncher,"saidMissPross,whoseeyeswereredwithfelicity;"ifyouareready,Iam."JerryhoarselyprofessedhimselfatMissPross'sservice.Hehadwornallhisrustofflongago,butnothingwouldfilehisspikyheaddown."There'sallmannerofthingswanted,"saidMissPross,"andweshallhavea precious time of it. We want wine, among the rest. Nice toasts theseRedheadswillbedrinking,whereverwebuyit.""It will be much the same to your knowledge, miss, I should think,"retortedJerry,"whethertheydrinkyourhealthortheOldUn's.""Who'she?"saidMissPross.Mr.Cruncher,with some diffidence, explained himself asmeaning "OldNick's.""Ha!" said Miss Pross, "it doesn't need an interpreter to explain themeaningofthesecreatures.Theyhavebutone,andit'sMidnightMurder,andMischief.""Hush,dear!Pray,pray,becautious!"criedLucie."Yes, yes, yes, I'll be cautious," saidMiss Pross; "but Imay say amongourselves,thatIdohopetherewillbenoonionyandtobaccoeysmotheringsinthe form of embracings all round, going on in the streets. Now, Ladybird,neveryoustir fromthat fire till Icomeback!Takecareof thedearhusbandyouhaverecovered,anddon'tmoveyourprettyheadfromhisshoulderasyouhave it now, till you seeme again!May I ask a question, DoctorManette,beforeIgo?""Ithinkyoumaytakethatliberty,"theDoctoranswered,smiling."Forgracioussake,don'ttalkaboutLiberty;wehavequiteenoughofthat,"saidMissPross."Hush,dear!Again?"Lucieremonstrated."Well,my sweet," saidMiss Pross, nodding her head emphatically, "theshortandthelongofit is, thatIamasubjectofHisMostGraciousMajestyKingGeorgetheThird;"MissProsscurtseyedatthename;"andassuch,mymaximis,Confoundtheirpolitics,Frustrate theirknavish tricks,Onhimourhopeswefix,GodsavetheKing!"

Mr.Cruncher,inanaccessofloyalty,growlinglyrepeatedthewordsafterMissPross,likesomebodyatchurch."IamgladyouhavesomuchoftheEnglishmaninyou,thoughIwishyouhadnever taken thatcold inyourvoice,"saidMissPross,approvingly."Butthe question, Doctor Manette. Is there"—it was the good creature's way toaffecttomakelightofanythingthatwasagreatanxietywiththemall,andtocomeatitinthischancemanner—"isthereanyprospectyet,ofourgettingoutofthisplace?""Ifearnotyet.ItwouldbedangerousforCharlesyet.""Heigh-ho-hum!" said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as sheglancedatherdarling'sgoldenhairinthelightofthefire,"thenwemusthavepatienceandwait:that'sall.Wemustholdupourheadsandfightlow,asmybrother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher!—Don't you move,Ladybird!"Theywentout, leavingLucie,andherhusband,herfather,andthechild,by a bright fire. Mr. Lorry was expected back presently from the BankingHouse.MissProsshadlightedthelamp,buthadputitasideinacorner,thattheymightenjoythefire-lightundisturbed.LittleLuciesatbyhergrandfatherwith her hands clasped through his arm: and he, in a tone not risingmuchaboveawhisper,begantotellherastoryofagreatandpowerfulFairywhohadopenedaprison-wallandletoutacaptivewhohadoncedonetheFairyaservice.Allwassubduedandquiet,andLuciewasmoreateasethanshehadbeen."Whatisthat?"shecried,allatonce."Mydear!" saidher father, stopping inhis story, and layinghishandonhers,"commandyourself.Whatadisorderedstateyouarein!Theleastthing—nothing—startlesyou!You,yourfather'sdaughter!""Ithought,myfather,"saidLucie,excusingherself,withapalefaceandinafalteringvoice,"thatIheardstrangefeetuponthestairs.""Mylove,thestaircaseisasstillasDeath."Ashesaidtheword,ablowwasstruckuponthedoor."Ohfather,father.Whatcanthisbe!HideCharles.Savehim!""Mychild,"saidtheDoctor,rising,andlayinghishanduponhershoulder,"Ihavesavedhim.Whatweaknessisthis,mydear!Letmegotothedoor."Hetookthelampinhishand,crossedthetwointerveningouterrooms,andopenedit.Arudeclatteringoffeetoverthefloor,andfourroughmeninredcaps,armedwithsabresandpistols,enteredtheroom."TheCitizenEvremonde,calledDarnay,"saidthefirst."Whoseekshim?"answeredDarnay.

"Iseekhim.Weseekhim.Iknowyou,Evremonde;IsawyoubeforetheTribunalto-day.YouareagaintheprisoneroftheRepublic."Thefoursurroundedhim,wherehestoodwithhiswifeandchildclingingtohim."TellmehowandwhyamIagainaprisoner?""ItisenoughthatyoureturnstraighttotheConciergerie,andwillknowto-morrow.Youaresummonedforto-morrow."Doctor Manette, whom this visitation had so turned into stone, that hestoodwiththelampinhishand,asifbewoeastatuemadetoholdit,movedafter these words were spoken, put the lamp down, and confronting thespeaker, and takinghim,not ungently, by the loose front of his redwoollenshirt,said:"Youknowhim,youhavesaid.Doyouknowme?""Yes,Iknowyou,CitizenDoctor.""Weallknowyou,CitizenDoctor,"saidtheotherthree.He looked abstractedly from one to another, and said, in a lower voice,afterapause:"Willyouanswerhisquestiontomethen?Howdoesthishappen?""CitizenDoctor,"saidthefirst,reluctantly,"hehasbeendenouncedtotheSection of Saint Antoine. This citizen," pointing out the second who hadentered,"isfromSaintAntoine."Thecitizenhereindicatednoddedhishead,andadded:"HeisaccusedbySaintAntoine.""Ofwhat?"askedtheDoctor."CitizenDoctor,"saidthefirst,withhisformerreluctance,"asknomore.If the Republic demands sacrifices from you, without doubt you as a goodpatriotwillbehappytomakethem.TheRepublicgoesbeforeall.ThePeopleissupreme.Evremonde,wearepressed.""Oneword,"theDoctorentreated."Willyoutellmewhodenouncedhim?""It is against rule," answered the first; "but you can ask Him of SaintAntoinehere."TheDoctor turned his eyes upon thatman.Whomoved uneasily on hisfeet,rubbedhisbeardalittle,andatlengthsaid:"Well!Trulyitisagainstrule.Butheisdenounced—andgravely—bytheCitizenandCitizenessDefarge.Andbyoneother.""Whatother?""Doyouask,CitizenDoctor?"

"Yes.""Then," said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, "you will beansweredto-morrow.Now,Iamdumb!"

AHandatCards

Happilyunconsciousofthenewcalamityathome,MissProssthreadedherwayalongthenarrowstreetsandcrossedtheriverbythebridgeofthePont-Neuf,reckoninginhermindthenumberofindispensablepurchasesshehadtomake.Mr.Cruncher,withthebasket,walkedatherside.Theybothlookedtotherightandtotheleftintomostoftheshopstheypassed,hadawaryeyeforallgregariousassemblagesofpeople,andturnedoutoftheirroadtoavoidanyvery excited group of talkers. It was a raw evening, and the misty river,blurredtotheeyewithblazinglightsandtotheearwithharshnoises,showedwherethebargeswerestationedinwhichthesmithsworked,makinggunsfortheArmyoftheRepublic.WoetothemanwhoplayedtrickswiththatArmy,or got undeserved promotion in it! Better for him that his beard had nevergrown,fortheNationalRazorshavedhimclose.Havingpurchasedafewsmallarticlesofgrocery,andameasureofoilforthelamp,MissProssbethoughtherselfofthewinetheywanted.Afterpeepinginto several wine-shops, she stopped at the sign of the Good RepublicanBrutus ofAntiquity, not far from theNational Palace, once (and twice) theTuileries,wheretheaspectofthingsrathertookherfancy.Ithadaquieterlookthananyotherplaceofthesamedescriptiontheyhadpassed,and,thoughredwith patriotic caps,was not so red as the rest. SoundingMr.Cruncher, andfinding him of her opinion, Miss Pross resorted to the Good RepublicanBrutusofAntiquity,attendedbyhercavalier.Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth,playingwithlimpcardsandyellowdominoes;oftheonebare-breasted,bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal aloud, and of the otherslisteningtohim;oftheweaponsworn,orlaidasidetoberesumed;ofthetwoorthreecustomersfallenforwardasleep,whointhepopularhigh-shoulderedshaggyblackspencer looked, in thatattitude, like slumberingbearsordogs;the twooutlandishcustomersapproachedthecounter,andshowedwhat theywanted.As their wine wasmeasuring out, a man parted from another man in acorner,androsetodepart.Ingoing,hehadtofaceMissPross.Nosoonerdidhefaceher,thanMissProssutteredascream,andclappedherhands.Inamoment,thewholecompanywereontheirfeet.Thatsomebodywasassassinatedbysomebodyvindicatingadifferenceofopinionwasthelikeliest

occurrence.Everybodylookedtoseesomebodyfall,butonlysawamanandawomanstandingstaringateachother;themanwithalltheoutwardaspectofaFrenchmanandathoroughRepublican;thewoman,evidentlyEnglish.What was said in this disappointing anti-climax, by the disciples of theGood Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was something veryvolubleandloud,wouldhavebeenassomuchHebreworChaldeantoMissProssandherprotector, thoughtheyhadbeenallears.But, theyhadnoearsforanythingintheirsurprise.For,itmustberecorded,thatnotonlywasMissPross lost inamazementandagitation,but,Mr.Cruncher—thoughitseemedon his own separate and individual account—was in a state of the greatestwonder."Whatisthematter?"saidthemanwhohadcausedMissProsstoscream;speakinginavexed,abruptvoice(thoughinalowtone),andinEnglish."Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!" cried Miss Pross, clapping her handsagain."Afternotsettingeyesuponyouorhearingofyouforsolongatime,doIfindyouhere!""Don'tcallmeSolomon.Doyouwant tobe thedeathofme?"askedtheman,inafurtive,frightenedway."Brother,brother!"criedMissPross,burstingintotears."HaveIeverbeensohardwithyouthatyouaskmesuchacruelquestion?""Then hold yourmeddlesome tongue," said Solomon, "and come out, ifyouwanttospeaktome.Payforyourwine,andcomeout.Who'sthisman?"Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her by no meansaffectionatebrother,saidthroughhertears,"Mr.Cruncher.""Lethimcomeouttoo,"saidSolomon."Doeshethinkmeaghost?"Apparently,Mr.Cruncherdid,tojudgefromhislooks.Hesaidnotaword,however,andMissPross,exploringthedepthsofherreticulethroughhertearswithgreatdifficultypaidforherwine.Asshedidso,Solomonturnedtothefollowers of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, and offered a fewwordsofexplanationintheFrenchlanguage,whichcausedthemalltorelapseintotheirformerplacesandpursuits."Now," said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, "what do youwant?""How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned my loveawayfrom!"criedMissPross,"togivemesuchagreeting,andshowmenoaffection.""There.Confoundit!There,"saidSolomon,makingadabatMissPross'slipswithhisown."Nowareyoucontent?"MissProssonlyshookherheadandweptinsilence.

"Ifyouexpectme tobe surprised," saidherbrotherSolomon, "I amnotsurprised;Iknewyouwerehere;Iknowofmostpeoplewhoarehere.Ifyoureallydon'twanttoendangermyexistence—whichIhalfbelieveyoudo—goyour ways as soon as possible, and let me go mine. I am busy. I am anofficial.""MyEnglishbrotherSolomon,"mournedMissPross,castinguphertear-fraughteyes,"thathadthemakingsinhimofoneofthebestandgreatestofmeninhisnativecountry,anofficialamongforeigners,andsuchforeigners!Iwouldalmostsoonerhaveseenthedearboylyinginhis—""Isaidso!"criedherbrother,interrupting."Iknewit.Youwanttobethedeath ofme. I shall be rendered Suspected, bymy own sister. Just as I amgettingon!""ThegraciousandmercifulHeavensforbid!"criedMissPross."Farratherwould I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever loved youtruly,andevershall.Saybutoneaffectionatewordtome,andtellmethereisnothingangryorestrangedbetweenus,andIwilldetainyounolonger."GoodMissPross!Asiftheestrangementbetweenthemhadcomeofanyculpabilityofhers.AsifMr.Lorryhadnotknownitforafact,yearsago,inthequietcorner inSoho, that thispreciousbrotherhadspenthermoneyandlefther!Hewassaying theaffectionateword,however,witha farmoregrudgingcondescensionandpatronagethanhecouldhaveshowniftheirrelativemeritsandpositions hadbeen reversed (which is invariably the case, all theworldover), when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on the shoulder, hoarsely andunexpectedlyinterposedwiththefollowingsingularquestion:"Isay!MightIaskthefavour?AstowhetheryournameisJohnSolomon,orSolomonJohn?"The official turned towards him with sudden distrust. He had notpreviouslyutteredaword."Come!"saidMr.Cruncher."Speakout,youknow."(Which,bytheway,wasmorethanhecoulddohimself.)"JohnSolomon,orSolomonJohn?ShecallsyouSolomon,andshemustknow,beingyoursister.AndIknowyou'reJohn, you know.Which of the two goes first? And regarding that name ofPross,likewise.Thatwarn'tyournameoverthewater.""Whatdoyoumean?""Well, I don't know all Imean, for I can't call tomindwhat your namewas,overthewater.""No?""No.ButI'llswearitwasanameoftwosyllables.""Indeed?"

"Yes.T'otherone'swasonesyllable.Iknowyou.Youwasaspy—witnessattheBailey.What,inthenameoftheFatherofLies,ownfathertoyourself,wasyoucalledatthattime?""Barsad,"saidanothervoice,strikingin."That'sthenameforathousandpound!"criedJerry.Thespeakerwhostruckin,wasSydneyCarton.Hehadhishandsbehindhimundertheskirtsofhisriding-coat,andhestoodatMr.Cruncher'selbowasnegligentlyashemighthavestoodattheOldBaileyitself."Don't be alarmed, my dearMiss Pross. I arrived atMr. Lorry's, to hissurprise, yesterday evening; we agreed that I would not present myselfelsewhereuntilallwaswell,orunlessIcouldbeuseful;Ipresentmyselfhere,tobegalittletalkwithyourbrother.IwishyouhadabetteremployedbrotherthanMr. Barsad. I wish for your sakeMr. Barsad was not a Sheep of thePrisons."Sheepwasacantwordof the timeforaspy,under thegaolers.Thespy,whowaspale,turnedpaler,andaskedhimhowhedared—"I'll tellyou,"saidSydney."I lightedonyou,Mr.Barsad,comingoutoftheprisonoftheConciergeriewhileIwascontemplatingthewalls,anhourormore ago. You have a face to be remembered, and I remember faces well.Madecuriousbyseeingyouinthatconnection,andhavingareason,towhichyouarenostranger,forassociatingyouwiththemisfortunesofafriendnowveryunfortunate,Iwalkedinyourdirection.Iwalkedintothewine-shophere,close after you, and sat nearyou. I hadnodifficulty indeducing fromyourunreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among youradmirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, what I had done atrandom,seemedtoshapeitselfintoapurpose,Mr.Barsad.""Whatpurpose?"thespyasked."Itwouldbetroublesome,andmightbedangerous,toexplaininthestreet.Couldyoufavourme,inconfidence,withsomeminutesofyourcompany—attheofficeofTellson'sBank,forinstance?""Underathreat?""Oh!DidIsaythat?""Then,whyshouldIgothere?""Really,Mr.Barsad,Ican'tsay,ifyoucan't.""Doyoumeanthatyouwon'tsay,sir?"thespyirresolutelyasked."Youapprehendmeveryclearly,Mr.Barsad.Iwon't."Carton's negligent recklessness ofmanner camepowerfully in aid of hisquicknessandskill,insuchabusinessashehadinhissecretmind,andwithsuchamanashehadtodowith.Hispractisedeyesawit,andmadethemost

ofit."Now,Itoldyouso,"saidthespy,castingareproachfullookathissister;"ifanytroublecomesofthis,it'syourdoing.""Come,come,Mr.Barsad!"exclaimedSydney."Don'tbeungrateful.Butformygreatrespectforyoursister,ImightnothaveledupsopleasantlytoalittleproposalthatIwishtomakeforourmutualsatisfaction.DoyougowithmetotheBank?""I'llhearwhatyouhavegottosay.Yes,I'llgowithyou.""Iproposethatwefirstconductyoursistersafelytothecornerofherownstreet.Letmetakeyourarm,MissPross.Thisisnotagoodcity,atthistime,foryoutobeoutin,unprotected;andasyourescortknowsMr.Barsad,IwillinvitehimtoMr.Lorry'swithus.Areweready?Comethen!"Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her liferemembered,thatasshepressedherhandsonSydney'sarmandlookedupinhisface,imploringhimtodonohurttoSolomon,therewasabracedpurposeinthearmandakindof inspirationin theeyes,whichnotonlycontradictedhislightmanner,butchangedandraisedtheman.Shewastoomuchoccupiedthenwith fears for thebrotherwhoso littledeservedheraffection,andwithSydney'sfriendlyreassurances,adequatelytoheedwhatsheobserved.They left her at the corner of the street, andCarton led theway toMr.Lorry's, which was within a few minutes' walk. John Barsad, or SolomonPross,walkedathisside.Mr.Lorryhadjustfinishedhisdinner,andwassittingbeforeacheerylittlelog or two of fire—perhaps looking into their blaze for the picture of thatyoungerelderlygentlemanfromTellson's,whohadlookedintotheredcoalsattheRoyalGeorgeatDover,nowagoodmanyyearsago.Heturnedhisheadastheyentered,andshowedthesurprisewithwhichhesawastranger."MissPross'sbrother,sir,"saidSydney."Mr.Barsad.""Barsad?"repeatedtheoldgentleman,"Barsad?Ihaveanassociationwiththename—andwiththeface.""I told you you had a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad," observed Carton,coolly."Praysitdown."Ashetookachairhimself,hesuppliedthelinkthatMr.Lorrywanted,bysaying to himwith a frown, "Witness at that trial."Mr. Lorry immediatelyremembered, and regarded his new visitor with an undisguised look ofabhorrence."Mr.BarsadhasbeenrecognisedbyMissProssastheaffectionatebrotheryou have heard of," saidSydney, "and has acknowledged the relationship. Ipasstoworsenews.Darnayhasbeenarrestedagain."Struckwithconsternation,theoldgentlemanexclaimed,"Whatdoyoutell

me!Ilefthimsafeandfreewithinthesetwohours,andamabouttoreturntohim!""Arrestedforallthat.Whenwasitdone,Mr.Barsad?""Justnow,ifatall.""Mr.Barsadisthebestauthoritypossible,sir,"saidSydney,"andIhaveitfromMr.Barsad'scommunicationtoafriendandbrotherSheepoverabottleofwine,thatthearresthastakenplace.Heleftthemessengersatthegate,andsawthemadmittedbytheporter.Thereisnoearthlydoubtthatheisretaken."Mr.Lorry'sbusinesseyereadinthespeaker'sfacethatitwaslossoftimetodwelluponthepoint.Confused,butsensiblethatsomethingmightdependonhispresenceofmind,hecommandedhimself,andwassilentlyattentive."Now,Itrust,"saidSydneytohim,"thatthenameandinfluenceofDoctorManettemay standhim in as good stead to-morrow—you saidhewouldbebeforetheTribunalagainto-morrow,Mr.Barsad?—""Yes;Ibelieveso.""—Inasgoodstead to-morrowas to-day.But itmaynotbeso. Iowntoyou,Iamshaken,Mr.Lorry,byDoctorManette'snothavinghadthepowertopreventthisarrest.""Hemaynothaveknownofitbeforehand,"saidMr.Lorry."Butthatverycircumstancewouldbealarming,whenwerememberhowidentifiedheiswithhisson-in-law.""That'strue,"Mr.Lorryacknowledged,withhistroubledhandathischin,andhistroubledeyesonCarton."In short," saidSydney, "this is a desperate time,whendesperate gamesareplayedfordesperatestakes.LettheDoctorplaythewinninggame;Iwillplay the losing one.Noman's life here isworth purchase.Any one carriedhomeby the people to-day,may be condemned tomorrow.Now, the stake Ihaveresolvedtoplayfor,incaseoftheworst,isafriendintheConciergerie.AndthefriendIpurposetomyselftowin,isMr.Barsad.""Youneedhavegoodcards,sir,"saidthespy."I'llrunthemover.I'llseewhatIhold,—Mr.Lorry,youknowwhatabruteIam;Iwishyou'dgivemealittlebrandy."It was put before him, and he drank off a glassful—drank off anotherglassful—pushedthebottlethoughtfullyaway."Mr.Barsad,"hewenton,inthetoneofonewhoreallywaslookingoverahandatcards:"Sheepoftheprisons,emissaryofRepublicancommittees,nowturnkey, now prisoner, always spy and secret informer, so much the morevaluablehereforbeingEnglishthatanEnglishmanislessopentosuspicionofsubornation in those characters than a Frenchman, represents himself to his

employersunderafalsename.That'saverygoodcard.Mr.Barsad,nowintheemployoftherepublicanFrenchgovernment,wasformerlyintheemployofthearistocraticEnglishgovernment,theenemyofFranceandfreedom.That'sanexcellentcard. Inferenceclearasday in thisregionofsuspicion, thatMr.Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocraticEnglish government, is the spy ofPitt, the treacherous foeof theRepubliccrouching in itsbosom, theEnglishtraitor and agent of allmischief somuch spokenof and so difficult to find.That'sacardnottobebeaten.Haveyoufollowedmyhand,Mr.Barsad?""Nottounderstandyourplay,"returnedthespy,somewhatuneasily."I play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest SectionCommittee.Lookoveryourhand,Mr.Barsad,andseewhatyouhave.Don'thurry."Hedrewthebottlenear,pouredoutanotherglassfulofbrandy,anddrankitoff.Hesawthatthespywasfearfulofhisdrinkinghimselfintoafitstatefortheimmediatedenunciationofhim.Seeingit,hepouredoutanddrankanotherglassful."Lookoveryourhandcarefully,Mr.Barsad.Taketime."Itwasapoorerhandthanhesuspected.Mr.Barsadsawlosingcardsinitthat Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of his honourableemployment inEngland, throughtoomuchunsuccessfulhardswearingthere—notbecausehewasnotwantedthere;ourEnglishreasonsforvauntingoursuperioritytosecrecyandspiesareofverymoderndate—heknewthathehadcrossedtheChannel,andacceptedserviceinFrance:first,asatempterandaneavesdropperamonghisowncountrymenthere:gradually,asatempterandaneavesdropper among the natives. He knew that under the overthrowngovernmenthehadbeenaspyuponSaintAntoineandDefarge'swine-shop;had received from thewatchfulpolicesuchheadsof informationconcerningDoctorManette's imprisonment,release,andhistory,asshouldservehimforanintroductiontofamiliarconversationwiththeDefarges;andtriedthemonMadame Defarge, and had broken down with them signally. He alwaysremembered with fear and trembling, that that terrible woman had knittedwhen he talked with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingersmoved.Hehadsinceseenher,intheSectionofSaintAntoine,overandoveragain produce her knitted registers, and denounce people whose lives theguillotine thensurelyswallowedup.Heknew,aseveryoneemployedashewasdid, thathewasnever safe; that flightwas impossible; thathewas tiedfastundertheshadowoftheaxe;andthatinspiteofhisutmosttergiversationandtreacheryinfurtheranceofthereigningterror,awordmightbringitdownuponhim.Oncedenounced,andonsuchgravegroundsashadjustnowbeensuggested to his mind, he foresaw that the dreadful woman of whoseunrelenting character he had seenmany proofs, would produce against himthat fatal register, and would quash his last chance of life. Besides that allsecretmenaremensoonterrified,hereweresurelycardsenoughofoneblack

suit,tojustifytheholderingrowingratherlividasheturnedthemover."You scarcely seem to like your hand," said Sydney, with the greatestcomposure."Doyouplay?""I think, sir," said the spy, in the meanest manner, as he turned toMr.Lorry,"Imayappealtoagentlemanofyouryearsandbenevolence,toputittothis other gentleman, so much your junior, whether he can under anycircumstances reconcile it to his station to play that Ace of which he hasspoken.IadmitthatIamaspy,andthatitisconsideredadiscreditablestation—thoughitmustbefilledbysomebody;butthisgentlemanisnospy,andwhyshouldhesodemeanhimselfastomakehimselfone?""IplaymyAce,Mr.Barsad,"saidCarton, taking theansweronhimself,andlookingathiswatch,"withoutanyscruple,inaveryfewminutes.""I should have hoped, gentlemen both," said the spy, always striving tohookMr.Lorryintothediscussion,"thatyourrespectformysister—""I could not better testify my respect for your sister than by finallyrelievingherofherbrother,"saidSydneyCarton."Youthinknot,sir?""Ihavethoroughlymadeupmymindaboutit."The smooth manner of the spy, curiously in dissonance with hisostentatiously roughdress, andprobablywithhisusualdemeanour, receivedsuchacheckfromtheinscrutabilityofCarton,—whowasamysterytowiserandhonestermenthanhe,—thatitfalteredhereandfailedhim.Whilehewasataloss,Cartonsaid,resuminghisformerairofcontemplatingcards:"And indeed, now I think again, I have a strong impression that I haveanother good card here, not yet enumerated. That friend and fellow-Sheep,whospokeofhimselfaspasturinginthecountryprisons;whowashe?""French.Youdon'tknowhim,"saidthespy,quickly."French,eh?"repeatedCarton,musing,andnotappearingtonoticehimatall,thoughheechoedhisword."Well;hemaybe.""Is,Iassureyou,"saidthespy;"thoughit'snotimportant.""Thoughit'snotimportant,"repeatedCarton,inthesamemechanicalway—"thoughit'snotimportant—No,it'snotimportant.No.YetIknowtheface.""Ithinknot.Iamsurenot.Itcan'tbe,"saidthespy."It-can't-be,"mutteredSydneyCarton,retrospectively,andidlinghisglass(whichfortunatelywasasmallone)again."Can't-be.SpokegoodFrench.Yetlikeaforeigner,Ithought?""Provincial,"saidthespy."No.Foreign!"criedCarton,strikinghisopenhandonthetable,asalight

broke clearly onhismind. "Cly!Disguised, but the sameman.Wehad thatmanbeforeusattheOldBailey.""Now, there you are hasty, sir," said Barsad, with a smile that gave hisaquiline nose an extra inclination to one side; "there you really giveme anadvantage over you.Cly (who Iwill unreservedly admit, at this distance oftime,wasapartnerofmine)hasbeendeadseveralyears.Iattendedhiminhislast illness.Hewasburied inLondon,at thechurchofSaintPancras-in-the-Fields. His unpopularity with the blackguard multitude at the momentpreventedmyfollowinghisremains,butIhelpedtolayhiminhiscoffin."Here,Mr.Lorrybecameaware,fromwherehesat,ofamostremarkablegoblin shadow on the wall. Tracing it to its source, he discovered it to becausedbyasuddenextraordinaryrisingandstiffeningofalltherisenandstiffhaironMr.Cruncher'shead."Letusbereasonable,"saidthespy,"andletusbefair.Toshowyouhowmistaken you are, and what an unfounded assumption yours is, I will laybeforeyouacertificateofCly'sburial,whichIhappenedtohavecarriedinmypocket-book," with a hurried hand he produced and opened it, "ever since.There it is.Oh, look at it, look at it!Youmay take it in your hand; it's noforgery."Here,Mr.Lorryperceivedthereflectiononthewall toelongate,andMr.Cruncher rose and stepped forward. His hair could not have been moreviolently on end, if it had been that moment dressed by the Cow with thecrumpledhorninthehousethatJackbuilt.Unseenbythespy,Mr.Cruncherstoodathisside,andtouchedhimontheshoulderlikeaghostlybailiff."That there Roger Cly, master," said Mr. Cruncher, with a taciturn andiron-boundvisage."Soyouputhiminhiscoffin?""Idid.""Whotookhimoutofit?"Barsadleanedbackinhischair,andstammered,"Whatdoyoumean?""Imean," saidMr.Cruncher, "thathewarn'tnever in it.No!Nothe! I'llhavemyheadtookoff,ifhewaseverinit."The spy looked round at the two gentlemen; they both looked inunspeakableastonishmentatJerry."I tell you," said Jerry, "that you buried paving-stones and earth in thattherecoffin.Don'tgoandtellmethatyouburiedCly.Itwasatakein.Meandtwomoreknowsit.""Howdoyouknowit?""What'sthattoyou?Ecod!"growledMr.Cruncher,"it'syouIhavegota

old grudge again, is it,with your shameful impositions upon tradesmen! I'dcatchholdofyourthroatandchokeyouforhalfaguinea."SydneyCarton,who,withMr.Lorry,hadbeen lost inamazementat thisturn of the business, here requestedMr. Cruncher to moderate and explainhimself."At another time, sir," he returned, evasively, "the present time is ill-conwenient for explainin'.What I stand to, is, that he knowswell wot thatthereClywasneverinthattherecoffin.Lethimsayhewas,insomuchasawordofonesyllable,andI'lleithercatchholdofhisthroatandchokehimforhalfaguinea;"Mr.Cruncherdweltuponthisasquitealiberaloffer;"orI'lloutandannouncehim.""Humph!Iseeonething,"saidCarton."Iholdanothercard,Mr.Barsad.Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling the air, for you tooutlivedenunciation,whenyouareincommunicationwithanotheraristocraticspyofthesameantecedentsasyourself,who,moreover,hasthemysteryabouthimofhavingfeigneddeathandcometolifeagain!Aplotintheprisons,ofthe foreigner against theRepublic.A strongcard—acertainGuillotinecard!Doyouplay?""No!"returnedthespy."I throwup.Iconfessthatweweresounpopularwith the outrageousmob, that I only got away fromEngland at the risk ofbeingduckedtodeath,andthatClywassoferretedupanddown,thatheneverwouldhavegotawayatallbutforthatsham.Thoughhowthismanknowsitwasasham,isawonderofwonderstome.""Neveryoutroubleyourheadaboutthisman,"retortedthecontentiousMr.Cruncher; "you'll have trouble enough with giving your attention to thatgentleman. And look here! Once more!"—Mr. Cruncher could not berestrained from making rather an ostentatious parade of his liberality—"I'dcatchholdofyourthroatandchokeyouforhalfaguinea."TheSheepoftheprisonsturnedfromhimtoSydneyCarton,andsaid,withmoredecision,"Ithascometoapoint.Igoondutysoon,andcan'toverstaymy time.You toldme you had a proposal;what is it?Now, it is of no useaskingtoomuchofme.Askmetodoanythinginmyoffice,puttingmyheadingreatextradanger,andIhadbettertrustmylifetothechancesofarefusalthanthechancesofconsent. Inshort, Ishouldmakethatchoice.Youtalkofdesperation.Weare all desperatehere.Remember! Imaydenounceyou if Ithinkproper,andIcanswearmywaythroughstonewalls,andsocanothers.Now,whatdoyouwantwithme?""Notverymuch.YouareaturnkeyattheConciergerie?""Itellyouonceforall,thereisnosuchthingasanescapepossible,"saidthespy,firmly."Whyneedyou tellmewhat Ihavenotasked?Youarea turnkeyat the

Conciergerie?""Iamsometimes.""Youcanbewhenyouchoose?""IcanpassinandoutwhenIchoose."SydneyCartonfilledanotherglasswithbrandy,poureditslowlyoutuponthehearth,andwatcheditasitdropped.Itbeingallspent,hesaid,rising:"Sofar,wehavespokenbeforethesetwo,becauseitwasaswellthatthemeritsofthecardsshouldnotrestsolelybetweenyouandme.Comeintothedarkroomhere,andletushaveonefinalwordalone."

TheGameMade

WhileSydneyCartonandtheSheepof theprisonswere in theadjoiningdarkroom,speakingsolowthatnotasoundwasheard,Mr.LorrylookedatJerry inconsiderabledoubtandmistrust.Thathonest tradesman'smannerofreceivingthelook,didnotinspireconfidence;hechangedthelegonwhichherested,asoftenasifhehadfiftyofthoselimbs,andweretryingthemall;heexaminedhisfinger-nailswithaveryquestionableclosenessofattention;andwheneverMr.Lorry'seyecaughthis,hewastakenwiththatpeculiarkindofshortcoughrequiringthehollowofahandbeforeit,whichisseldom,ifever,knowntobeaninfirmityattendantonperfectopennessofcharacter."Jerry,"saidMr.Lorry."Comehere."Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders inadvanceofhim."Whathaveyoubeen,besidesamessenger?"Aftersomecogitation,accompaniedwithanintentlookathispatron,Mr.Cruncherconceivedtheluminousideaofreplying,"Agicultooralcharacter.""My mind misgives me much," said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking aforefinger at him, "that you have used the respectable and great house ofTellson's as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of aninfamousdescription.Ifyouhave,don'texpectmetobefriendyouwhenyouget back to England. If you have, don't expect me to keep your secret.Tellson'sshallnotbeimposedupon.""I hope, sir," pleaded the abashedMr. Cruncher, "that a gentleman likeyourselfwotI'vehadthehonourofoddjobbingtillI'mgreyatit,wouldthinktwiceaboutharmingofme,evenifitwosso—Idon'tsayitis,butevenifitwos.Andwhichit is tobe tookintoaccount that if itwos, itwouldn't,eventhen, be all o' one side. There'd be two sides to it. Theremight bemedical

doctors at the present hour, a picking up their guineas where a honesttradesmandon'tpickuphis fardens—fardens!no,noryethishalf fardens—halffardens!no,noryethisquarter—abankingawaylikesmokeatTellson's,andacockingtheirmedicaleyesatthattradesmanonthesly,agoinginandgoingouttotheirowncarriages—ah!equallylikesmoke,ifnotmoreso.Well,that'udbeimposing,too,onTellson's.Foryoucannotsarsethegooseandnotthegander.Andhere'sMrs.Cruncher, or leastwayswos in theOldEnglandtimes,andwouldbeto-morrow,ifcausegiven,afloppin'againthebusinesstothat degree as is ruinating—stark ruinating!Whereas themmedical doctors'wives don't flop—catch 'em at it! Or, if they flop, their floppings goes infavour ofmore patients, and how can you rightly have onewithout t'other?Then,wotwithundertakers,andwotwithparishclerks,andwotwithsextons,andwotwithprivatewatchmen(allawariciousandall init),amanwouldn'tgetmuchbyit,evenif itwosso.Andwot littleamandidget,wouldneverprosper with him,Mr. Lorry. He'd never have no good of it; he'd want allalongtobeoutoftheline,ifhe,couldseehiswayout,beingoncein—evenifitwosso.""Ugh!"criedMr.Lorry,ratherrelenting,nevertheless,"Iamshockedatthesightofyou.""Now, what I would humbly offer to you, sir," pursued Mr. Cruncher,"evenifitwosso,whichIdon'tsayitis—""Don'tprevaricate,"saidMr.Lorry."No,Iwillnot,sir,"returnedMr.Crunchesasifnothingwerefurtherfromhisthoughtsorpractice—"whichIdon'tsayitis—wotIwouldhumblyofferto you, sir,would be this.Upon that there stool, at that thereBar, sets thatthere boy ofmine, brought up and growedup to be aman,wotwill errandyou,messageyou,general-light-jobyou,tillyourheelsiswhereyourheadis,ifsuchshouldbeyourwishes.If itwosso,whichIstilldon'tsayit is(forIwillnotprewaricatetoyou,sir),letthatthereboykeephisfather'splace,andtakecareofhismother;don'tblowuponthatboy'sfather—donotdoit,sir—andletthatfathergointothelineofthereg'lardiggin',andmakeamendsforwhathewouldhaveundug—ifitwosso—bydiggin'of'eminwithawill,andwith conwictions respectin' the futur' keepin' of 'em safe. That,Mr. Lorry,"saidMr.Cruncher,wipinghisforeheadwithhisarm,asanannouncementthathehadarrivedattheperorationofhisdiscourse,"iswotIwouldrespectfullyoffertoyou,sir.Amandon'tseeallthishereagoin'ondreadfulroundhim,inthewayofSubjectswithoutheads,dearme,plentifulenoughfurtobringthepricedowntoporterageandhardlythat,withouthavin'hisseriousthoughtsofthings.Andtheseherewouldbemine,ifitwosso,entreatin'ofyoufurtobearinmindthatwotIsaidjustnow,IupandsaidinthegoodcausewhenImighthavekep'itback.""Thatatleastistrue,"saidMr.Lorry."Saynomorenow.ItmaybethatIshall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and repent in action—not in

words.Iwantnomorewords."Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spyreturned from the dark room. "Adieu, Mr. Barsad," said the former; "ourarrangementthusmade,youhavenothingtofearfromme."Hesatdowninachaironthehearth,overagainstMr.Lorry.Whentheywerealone,Mr.Lorryaskedhimwhathehaddone?"Notmuch.If itshouldgo illwith theprisoner, Ihaveensuredaccess tohim,once."Mr.Lorry'scountenancefell."ItisallIcoulddo,"saidCarton."Toproposetoomuch,wouldbetoputthisman's headunder the axe, and, as hehimself said, nothingworse couldhappen to him if hewere denounced. Itwas obviously theweakness of theposition.Thereisnohelpforit.""Butaccesstohim,"saidMr.Lorry,"ifitshouldgoillbeforetheTribunal,willnotsavehim.""Ineversaiditwould."Mr.Lorry'seyesgraduallysoughtthefire;hissympathywithhisdarling,andtheheavydisappointmentofhissecondarrest,graduallyweakenedthem;hewasanoldmannow,overbornewithanxietyoflate,andhistearsfell."Youareagoodmanandatruefriend,"saidCarton, inanalteredvoice."ForgivemeifInoticethatyouareaffected.Icouldnotseemyfatherweep,andsitby,careless.AndIcouldnotrespectyoursorrowmore,ifyouweremyfather.Youarefreefromthatmisfortune,however."Thoughhesaidthelastwords,withaslipintohisusualmanner,therewasatruefeelingandrespectbothinhistoneandinhistouch,thatMr.Lorry,whohadneverseenthebettersideofhim,waswhollyunpreparedfor.Hegavehimhishand,andCartongentlypressedit."ToreturntopoorDarnay,"saidCarton."Don'ttellHerofthisinterview,orthisarrangement.ItwouldnotenableHertogotoseehim.Shemightthinkit was contrived, in case of the worse, to convey to him the means ofanticipatingthesentence."Mr.Lorryhadnotthoughtofthat,andhelookedquicklyatCartontoseeifit were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and evidentlyunderstoodit."Shemightthinkathousandthings,"Cartonsaid,"andanyofthemwouldonlyaddtohertrouble.Don'tspeakofmetoher.AsIsaidtoyouwhenIfirstcame,Ihadbetternotseeher.Icanputmyhandout,todoanylittlehelpfulworkforherthatmyhandcanfindtodo,withoutthat.Youaregoingtoher,Ihope?Shemustbeverydesolateto-night."

"Iamgoingnow,directly.""Iamgladofthat.Shehassuchastrongattachmenttoyouandrelianceonyou.Howdoesshelook?""Anxiousandunhappy,butverybeautiful.""Ah!"Itwasa long,grievingsound, likeasigh—almost likeasob. ItattractedMr.Lorry'seyes toCarton's face,whichwas turned to the fire.A light,orashade(theoldgentlemancouldnothavesaidwhich),passedfromitasswiftlyasachangewillsweepoverahill-sideonawildbrightday,andheliftedhisfoottoputbackoneofthelittleflaminglogs,whichwastumblingforward.Hewore thewhite riding-coatand top-boots, then invogue,and the lightof thefiretouchingtheirlightsurfacesmadehimlookverypale,withhislongbrownhair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire wassufficiently remarkable toelicit awordof remonstrance fromMr.Lorry;hisboot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had brokenundertheweightofhisfoot."Iforgotit,"hesaid.Mr.Lorry'seyeswereagainattractedtohisface.Takingnoteofthewastedairwhichcloudedthenaturallyhandsomefeatures,andhavingtheexpressionof prisoners' faces fresh in his mind, he was strongly reminded of thatexpression."Andyourdutiesherehavedrawntoanend,sir?"saidCarton,turningtohim."Yes.AsIwastellingyoulastnightwhenLuciecameinsounexpectedly,IhaveatlengthdoneallthatIcandohere.Ihopedtohavelefttheminperfectsafety,andthentohavequittedParis.IhavemyLeavetoPass.Iwasreadytogo."Theywerebothsilent."Yoursisalonglifetolookbackupon,sir?"saidCarton,wistfully."Iaminmyseventy-eighthyear.""You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly occupied;trusted,respected,andlookedupto?""Ihavebeenamanofbusiness,eversince Ihavebeenaman. Indeed, ImaysaythatIwasamanofbusinesswhenaboy.""Seewhat a placeyou fill at seventy-eight.Howmanypeoplewillmissyouwhenyouleaveitempty!""Asolitaryoldbachelor,"answeredMr.Lorry,shakinghishead."Thereisnobodytoweepforme.""Howcanyousaythat?Wouldn'tSheweepforyou?Wouldn'therchild?"

"Yes,yes,thankGod.Ididn'tquitemeanwhatIsaid.""ItisathingtothankGodfor;isitnot?""Surely,surely.""Ifyoucouldsay,with truth, toyourownsolitaryheart, to-night, 'Ihavesecured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, of nohumancreature; Ihavewonmyselfa tenderplace innoregard; Ihavedonenothinggoodor serviceable tobe rememberedby!'your seventy-eightyearswouldbeseventy-eightheavycurses;wouldtheynot?""Yousaytruly,Mr.Carton;Ithinktheywouldbe."Sydney turnedhiseyesagainupon the fire, and,aftera silenceofa fewmoments,said:"Ishouldliketoaskyou:—Doesyourchildhoodseemfaroff?Dothedayswhenyousatatyourmother'sknee,seemdaysofverylongago?"Respondingtohissoftenedmanner,Mr.Lorryanswered:"Twentyyearsback,yes;atthistimeofmylife,no.For,asIdrawcloserandclosertotheend,Itravelinthecircle,nearerandnearertothebeginning.Itseemstobeoneofthekindsmoothingsandpreparingsoftheway.Myheartis touched now, bymany remembrances that had long fallen asleep, ofmypretty youngmother (and I so old!), and bymany associations of the dayswhenwhatwecalltheWorldwasnotsorealwithme,andmyfaultswerenotconfirmedinme.""I understand the feeling!" exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. "Andyouarethebetterforit?""Ihopeso."Cartonterminatedtheconversationhere,byrisingtohelphimonwithhisoutercoat;"Butyou,"saidMr.Lorry,revertingtothetheme,"youareyoung.""Yes,"saidCarton."Iamnotold,butmyyoungwaywasneverthewaytoage.Enoughofme.""Andofme,Iamsure,"saidMr.Lorry."Areyougoingout?""I'llwalkwithyoutohergate.Youknowmyvagabondandrestlesshabits.If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don't be uneasy; I shallreappearinthemorning.YougototheCourtto-morrow?""Yes,unhappily.""Ishallbethere,butonlyasoneofthecrowd.MySpywillfindaplaceforme.Takemyarm,sir."Mr.Lorrydidso,andtheywentdown-stairsandoutinthestreets.Afewminutes brought them toMr. Lorry's destination. Carton left him there; butlingeredatalittledistance,andturnedbacktothegateagainwhenitwasshut,

andtouchedit.Hehadheardofhergoingtotheprisoneveryday."Shecameout here," he said, looking about him, "turned this way,must have trod onthesestonesoften.Letmefollowinhersteps."Itwas teno'clockatnightwhenhe stoodbefore theprisonofLaForce,whereshehadstoodhundredsof times.A littlewood-sawyer,havingclosedhisshop,wassmokinghispipeathisshop-door."Goodnight, citizen," saidSydneyCarton, pausing in going by; for, themaneyedhiminquisitively."Goodnight,citizen.""HowgoestheRepublic?""YoumeantheGuillotine.Notill.Sixty-threeto-day.Weshallmounttoahundredsoon.Samsonandhismencomplainsometimes,ofbeingexhausted.Ha,ha,ha!Heissodroll,thatSamson.SuchaBarber!""Doyouoftengotoseehim—""Shave?Always.Everyday.Whatabarber!Youhaveseenhimatwork?""Never.""Goandseehimwhenhehasagoodbatch.Figurethistoyourself,citizen;heshavedthesixty-threeto-day,inlessthantwopipes!Lessthantwopipes.Wordofhonour!"As the grinning littlemanheld out the pipe hewas smoking, to explainhow he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire tostrikethelifeoutofhim,thatheturnedaway."But you are not English," said the wood-sawyer, "though you wearEnglishdress?""Yes,"saidCarton,pausingagain,andansweringoverhisshoulder."YouspeaklikeaFrenchman.""Iamanoldstudenthere.""Aha,aperfectFrenchman!Goodnight,Englishman.""Goodnight,citizen.""Butgoandseethatdrolldog,"thelittlemanpersisted,callingafterhim."Andtakeapipewithyou!"Sydneyhadnotgonefaroutofsight,whenhestoppedinthemiddleofthestreetunderaglimmeringlamp,andwrotewithhispencilonascrapofpaper.Then,traversingwiththedecidedstepofonewhorememberedthewaywell,several dark and dirty streets—much dirtier than usual, for the best publicthoroughfares remaineduncleansed in those timesof terror—hestoppedatachemist's shop,which the ownerwas closingwith his own hands. A small,dim,crookedshop,kept ina tortuous,up-hill thoroughfare,byasmall,dim,

crookedman.Givingthiscitizen,too,goodnight,asheconfrontedhimathiscounter,helaidthescrapofpaperbeforehim."Whew!"thechemistwhistledsoftly,ashereadit."Hi!hi!hi!"SydneyCartontooknoheed,andthechemistsaid:"Foryou,citizen?""Forme.""You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know theconsequencesofmixingthem?""Perfectly."Certainsmallpacketsweremadeandgiven tohim.Heput them,onebyone, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, anddeliberately left the shop. "There is nothingmore to do," said he, glancingupwardatthemoon,"untilto-morrow.Ican'tsleep."It was not a recklessmanner, themanner inwhich he said thesewordsaloudunderthefast-sailingclouds,norwasitmoreexpressiveofnegligencethandefiance.Itwasthesettledmannerofatiredman,whohadwanderedandstruggledandgotlost,butwhoatlengthstruckintohisroadandsawitsend.Longago,whenhehadbeenfamousamonghisearliestcompetitorsasayouthof great promise, hehad followedhis father to thegrave.Hismotherhad died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at hisfather'sgrave,aroseinhismindashewentdownthedarkstreets,amongtheheavyshadows,with themoonand thecloudssailingonhighabovehim."Iamtheresurrectionandthelife,saiththeLord:hethatbelievethinme,thoughhewere dead, yet shall he live: andwhosoever liveth and believeth inme,shallneverdie."Inacitydominatedbytheaxe,aloneatnight,withnaturalsorrowrisinginhim for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow's victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow's and to-morrow's, the chain of association that brought the wordshome, like a rusty old ship's anchor from the deep,might have been easilyfound.Hedidnotseekit,butrepeatedthemandwenton.With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people weregoing to rest, forgetful througha fewcalmhoursof thehorrors surroundingthem; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for thepopularrevulsionhadeventravelledthatlengthofself-destructionfromyearsofpriestlyimpostors,plunderers,andprofligates;inthedistantburial-places,reserved, as theywrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the aboundinggaols; and in the streets alongwhich the sixties rolled to adeathwhichhadbecomesocommonandmaterial,thatnosorrowfulstoryofahauntingSpiriteveraroseamongthepeopleoutofall theworkingof theGuillotine;witha

solemninterestinthewholelifeanddeathofthecitysettlingdowntoitsshortnightlypause in fury;SydneyCarton crossed theSeine again for the lighterstreets.Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to besuspected,andgentilityhiditsheadinrednightcaps,andputonheavyshoes,and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people pouredcheerfully out as he passed, andwent chatting home.At one of the theatredoors,therewasalittlegirlwithamother,lookingforawayacrossthestreetthrough the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm wasloosedfromhisneckaskedherforakiss."Iamtheresurrectionandthelife,saiththeLord:hethatbelievethinme,thoughheweredead,yetshallhelive:andwhosoeverlivethandbelievethinme,shallneverdie."Now,thatthestreetswerequiet,andthenightworeon,thewordswereinthe echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, hesometimesrepeatedthemtohimselfashewalked;but,heheardthemalways.Thenightworeout,and,ashestooduponthebridgelisteningtothewateras it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesqueconfusionofhousesandcathedral shonebright in the lightof themoon, thedaycamecoldly,lookinglikeadeadfaceoutofthesky.Then,thenight,withthemoonandthestars,turnedpaleanddied,andforalittlewhileitseemedasifCreationweredeliveredovertoDeath'sdominion.But,theglorioussun,rising,seemedtostrikethosewords,thatburdenofthenight,straightandwarmtohisheart in its longbrightrays.Andlookingalongthem,withreverentlyshadedeyes,abridgeoflightappearedtospantheairbetweenhimandthesun,whiletheriversparkledunderit.Thestrongtide,soswift,sodeep,andcertain,waslikeacongenialfriend,inthemorningstillness.Hewalkedbythestream,farfromthehouses,andinthelightandwarmthofthesunfellasleeponthebank.Whenheawokeandwas afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer,watching an eddy thatturnedandturnedpurposeless,untilthestreamabsorbedit,andcarrieditontothesea.—"Likeme."Atrading-boat,withasailofthesoftenedcolourofadeadleaf,thenglidedintohisview, floatedbyhim,anddiedaway.As itssilent track in thewaterdisappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a mercifulconsiderationofallhispoorblindnessesanderrors,endedinthewords,"Iamtheresurrectionandthelife."Mr.Lorrywasalreadyoutwhenhegotback,and itwaseasy tosurmisewhere thegoodoldmanwasgone.SydneyCartondranknothingbuta littlecoffee, ate somebread, and, havingwashed and changed to refreshhimself,wentouttotheplaceoftrial.

The courtwas all astir and a-buzz,when the black sheep—whommanyfell away from in dread—pressed him into an obscure corner among thecrowd.Mr. Lorrywas there, andDoctorManettewas there. Shewas there,sittingbesideherfather.When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, sosustaining,soencouraging,sofullofadmiringloveandpityingtenderness,yetso courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into his face,brightenedhisglance, andanimatedhisheart. If therehadbeenanyeyes tonoticetheinfluenceofherlook,onSydneyCarton,itwouldhavebeenseentobethesameinfluenceexactly.Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure,ensuringtoanyaccusedpersonanyreasonablehearing.TherecouldhavebeennosuchRevolution, ifall laws,forms,andceremonies,hadnotfirstbeensomonstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was toscatterthemalltothewinds.Everyeyewasturnedtothejury.Thesamedeterminedpatriotsandgoodrepublicansasyesterdayandthedaybefore,andto-morrowandthedayafter.Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and hisfingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave greatsatisfactiontothespectators.Alife-thirsting,cannibal-looking,bloody-mindedjuryman,theJacquesThreeofSt.Antoine.Thewholejury,asajuryofdogsempannelledtotrythedeer.Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. Nofavourableleaninginthatquarterto-day.Afell,uncompromising,murderousbusiness-meaningthere.Everyeyethensoughtsomeothereyeinthecrowd,and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one another, beforebendingforwardwithastrainedattention.Charles Evremonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Reaccused andretaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected andDenouncedenemyoftheRepublic,Aristocrat,oneofafamilyoftyrants,oneof a race proscribed, for that theyhadused their abolishedprivileges to theinfamous oppression of the people. Charles Evremonde, called Darnay, inrightofsuchproscription,absolutelyDeadinLaw.Tothiseffect,inasfeworfewerwords,thePublicProsecutor.ThePresidentasked,wastheAccusedopenlydenouncedorsecretly?"Openly,President.""Bywhom?""Threevoices.ErnestDefarge,wine-vendorofSt.Antoine.""Good.""ThereseDefarge,hiswife."

"Good.""AlexandreManette,physician."A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, DoctorManettewasseen,paleandtrembling,standingwherehehadbeenseated."President, I indignantlyprotest toyou that this isa forgeryanda fraud.Youknow theaccused tobe thehusbandofmydaughter.Mydaughter, andthosedeartoher,arefardearertomethanmylife.WhoandwhereisthefalseconspiratorwhosaysthatIdenouncethehusbandofmychild!""CitizenManette,betranquil.TofailinsubmissiontotheauthorityoftheTribunalwouldbetoputyourselfoutofLaw.Astowhatisdearertoyouthanlife,nothingcanbesodeartoagoodcitizenastheRepublic."Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, andwithwarmthresumed."IftheRepublicshoulddemandofyouthesacrificeofyourchildherself,youwouldhavenodutybuttosacrificeher.Listentowhatistofollow.Inthemeanwhile,besilent!"Franticacclamationswereagainraised.DoctorManettesatdown,withhiseyeslookingaround,andhislipstrembling;hisdaughterdrewclosertohim.Thecravingmanonthejuryrubbedhishandstogether,andrestoredtheusualhandtohismouth.Defargewasproduced,when thecourtwasquiet enough toadmitofhisbeingheard,andrapidlyexpoundedthestoryoftheimprisonment,andofhishavingbeenamereboyintheDoctor'sservice,andoftherelease,andofthestate of the prisoner when released and delivered to him. This shortexaminationfollowed,forthecourtwasquickwithitswork."YoudidgoodserviceatthetakingoftheBastille,citizen?""Ibelieveso."Here,anexcitedwomanscreechedfromthecrowd:"Youwereoneofthebestpatriotsthere.Whynotsayso?Youwereacannonierthatdaythere,andyouwereamongthefirsttoentertheaccursedfortresswhenitfell.Patriots,Ispeakthetruth!"It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of theaudience,thusassistedtheproceedings.ThePresidentranghisbell;but,TheVengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, "I defy that bell!"whereinshewaslikewisemuchcommended."InformtheTribunalofwhatyoudidthatdaywithintheBastille,citizen.""Iknew,"saidDefarge,lookingdownathiswife,whostoodatthebottomofthestepsonwhichhewasraised,lookingsteadilyupathim;"Iknewthatthis prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as One

HundredandFive,NorthTower.Iknewitfromhimself.HeknewhimselfbynoothernamethanOneHundredandFive,NorthTower,whenhemadeshoesundermycare.AsIservemygunthatday,Iresolve,whentheplaceshallfall,toexaminethatcell.Itfalls.Imounttothecell,withafellow-citizenwhoisoneoftheJury,directedbyagaoler.Iexamineit,veryclosely.Inaholeinthechimney,where a stone has beenworked out and replaced, I find awrittenpaper.Thisisthatwrittenpaper.Ihavemadeitmybusinesstoexaminesomespecimens of the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of DoctorManette.Iconfidethispaper,inthewritingofDoctorManette,tothehandsofthePresident.""Letitberead."Inadeadsilenceandstillness—theprisonerundertriallookinglovinglyathiswife,hiswifeonlylookingfromhimtolookwithsolicitudeatherfather,DoctorManettekeepinghiseyesfixedonthereader,MadameDefargenevertakinghersfromtheprisoner,Defargenevertakinghisfromhisfeastingwife,andalltheothereyesthereintentupontheDoctor,whosawnoneofthem—thepaperwasread,asfollows.

TheSubstanceoftheShadow

"I, Alexandre Manette, unfortunate physician, native of Beauvais, andafterwardsresidentinParis,writethismelancholypaperinmydolefulcellinthe Bastille, during the last month of the year, 1767. I write it at stolenintervals, under every difficulty. I design to secrete it in the wall of thechimney,where I have slowly and laboriouslymade aplaceof concealmentforit.Somepityinghandmayfinditthere,whenIandmysorrowsaredust."Thesewordsareformedbytherusty ironpointwithwhichIwritewithdifficulty in scrapings of soot and charcoal from the chimney, mixed withblood, in the last month of the tenth year of my captivity. Hope has quitedepartedfrommybreast.IknowfromterriblewarningsIhavenotedinmyselfthatmyreasonwillnotlongremainunimpaired,butIsolemnlydeclarethatIamatthistimeinthepossessionofmyrightmind—thatmymemoryisexactandcircumstantial—and that Iwrite the truthas I shallanswer for thesemylastrecordedwords,whether theybeeverreadbymenornot,at theEternalJudgment-seat."Onecloudymoonlightnight,inthethirdweekofDecember(Ithinkthetwenty-secondofthemonth)intheyear1757,Iwaswalkingonaretiredpartof the quay by the Seine for the refreshment of the frosty air, at an hour'sdistancefrommyplaceofresidenceintheStreetoftheSchoolofMedicine,whenacarriagecamealongbehindme,drivenveryfast.AsIstoodasidetoletthatcarriagepass,apprehensivethatitmightotherwiserunmedown,ahead

wasputoutatthewindow,andavoicecalledtothedrivertostop."Thecarriagestoppedas soonas thedrivercould rein inhishorses,andthesamevoicecalledtomebymyname.Ianswered.ThecarriagewasthensofarinadvanceofmethattwogentlemenhadtimetoopenthedoorandalightbeforeIcameupwithit."I observed that they were both wrapped in cloaks, and appeared toconceal themselves.Astheystoodsidebysidenear thecarriagedoor,Ialsoobservedthat theybothlookedofaboutmyownage,orratheryounger,andthat theyweregreatlyalike, in stature,manner,voice, and (as faras I couldsee)facetoo."'YouareDoctorManette?'saidone."Iam.""'Doctor Manette, formerly of Beauvais,' said the other; 'the youngphysician, originally an expert surgeon,whowithin the last year or twohasmadearisingreputationinParis?'"'Gentlemen,'Ireturned,'IamthatDoctorManetteofwhomyouspeaksograciously.'"'Wehavebeentoyourresidence,'saidthefirst,'andnotbeingsofortunateas to findyou there, andbeing informed thatyouwereprobablywalking inthisdirection,wefollowed,inthehopeofovertakingyou.Willyoupleasetoenterthecarriage?'"Themannerofbothwasimperious,andtheybothmoved,asthesewordswere spoken, so as to place me between themselves and the carriage door.Theywerearmed.Iwasnot."'Gentlemen,' said I, 'pardonme; but I usually inquirewho doesme thehonourtoseekmyassistance,andwhatisthenatureofthecasetowhichIamsummoned.'"Thereplytothiswasmadebyhimwhohadspokensecond.'Doctor,yourclientsarepeopleofcondition.Astothenatureofthecase,ourconfidenceinyourskillassuresusthatyouwillascertainitforyourselfbetterthanwecandescribeit.Enough.Willyoupleasetoenterthecarriage?'"I could do nothing but comply, and I entered it in silence. They bothenteredafterme—thelastspringingin,afterputtingupthesteps.Thecarriageturnedabout,anddroveonatitsformerspeed."Irepeatthisconversationexactlyasitoccurred.Ihavenodoubtthatitis,word for word, the same. I describe everything exactly as it took place,constrainingmymindnottowanderfromthetask.WhereImakethebrokenmarksthatfollowhere,Ileaveoffforthetime,andputmypaperinitshiding-place."The carriage left the streets behind, passed the North Barrier, and

emergeduponthecountryroad.Attwo-thirdsofaleaguefromtheBarrier—Ididnotestimatethedistanceatthattime,butafterwardswhenItraversedit—itstruckoutofthemainavenue,andpresentlystoppedatasolitaryhouse,Weall three alighted, andwalked, by adamp soft footpath in agardenwhere aneglectedfountainhadoverflowed,tothedoorofthehouse.Itwasnotopenedimmediately, in answer to the ringing of the bell, and one of my twoconductorsstruckthemanwhoopenedit,withhisheavyridingglove,acrosstheface."Therewasnothing in this action to attractmyparticular attention, for Ihadseencommonpeoplestruckmorecommonlythandogs.But,theotherofthetwo,beingangrylikewise,struckthemaninlikemannerwithhisarm;thelook andbearingof thebrotherswere then so exactly alike, that I then firstperceivedthemtobetwinbrothers."Fromthetimeofouralightingattheoutergate(whichwefoundlocked,andwhichoneof thebrothershadopened to admitus, andhad relocked), Ihad heard cries proceeding froman upper chamber. Iwas conducted to thischamber straight, the cries growing louder aswe ascended the stairs, and Ifoundapatientinahighfeverofthebrain,lyingonabed."Thepatientwasawomanofgreatbeauty,andyoung;assuredlynotmuchpast twenty.Her hairwas torn and ragged, andher armswerebound to hersides with sashes and handkerchiefs. I noticed that these bonds were allportionsofagentleman'sdress.Ononeofthem,whichwasafringedscarfforadressofceremony,IsawthearmorialbearingsofaNoble,andtheletterE."Isawthis,withinthefirstminuteofmycontemplationofthepatient;for,inherrestlessstrivingsshehadturnedoveronherfaceontheedgeofthebed,had drawn the end of the scarf into her mouth, and was in danger ofsuffocation.Myfirstactwastoputoutmyhandtorelieveherbreathing;andinmovingthescarfaside,theembroideryinthecornercaughtmysight."Iturnedhergentlyover,placedmyhandsuponherbreasttocalmherandkeepherdown,andlookedintoherface.Hereyesweredilatedandwild,andsheconstantlyutteredpiercingshrieks,andrepeatedthewords,'Myhusband,myfather,andmybrother!'and thencountedup to twelve,andsaid, 'Hush!'Foraninstant,andnomore,shewouldpausetolisten,andthenthepiercingshriekswould begin again, and shewould repeat the cry, 'My husband,myfather,andmybrother!'andwouldcountuptotwelve,andsay,'Hush!'Therewasnovariationintheorder,orthemanner.Therewasnocessation,buttheregularmoment'spause,intheutteranceofthesesounds."'Howlong,'Iasked,'hasthislasted?'"Todistinguishthebrothers,Iwillcallthemtheelderandtheyounger;bytheelder,Imeanhimwhoexercisedthemostauthority.Itwastheelderwhoreplied,'Sinceaboutthishourlastnight.'"'Shehasahusband,afather,andabrother?'

"'Abrother.'"'Idonotaddressherbrother?'"Heansweredwithgreatcontempt,'No.'"'Shehassomerecentassociationwiththenumbertwelve?'"Theyoungerbrotherimpatientlyrejoined,'Withtwelveo'clock?'"'See, gentlemen,' said I, still keeping my hands upon her breast, 'howuselessIam,asyouhavebroughtme!IfIhadknownwhatIwascomingtosee, I could have come provided. As it is, timemust be lost. There are nomedicinestobeobtainedinthislonelyplace.'"Theelderbrother lookedtotheyounger,whosaidhaughtily, 'Thereisacaseofmedicineshere;'andbroughtitfromacloset,andputitonthetable."I opened some of the bottles, smelt them, and put the stoppers tomylips.IfIhadwantedtouseanythingsavenarcoticmedicinesthatwerepoisonsinthemselves,Iwouldnothaveadministeredanyofthose."'Doyoudoubtthem?'askedtheyoungerbrother."'Yousee,monsieur,Iamgoingtousethem,'Ireplied,andsaidnomore."Imadethepatientswallow,withgreatdifficulty,andaftermanyefforts,thedosethatIdesiredtogive.AsIintendedtorepeatitafterawhile,andasitwasnecessarytowatchits influence,I thensatdownbythesideof thebed.There was a timid and suppressed woman in attendance (wife of the mandown-stairs), who had retreated into a corner. The house was damp anddecayed, indifferently furnished—evidently, recently occupied andtemporarily used. Some thick old hangings had been nailed up before thewindows,todeadenthesoundoftheshrieks.Theycontinuedtobeutteredintheir regular succession, with the cry, 'My husband, my father, and mybrother!'thecountinguptotwelve,and'Hush!'Thefrenzywassoviolent,thatIhadnotunfastened thebandages restraining thearms;but, Ihad looked tothem, tosee that theywerenotpainful.Theonlysparkofencouragement inthecase,was,thatmyhanduponthesufferer'sbreasthadthismuchsoothinginfluence,thatforminutesatatimeittranquillisedthefigure.Ithadnoeffectuponthecries;nopendulumcouldbemoreregular."For the reason thatmyhandhad thiseffect (Iassume), Ihadsatby thesideofthebedforhalfanhour,withthetwobrotherslookingon,beforetheeldersaid:"'Thereisanotherpatient.'"Iwasstartled,andasked,'Isitapressingcase?'"'Youhadbettersee,'hecarelesslyanswered;andtookupalight."Theother patient lay in a back roomacross a second staircase,whichwasaspeciesofloftoverastable.Therewasalowplasteredceilingtoapart

of it; the restwasopen, to the ridgeof the tiled roof, and therewerebeamsacross.Hayandstrawwerestoredinthatportionoftheplace,fagotsforfiring,andaheapofapplesinsand.Ihadtopassthroughthatpart,togetattheother.Mymemory iscircumstantialandunshaken. I try itwith thesedetails,and Iseethemall,inthismycellintheBastille,nearthecloseofthetenthyearofmycaptivity,asIsawthemallthatnight."Onsomehayontheground,withacushionthrownunderhishead,layahandsomepeasantboy—aboyofnotmorethanseventeenatthemost.Helayonhisback,withhisteethset,hisrighthandclenchedonhisbreast,andhisglaringeyeslookingstraightupward.Icouldnotseewherehiswoundwas,asIkneeledononekneeoverhim;but,Icouldseethathewasdyingofawoundfromasharppoint."'Iamadoctor,mypoorfellow,'saidI.'Letmeexamineit.'"'Idonotwantitexamined,'heanswered;'letitbe.'"Itwasunderhishand,andIsoothedhimtoletmemovehishandaway.The wound was a sword-thrust, received from twenty to twenty-four hoursbefore, but no skill could have saved him if it had been looked to withoutdelay.Hewasthendyingfast.AsIturnedmyeyestotheelderbrother,Isawhimlookingdownat thishandsomeboywhose lifewasebbingout,as ifhewere a wounded bird, or hare, or rabbit; not at all as if he were a fellow-creature."'Howhasthisbeendone,monsieur?'saidI."'Acrazedyoungcommondog!Aserf!Forcedmybrother todrawuponhim,andhasfallenbymybrother'ssword—likeagentleman.'"Therewasnotouchofpity,sorrow,orkindredhumanity,inthisanswer.The speaker seemed to acknowledge that it was inconvenient to have thatdifferentorderofcreaturedyingthere,andthatitwouldhavebeenbetterifhehad died in the usual obscure routine of his vermin kind. He was quiteincapableofanycompassionatefeelingabouttheboy,orabouthisfate."Theboy'seyeshadslowlymovedtohimashehadspoken,andtheynowslowlymovedtome."'Doctor, they are very proud, these Nobles; but we common dogs areproud too, sometimes. They plunder us, outrage us, beat us, kill us; butwehavealittleprideleft,sometimes.She—haveyouseenher,Doctor?'"The shrieks and the cries were audible there, though subdued by thedistance.Hereferredtothem,asifshewerelyinginourpresence."Isaid,'Ihaveseenher.'"'She is my sister, Doctor. They have had their shameful rights, theseNobles,inthemodestyandvirtueofoursisters,manyyears,butwehavehadgoodgirlsamongus.Iknowit,andhaveheardmyfathersayso.Shewasa

goodgirl.Shewasbetrothed toagoodyoungman, too:a tenantofhis.Wewerealltenantsofhis—thatman'swhostandsthere.Theotherishisbrother,theworstofabadrace.'"Itwaswith the greatest difficulty that the boy gathered bodily force tospeak;but,hisspiritspokewithadreadfulemphasis."'Weweresorobbedbythatmanwhostandsthere,asallwecommondogsareby thosesuperiorBeings—taxedbyhimwithoutmercy,obliged toworkfor him without pay, obliged to grind our corn at his mill, obliged to feedscoresofhistamebirdsonourwretchedcrops,andforbiddenforourlivestokeepasingletamebirdofourown,pillagedandplunderedtothatdegreethatwhenwechancedtohaveabitofmeat,weateitinfear,withthedoorbarredandtheshuttersclosed,thathispeopleshouldnotseeitandtakeitfromus—Isay,wewereso robbed,andhunted,andweremadesopoor, thatour fathertoldusitwasadreadfulthingtobringachildintotheworld,andthatwhatweshouldmostprayfor,was,thatourwomenmightbebarrenandourmiserableracedieout!'"Ihadneverbeforeseenthesenseofbeingoppressed,burstingforthlikeafire.Ihadsupposedthatitmustbelatentinthepeoplesomewhere;but,Ihadneverseenitbreakout,untilIsawitinthedyingboy."'Nevertheless,Doctor,mysistermarried.Hewasailingatthattime,poorfellow,andshemarriedherlover,thatshemighttendandcomforthiminourcottage—our dog-hut, as that man would call it. She had not beenmarriedmanyweeks,whenthatman'sbrothersawherandadmiredher,andaskedthatman to lend her to him—forwhat are husbands among us!Hewaswillingenough, butmy sister was good and virtuous, and hated his brother with ahatredasstrongasmine.Whatdid thetwothen, topersuadeherhusbandtousehisinfluencewithher,tomakeherwilling?'"The boy's eyes, which had been fixed on mine, slowly turned to thelooker-on, and I saw in the two faces that all he said was true. The twoopposing kinds of pride confronting one another, I can see, even in thisBastille;thegentleman's,allnegligentindifference;thepeasant's,alltrodden-downsentiment,andpassionaterevenge."'Youknow,Doctor,thatitisamongtheRightsoftheseNoblestoharnessuscommondogstocarts,anddriveus.Theysoharnessedhimanddrovehim.Youknowthat it isamongtheirRights tokeepus in theirgroundsallnight,quietingthefrogs,inorderthattheirnoblesleepmaynotbedisturbed.Theykepthimoutintheunwholesomemistsatnight,andorderedhimbackintohisharness in theday.Buthewasnotpersuaded.No!Takenoutofharnessonedayatnoon,tofeed—ifhecouldfindfood—hesobbedtwelvetimes,onceforeverystrokeofthebell,anddiedonherbosom.'"Nothinghumancouldhaveheld life in theboybuthisdetermination totellallhiswrong.Heforcedbackthegatheringshadowsofdeath,asheforced

hisclenchedrighthandtoremainclenched,andtocoverhiswound."'Then,withthatman'spermissionandevenwithhisaid,hisbrothertookheraway;inspiteofwhatIknowshemusthavetoldhisbrother—andwhatthatis,willnotbelongunknowntoyou,Doctor,ifitisnow—hisbrothertookheraway—forhispleasureanddiversion,foralittlewhile.Isawherpassmeontheroad.WhenI tookthetidingshome,ourfather'sheartburst;heneverspoke one of the words that filled it. I took my young sister (for I haveanother)toaplacebeyondthereachofthisman,andwhere,atleast,shewillneverbehisvassal.Then,Itrackedthebrotherhere,andlastnightclimbedin—a common dog, but sword in hand.—Where is the loft window? It wassomewherehere?'"The roomwas darkening to his sight; theworldwas narrowing aroundhim.Iglancedaboutme,andsawthatthehayandstrawweretrampledoverthefloor,asiftherehadbeenastruggle."'Sheheardme,andranin.Itoldhernottocomenearustillhewasdead.Hecameinandfirsttossedmesomepiecesofmoney;thenstruckatmewithawhip.ButI,thoughacommondog,sostruckathimastomakehimdraw.Lethimbreakintoasmanypiecesashewill, theswordthathestainedwithmycommonblood;hedrewtodefendhimself—thrustatmewithallhisskillforhislife.'"Myglancehadfallen,butafewmomentsbefore,on thefragmentsofabroken sword, lying among the hay. That weapon was a gentleman's. Inanotherplace,layanoldswordthatseemedtohavebeenasoldier's."'Now,liftmeup,Doctor;liftmeup.Whereishe?'"'Heisnothere,'Isaid,supportingtheboy,andthinkingthathereferredtothebrother."'He!Proudasthesenoblesare,heisafraidtoseeme.Whereisthemanwhowashere?Turnmyfacetohim.'"I did so, raising the boy's head against my knee. But, invested for themomentwithextraordinarypower,heraisedhimselfcompletely:obligingmetorisetoo,orIcouldnothavestillsupportedhim."'Marquis,'saidtheboy,turnedtohimwithhiseyesopenedwide,andhisrighthandraised, 'inthedayswhenallthesethingsaretobeansweredfor,Isummon you and yours, to the last of your bad race, to answer for them. Imarkthiscrossofblooduponyou,asasignthatIdoit.Inthedayswhenallthesethingsare tobeansweredfor, Isummonyourbrother, theworstof thebadrace,toanswerforthemseparately.Imarkthiscrossofblooduponhim,asasignthatIdoit.'"Twice,heputhishandtothewoundinhisbreast,andwithhisforefingerdrewacrossintheair.Hestoodforaninstantwiththefingeryetraised,andasitdropped,hedroppedwithit,andIlaidhimdowndead.

"WhenIreturnedtothebedsideoftheyoungwoman,Ifoundherravinginpreciselythesameorderofcontinuity.Iknewthatthismightlastformanyhours,andthatitwouldprobablyendinthesilenceofthegrave."IrepeatedthemedicinesIhadgivenher,andIsatatthesideofthebeduntilthenightwasfaradvanced.Sheneverabatedthepiercingqualityofhershrieks, never stumbled in the distinctness or the order of her words. Theywerealways 'Myhusband,myfather,andmybrother!One, two, three, four,five,six,seven,eight,nine,ten,eleven,twelve.Hush!'"This lasted twenty-six hours from the timewhen I first saw her. I hadcomeandgonetwice,andwasagainsittingbyher,whenshebegantofalter.Ididwhat little could be done to assist that opportunity, and by-and-bye shesankintoalethargy,andlaylikethedead."Itwasas if thewindandrainhad lulledat last,aftera longandfearfulstorm.Ireleasedherarms,andcalledthewomantoassistmetocomposeherfigureandthedressshehadtorn.ItwasthenthatIknewherconditiontobethatofoneinwhomthefirstexpectationsofbeingamotherhavearisen;anditwasthenthatIlostthelittlehopeIhadhadofher."'Is shedead?'asked theMarquis,whomIwill stilldescribeas theelderbrother,comingbootedintotheroomfromhishorse."'Notdead,'saidI;'butliketodie.'"'Whatstrengththereisinthesecommonbodies!'hesaid,lookingdownatherwithsomecuriosity."'Thereisprodigiousstrength,'Iansweredhim,'insorrowanddespair.'"He first laughed atmywords, and then frowned at them.Hemoved achair with his foot near to mine, ordered the woman away, and said in asubduedvoice,"'Doctor, finding my brother in this difficulty with these hinds, Irecommendedthatyouraidshouldbeinvited.Yourreputationishigh,and,asa youngmanwith your fortune tomake, you are probablymindful of yourinterest.Thethingsthatyouseehere,arethingstobeseen,andnotspokenof.'"Ilistenedtothepatient'sbreathing,andavoidedanswering."'Doyouhonourmewithyourattention,Doctor?'"'Monsieur,'saidI, 'inmyprofession, thecommunicationsofpatientsarealwaysreceivedinconfidence.'Iwasguardedinmyanswer,forIwastroubledinmymindwithwhatIhadheardandseen."Herbreathingwassodifficulttotrace,thatIcarefullytriedthepulseandtheheart.Therewaslife,andnomore.LookingroundasIresumedmyseat,Ifoundboththebrothersintentuponme."Iwritewithsomuchdifficulty,thecoldissosevere,Iamsofearfulof

beingdetectedandconsignedtoanundergroundcellandtotaldarkness,thatImustabridgethisnarrative.Thereisnoconfusionorfailureinmymemory;itcanrecall,andcoulddetail,everywordthatwaseverspokenbetweenmeandthosebrothers."Shelingeredforaweek.Towardsthelast, Icouldunderstandsomefewsyllablesthatshesaidtome,byplacingmyearclosetoherlips.Sheaskedmewhereshewas,andItoldher;whoIwas,andItoldher.ItwasinvainthatIaskedherforherfamilyname.Shefaintlyshookherheaduponthepillow,andkepthersecret,astheboyhaddone."I had no opportunity of asking her any question, until I had told thebrothers she was sinking fast, and could not live another day. Until then,thoughnoonewaseverpresented toherconsciousnesssave thewomanandmyself,oneorotherofthemhadalwaysjealouslysatbehindthecurtainatthehead of the bed when I was there. But when it came to that, they seemedcarelesswhatcommunicationImightholdwithher;asif—thethoughtpassedthroughmymind—Iweredyingtoo."Ialwaysobservedthat theirpridebitterlyresentedtheyoungerbrother's(asIcallhim)havingcrossedswordswithapeasant,andthatpeasantaboy.Theonlyconsiderationthatappearedtoaffectthemindofeitherofthemwasthe consideration that this was highly degrading to the family, and wasridiculous.As often as I caught the younger brother's eyes, their expressionremindedme thathedislikedmedeeply, forknowingwhat Iknewfrom theboy.Hewassmootherandmorepolitetomethantheelder;butIsawthis.IalsosawthatIwasanincumbranceinthemindoftheelder,too."My patient died, two hours before midnight—at a time, bymy watch,answeringalmosttotheminutewhenIhadfirstseenher.Iwasalonewithher,whenherforlornyoungheaddroopedgentlyononeside,andallherearthlywrongsandsorrowsended."Thebrotherswerewaitinginaroomdown-stairs,impatienttorideaway.Ihadheard them,aloneat thebedside,striking theirbootswith their riding-whips,andloiteringupanddown."'Atlastsheisdead?'saidtheelder,whenIwentin."'Sheisdead,'saidI."'Icongratulateyou,mybrother,'werehiswordsasheturnedround."Hehadbeforeofferedmemoney,whichIhadpostponedtaking.Henowgavemearouleauofgold.I tookitfromhishand,but laiditonthetable.Ihadconsideredthequestion,andhadresolvedtoacceptnothing."'Prayexcuseme,'saidI.'Underthecircumstances,no.'"Theyexchangedlooks,butbenttheirheadstomeasIbentminetothem,andwepartedwithoutanotherwordoneitherside.

"Iamweary,weary,weary—worndownbymisery.IcannotreadwhatIhavewrittenwiththisgaunthand."Early in themorning, therouleauofgoldwas leftatmydoor ina littlebox,withmynameontheoutside.Fromthefirst,Ihadanxiouslyconsideredwhat I ought to do. I decided, that day, to write privately to the Minister,stating the nature of the two cases towhich I had been summoned, and theplacetowhichIhadgone:ineffect,statingallthecircumstances.IknewwhatCourt influence was, and what the immunities of the Nobles were, and Iexpectedthatthematterwouldneverbeheardof;but,Iwishedtorelievemyownmind. Ihadkept thematteraprofoundsecret,even frommywife;andthis,too,Iresolvedtostateinmyletter.Ihadnoapprehensionwhateverofmyrealdanger;butIwasconsciousthattheremightbedangerforothers,ifotherswerecompromisedbypossessingtheknowledgethatIpossessed."Iwasmuchengagedthatday,andcouldnotcompletemyletterthatnight.Iroselongbeforemyusualtimenextmorningtofinishit.Itwasthelastdayof theyear.The letterwas lyingbeforeme just completed,when Iwas toldthataladywaited,whowishedtoseeme."IamgrowingmoreandmoreunequaltothetaskIhavesetmyself.Itissocold, sodark,mysensesare sobenumbed,and thegloomuponme is sodreadful."The ladywasyoung,engaging,andhandsome,butnotmarked for longlife.Shewasingreatagitation.ShepresentedherselftomeasthewifeoftheMarquisSt.Evremonde.Iconnectedthetitlebywhichtheboyhadaddressedtheelderbrother,with the initial letterembroideredon thescarf,andhadnodifficulty in arriving at the conclusion that I had seen that nobleman verylately."My memory is still accurate, but I cannot write the words of ourconversation.IsuspectthatIamwatchedmorecloselythanIwas,andIknownot atwhat times Imaybewatched. She had in part suspected, and in partdiscovered,themainfactsofthecruelstory,ofherhusband'sshareinit,andmybeingresortedto.Shedidnotknowthatthegirlwasdead.Herhopehadbeen, she said ingreatdistress, to showher, in secret, awoman's sympathy.HerhopehadbeentoavertthewrathofHeavenfromaHousethathadlongbeenhatefultothesufferingmany."Shehadreasonsforbelievingthattherewasayoungsisterliving,andhergreatestdesirewas, tohelp that sister. I could tellhernothingbut that therewassuchasister;beyondthat,Iknewnothing.Herinducementtocometome,relyingonmyconfidence,hadbeenthehopethatIcouldtellherthenameandplaceofabode.Whereas,tothiswretchedhourIamignorantofboth."Thesescrapsofpaperfailme.Onewastakenfromme,withawarning,yesterday.Imustfinishmyrecordto-day."Shewasagood,compassionatelady,andnothappyinhermarriage.How

couldshebe!Thebrotherdistrustedanddislikedher,andhisinfluencewasallopposed toher; shestood indreadofhim,and indreadofherhusband too.WhenIhandedherdowntothedoor,therewasachild,aprettyboyfromtwotothreeyearsold,inhercarriage."'Forhissake,Doctor,'shesaid,pointingtohimintears,'IwoulddoallIcantomakewhatpooramendsIcan.Hewillneverprosperinhisinheritanceotherwise.Ihaveapresentimentthatifnootherinnocentatonementismadeforthis,itwillonedayberequiredofhim.WhatIhavelefttocallmyown—itislittlebeyondtheworthofafewjewels—Iwillmakeitthefirstchargeofhislifetobestow,withthecompassionandlamentingofhisdeadmother,onthisinjuredfamily,ifthesistercanbediscovered.'"Shekissedtheboy,andsaid,caressinghim,'Itisforthineowndearsake.Thouwiltbefaithful, littleCharles?'Thechildansweredherbravely, 'Yes!'Ikissedherhand,andshetookhiminherarms,andwentawaycaressinghim.Ineversawhermore."As shehadmentionedher husband's name in the faith that I knew it, Iaddednomentionofittomyletter.Isealedmyletter,and,nottrustingitoutofmyownhands,delivereditmyselfthatday."That night, the last night of the year, towards nine o'clock, aman in ablack dress rang at my gate, demanded to see me, and softly followedmyservant, ErnestDefarge, a youth, up-stairs.Whenmy servant came into theroomwhere I satwithmywife—Omywife, beloved ofmyheart!My fairyoungEnglishwife!—wesawtheman,whowassupposedtobeat thegate,standingsilentbehindhim."AnurgentcaseintheRueSt.Honore,hesaid.Itwouldnotdetainme,hehadacoachinwaiting."Itbroughtmehere, itbroughtmetomygrave.WhenIwasclearofthehouse,ablackmufflerwasdrawntightlyovermymouthfrombehind,andmyarmswerepinioned.Thetwobrotherscrossedtheroadfromadarkcorner,andidentified me with a single gesture. TheMarquis took from his pocket theletter I hadwritten, showed itme, burnt it in the light of a lantern thatwasheld,andextinguishedtheasheswithhisfoot.Notawordwasspoken.Iwasbroughthere,Iwasbroughttomylivinggrave."IfithadpleasedGodtoputitinthehardheartofeitherofthebrothers,inallthesefrightfulyears,tograntmeanytidingsofmydearestwife—somuchastoletmeknowbyawordwhetheraliveordead—ImighthavethoughtthatHehadnotquiteabandonedthem.But,nowIbelievethatthemarkoftheredcrossisfataltothem,andthattheyhavenopartinHismercies.Andthemandtheir descendants, to the last of their race, I, Alexandre Manette, unhappyprisoner,dothislastnightoftheyear1767,inmyunbearableagony,denounceto the timeswhenall these thingsshallbeansweredfor. Idenounce themtoHeavenandtoearth."

A terrible sound arose when the reading of this document was done. Asoundofcravingandeagernessthathadnothingarticulateinitbutblood.Thenarrativecalledupthemostrevengefulpassionsofthetime,andtherewasnotaheadinthenationbutmusthavedroppedbeforeit.Littleneed,inpresenceofthattribunalandthatauditory,toshowhowtheDefarges had not made the paper public, with the other captured Bastillememorialsborneinprocession,andhadkeptit,bidingtheirtime.LittleneedtoshowthatthisdetestedfamilynamehadlongbeenanathematisedbySaintAntoine,andwaswrought intothefatalregister.Themannever trodgroundwhosevirtues and serviceswouldhave sustainedhim in that place that day,againstsuchdenunciation.And all theworse for the doomedman, that the denouncerwas awell-known citizen, his own attached friend, the father of his wife. One of thefrenzied aspirations of the populace was, for imitations of the questionablepublic virtues of antiquity, and for sacrifices and self-immolations on thepeople's altar. Therefore when the President said (else had his own headquivered on his shoulders), that the good physician of the Republic woulddeserve better still of the Republic by rooting out an obnoxious family ofAristocrats, and would doubtless feel a sacred glow and joy in making hisdaughter a widow and her child an orphan, there was wild excitement,patrioticfervour,notatouchofhumansympathy."Much influence around him, has that Doctor?" murmured MadameDefarge,smilingtoTheVengeance."Savehimnow,myDoctor,savehim!"Ateveryjuryman'svote,therewasaroar.Anotherandanother.Roarandroar.Unanimously voted.At heart andbydescent anAristocrat, an enemyoftheRepublic,anotoriousoppressorof thePeople.Back to theConciergerie,andDeathwithinfour-and-twentyhours!

Dusk

Thewretchedwifeoftheinnocentmanthusdoomedtodie,fellunderthesentence,asifshehadbeenmortallystricken.But,sheutterednosound;andsostrongwasthevoicewithinher,representingthatitwassheofalltheworldwhomustupholdhiminhismiseryandnotaugmentit,thatitquicklyraisedher,evenfromthatshock.TheJudgeshavingtotakepartinapublicdemonstrationoutofdoors,theTribunal adjourned. The quick noise andmovement of the court's emptyingitselfbymanypassageshadnotceased,whenLuciestoodstretchingoutherarmstowardsherhusband,withnothinginherfacebutloveandconsolation.

"If Imight touchhim!If Imightembracehimonce!O,goodcitizens, ifyouwouldhavesomuchcompassionforus!"Therewasbutagaolerleft,alongwithtwoofthefourmenwhohadtakenhimlastnight,andBarsad.Thepeoplehadallpouredouttotheshowinthestreets. Barsad proposed to the rest, "Let her embrace him then; it is but amoment."Itwassilentlyacquiescedin,andtheypassedherovertheseatsinthehalltoaraisedplace,wherehe,byleaningoverthedock,couldfoldherinhisarms."Farewell,deardarlingofmysoul.Mypartingblessingonmy love.Weshallmeetagain,wherethewearyareatrest!"Theywereherhusband'swords,asheheldhertohisbosom."I canbear it, dearCharles. I am supported fromabove: don't suffer forme.Apartingblessingforourchild.""Isendittoherbyyou.Ikissherbyyou.Isayfarewelltoherbyyou.""My husband. No! Amoment!" He was tearing himself apart from her."Weshallnotbeseparated long. I feel that thiswillbreakmyheartby-and-bye;butIwilldomydutywhileIcan,andwhenIleaveher,Godwillraiseupfriendsforher,asHedidforme."Herfatherhadfollowedher,andwouldhavefallenonhiskneestobothofthem,butthatDarnayputoutahandandseizedhim,crying:"No,no!Whathaveyoudone,whathaveyoudone,thatyoushouldkneeltous!Weknownow,whatastruggleyoumadeofold.Weknow,nowwhatyouunderwentwhenyou suspectedmydescent, andwhenyouknew it.Weknow now, the natural antipathy you strove against, and conquered, for herdearsake.Wethankyouwithallourhearts,andallourloveandduty.Heavenbewithyou!"Herfather'sonlyanswerwastodrawhishandsthroughhiswhitehair,andwringthemwithashriekofanguish."It could not be otherwise," said the prisoner. "All things have workedtogetherastheyhavefallenout.Itwasthealways-vainendeavourtodischargemy poormother's trust that first broughtmy fatal presence near you.Goodcouldnevercomeofsuchevil,ahappierendwasnotinnaturetosounhappyabeginning.Becomforted,andforgiveme.Heavenblessyou!"Ashewasdrawnaway,hiswifereleasedhim,andstoodlookingafterhimwith her hands touching one another in the attitude of prayer, and with aradiantlookuponherface,inwhichtherewasevenacomfortingsmile.Ashewent out at the prisoners' door, she turned, laid her head lovingly on herfather'sbreast,triedtospeaktohim,andfellathisfeet.Then, issuing from the obscure corner fromwhichhe hadnevermoved,SydneyCartoncameandtookherup.OnlyherfatherandMr.Lorrywerewith

her.Hisarmtrembledasitraisedher,andsupportedherhead.Yet,therewasanairabouthimthatwasnotallofpity—thathadaflushofprideinit."ShallItakehertoacoach?Ishallneverfeelherweight."Hecarriedherlightlytothedoor,andlaidhertenderlydowninacoach.Her father and their old friend got into it, and he took his seat beside thedriver.When they arrived at the gatewaywhere he had paused in the dark notmanyhoursbefore,topicturetohimselfonwhichoftheroughstonesofthestreetherfeethadtrodden,heliftedheragain,andcarriedherupthestaircasetotheirrooms.There,helaidherdownonacouch,whereherchildandMissProssweptoverher."Don'trecallhertoherself,"hesaid,softly,tothelatter,"sheisbetterso.Don'trevivehertoconsciousness,whilesheonlyfaints.""Oh, Carton, Carton, dear Carton!" cried little Lucie, springing up andthrowingherarmspassionatelyroundhim,inaburstofgrief."Nowthatyouhavecome,Ithinkyouwilldosomethingtohelpmamma,somethingtosavepapa!O, look at her, dearCarton!Canyou, of all thepeoplewho loveher,beartoseeherso?"Hebentover thechild,and laidherbloomingcheekagainsthisface.Heputhergentlyfromhim,andlookedatherunconsciousmother."BeforeIgo,"hesaid,andpaused—"Imaykissher?"Itwas remembered afterwards thatwhen he bent down and touched herfacewithhis lips,hemurmuredsomewords.Thechild,whowasnearest tohim, told them afterwards, and told her grandchildren when she was ahandsomeoldlady,thatsheheardhimsay,"Alifeyoulove."When he had gone out into the next room, he turned suddenly on Mr.Lorryandherfather,whowerefollowing,andsaidtothelatter:"Youhadgreat influencebutyesterday,DoctorManette; let itat leastbetried.These judges, and all themen inpower, are very friendly to you, andveryrecognisantofyourservices;aretheynot?""Nothing connected with Charles was concealed from me. I had thestrongestassurancesthatIshouldsavehim;andIdid."Hereturnedtheansweringreattrouble,andveryslowly."Trythemagain.Thehoursbetweenthisandto-morrowafternoonarefewandshort,buttry.""Iintendtotry.Iwillnotrestamoment.""That'swell. I have known such energy as yours do great things beforenow—thoughnever,"headded,withasmileandasightogether,"suchgreatthingsasthis.Buttry!Oflittleworthaslifeiswhenwemisuseit,itisworth

thateffort.Itwouldcostnothingtolaydownifitwerenot.""I will go," said Doctor Manette, "to the Prosecutor and the Presidentstraight,andIwillgotootherswhomitisbetternottoname.Iwillwritetoo,and—But stay! There is a Celebration in the streets, and no one will beaccessibleuntildark.""That's true. Well! It is a forlorn hope at the best, and not much theforlorner for being delayed till dark. I should like to know how you speed;though,mind!Iexpectnothing!Whenareyoulikelytohaveseenthesedreadpowers,DoctorManette?""Immediatelyafterdark,Ishouldhope.Withinanhourortwofromthis.""Itwillbedarksoonafterfour.Letusstretchthehourortwo.IfIgotoMr.Lorry'satnine,shallIhearwhatyouhavedone,eitherfromourfriendorfromyourself?""Yes.""Mayyouprosper!"Mr. Lorry followed Sydney to the outer door, and, touching him on theshoulderashewasgoingaway,causedhimtoturn."Ihavenohope,"saidMr.Lorry,inalowandsorrowfulwhisper."NorhaveI.""Ifanyoneofthesemen,orallofthesemen,weredisposedtosparehim—whichisalargesupposition;forwhatishislife,oranyman'stothem!—Idoubtiftheydurstsparehimafterthedemonstrationinthecourt.""AndsodoI.Iheardthefalloftheaxeinthatsound."Mr.Lorryleanedhisarmuponthedoor-post,andbowedhisfaceuponit."Don't despond," said Carton, very gently; "don't grieve. I encouragedDoctorManetteinthisidea,becauseIfeltthatitmightonedaybeconsolatoryto her. Otherwise, she might think 'his life was wantonly thrown away orwasted,'andthatmighttroubleher.""Yes,yes,yes,"returnedMr.Lorry,dryinghiseyes,"youareright.Buthewillperish;thereisnorealhope.""Yes.Hewillperish:thereisnorealhope,"echoedCarton.Andwalkedwithasettledstep,down-stairs.

Darkness

Sydney Carton paused in the street, not quite decidedwhere to go. "AtTellson'sbanking-houseatnine,"hesaid,withamusingface."ShallIdowell,inthemeantime,toshowmyself?Ithinkso.Itisbestthatthesepeopleshouldknow there is such aman as I here; it is a soundprecaution, andmaybe anecessarypreparation.Butcare,care,care!Letmethinkitout!"Checkinghisstepswhichhadbeguntotendtowardsanobject,hetookaturnortwointhealreadydarkeningstreet,andtracedthethoughtinhismindtoitspossibleconsequences.Hisfirstimpressionwasconfirmed."Itisbest,"hesaid,finallyresolved,"thatthesepeopleshouldknowthereissuchamanasIhere."AndheturnedhisfacetowardsSaintAntoine.Defargehaddescribedhimself, thatday,as thekeeperofawine-shop intheSaintAntoinesuburb.Itwasnotdifficultforonewhoknewthecitywell,tofindhishousewithoutaskinganyquestion.Havingascertaineditssituation,Carton came out of those closer streets again, and dined at a place ofrefreshment and fell sound asleep after dinner. For the first time in manyyears,hehadnostrongdrink.Sincelastnighthehadtakennothingbutalittlelightthinwine,andlastnighthehaddroppedthebrandyslowlydownonMr.Lorry'shearthlikeamanwhohaddonewithit.Itwasaslateasseveno'clockwhenheawokerefreshed,andwentoutintothestreetsagain.Ashepassedalong towardsSaintAntoine,hestoppedatashop-window where there was a mirror, and slightly altered the disorderedarrangement of his loose cravat, and his coat-collar, and hiswild hair. Thisdone,hewentondirecttoDefarge's,andwentin.Therehappened tobenocustomer in theshopbutJacquesThree,of therestlessfingersandthecroakingvoice.Thisman,whomhehadseenupontheJury, stood drinking at the little counter, in conversationwith theDefarges,man and wife. The Vengeance assisted in the conversation, like a regularmemberoftheestablishment.AsCartonwalkedin,tookhisseatandasked(inveryindifferentFrench)forasmallmeasureofwine,MadameDefargecastacarelessglanceathim,and thenakeener,and thenakeener,and thenadvanced tohimherself,andaskedhimwhatitwashehadordered.Herepeatedwhathehadalreadysaid."English?" asked Madame Defarge, inquisitively raising her darkeyebrows.After looking at her, as if the sound of even a singleFrenchwordwereslowtoexpressitselftohim,heanswered,inhisformerstrongforeignaccent."Yes,madame,yes.IamEnglish!"MadameDefargereturnedtohercountertogetthewine,and,ashetookupaJacobinjournalandfeignedtoporeoveritpuzzlingoutitsmeaning,heheardhersay,"Isweartoyou,likeEvremonde!"

Defargebroughthimthewine,andgavehimGoodEvening."How?""Goodevening.""Oh!Goodevening,citizen,"fillinghisglass."Ah!andgoodwine.IdrinktotheRepublic."Defarge went back to the counter, and said, "Certainly, a little like."Madame sternly retorted, "I tell you a good deal like." Jacques Threepacifically remarked, "He is somuch inyourmind, seeyou,madame."TheamiableVengeanceadded,withalaugh,"Yes,myfaith!Andyouarelookingforwardwithsomuchpleasuretoseeinghimoncemoreto-morrow!"Cartonfollowedthelinesandwordsofhispaper,withaslowforefinger,andwithastudiousandabsorbedface.Theywereallleaningtheirarmsonthecounterclosetogether,speakinglow.Afterasilenceofafewmoments,duringwhich they all looked towards himwithout disturbing his outward attentionfromtheJacobineditor,theyresumedtheirconversation."Itistruewhatmadamesays,"observedJacquesThree."Whystop?Thereisgreatforceinthat.Whystop?""Well,well,"reasonedDefarge,"butonemuststopsomewhere.Afterall,thequestionisstillwhere?""Atextermination,"saidmadame."Magnificent!" croaked Jacques Three. The Vengeance, also, highlyapproved."Exterminationisgooddoctrine,mywife,"saidDefarge,rathertroubled;"ingeneral, I saynothingagainst it.But thisDoctorhassufferedmuch;youhaveseenhimto-day;youhaveobservedhisfacewhenthepaperwasread.""Ihaveobservedhisface!"repeatedmadame,contemptuouslyandangrily."Yes.Ihaveobservedhisface.IhaveobservedhisfacetobenotthefaceofatruefriendoftheRepublic.Lethimtakecareofhisface!""Andyouhaveobserved,mywife,"saidDefarge,inadeprecatorymanner,"theanguishofhisdaughter,whichmustbeadreadfulanguishtohim!""I haveobservedhisdaughter," repeatedmadame; "yes, I haveobservedhis daughter, more times than one. I have observed her to-day, and I haveobservedherotherdays.Ihaveobservedherinthecourt,andIhaveobservedher in the streetby theprison.Letmebut liftmy finger—!"She seemed toraiseit(thelistener'seyeswerealwaysonhispaper),andtoletitfallwitharattleontheledgebeforeher,asiftheaxehaddropped."Thecitizenessissuperb!"croakedtheJuryman."SheisanAngel!"saidTheVengeance,andembracedher."Astothee,"pursuedmadame,implacably,addressingherhusband,"ifit

dependedonthee—which,happily,itdoesnot—thouwouldstrescuethismanevennow.""No!"protestedDefarge."Notiftoliftthisglasswoulddoit!ButIwouldleavethematterthere.Isay,stopthere.""Seeyouthen,Jacques,"saidMadameDefarge,wrathfully;"andseeyou,too,mylittleVengeance;seeyouboth!Listen!Forothercrimesastyrantsandoppressors,Ihavethisracealongtimeonmyregister,doomedtodestructionandextermination.Askmyhusband,isthatso.""Itisso,"assentedDefarge,withoutbeingasked."In thebeginningof thegreatdays,when theBastille falls,he finds thispaperof to-day,andhebrings ithome,and in themiddleof thenightwhenthisplace isclearandshut,weread it,hereon thisspot,by the lightof thislamp.Askhim,isthatso.""Itisso,"assentedDefarge."That night, I tell him,when the paper is read through, and the lamp isburntout,andthedayisgleaminginabovethoseshuttersandbetweenthoseironbars,thatIhavenowasecrettocommunicate.Askhim,isthatso.""Itisso,"assentedDefargeagain."Icommunicatetohimthatsecret.Ismitethisbosomwiththesetwohandsas I smite it now, and I tell him, 'Defarge, I was brought up among thefishermen of the sea-shore, and that peasant family so injured by the twoEvremondebrothers, as thatBastillepaperdescribes, ismy family.Defarge,that sisterof themortallywoundedboyupon thegroundwasmysister, thathusband was my sister's husband, that unborn child was their child, thatbrotherwasmybrother,thatfatherwasmyfather,thosedeadaremydead,andthatsummonstoanswerforthosethingsdescendstome!'Askhim,isthatso.""Itisso,"assentedDefargeoncemore."ThentellWindandFirewheretostop,"returnedmadame;"butdon'ttellme."Bothherhearersderivedahorribleenjoyment from thedeadlynatureofherwrath—thelistenercouldfeelhowwhiteshewas,withoutseeingher—andbothhighlycommendedit.Defarge,aweakminority,interposedafewwordsfor thememoryof the compassionatewife of theMarquis; but only elicitedfromhisownwifea repetitionofher last reply. "Tell theWindand theFirewheretostop;notme!"Customers entered, and thegroupwasbrokenup.TheEnglish customerpaid for what he had had, perplexedly counted his change, and asked, as astranger, to be directed towards theNational Palace.MadameDefarge tookhimtothedoor,andputherarmonhis,inpointingouttheroad.TheEnglishcustomerwasnotwithouthisreflectionsthen,thatitmightbeagooddeedto

seizethatarm,liftit,andstrikeunderitsharpanddeep.But, hewenthisway, andwas soon swallowedup in the shadowof theprisonwall.At theappointedhour,heemergedfromit topresenthimself inMr.Lorry'sroomagain,wherehefoundtheoldgentlemanwalkingtoandfroinrestlessanxiety.HesaidhehadbeenwithLucieuntiljustnow,andhadonlyleftherforafewminutes,tocomeandkeephisappointment.Herfatherhadnotbeen seen, sincehequitted thebanking-house towards fouro'clock.Shehad some faint hopes that hismediationmight save Charles, but theywereveryslight.Hehadbeenmorethanfivehoursgone:wherecouldhebe?Mr.Lorrywaiteduntilten;but,DoctorManettenotreturning,andhebeingunwillingtoleaveLucieanylonger,itwasarrangedthatheshouldgobacktoher, and come to the banking-house again at midnight. In the meanwhile,CartonwouldwaitalonebythefirefortheDoctor.Hewaitedandwaited,andtheclockstrucktwelve;butDoctorManettedidnotcomeback.Mr.Lorryreturned,andfoundnotidingsofhim,andbroughtnone.Wherecouldhebe?They were discussing this question, and were almost building up someweakstructureofhopeonhisprolongedabsence,whentheyheardhimonthestairs.Theinstantheenteredtheroom,itwasplainthatallwaslost.Whether he had really been to any one, orwhether he had been all thattimetraversingthestreets,wasneverknown.Ashestoodstaringatthem,theyaskedhimnoquestion,forhisfacetoldthemeverything."Icannotfindit,"saidhe,"andImusthaveit.Whereisit?"His head and throat were bare, and, as he spoke with a helpless lookstrayingallaround,hetookhiscoatoff,andletitdroponthefloor."Whereismybench?Ihavebeenlookingeverywhereformybench,andIcan'tfindit.Whathavetheydonewithmywork?Timepresses:Imustfinishthoseshoes."Theylookedatoneanother,andtheirheartsdiedwithinthem."Come, come!" said he, in awhimperingmiserableway; "letme get towork.Givememywork."Receivingnoanswer,he torehishair,andbeathisfeetupontheground,likeadistractedchild."Don't torture apoor forlornwretch,"he implored them,with adreadfulcry;"butgivememywork!What is tobecomeofus, if thoseshoesarenotdoneto-night?"Lost,utterlylost!Itwas so clearlybeyondhope to reasonwithhim,or try to restorehim,that—as if by agreement—they each put a hand upon his shoulder, and

soothedhimtositdownbeforethefire,withapromisethatheshouldhavehisworkpresently.Hesankintothechair,andbroodedovertheembers,andshedtears. As if all that had happened since the garret time were a momentaryfancy,oradream,Mr.LorrysawhimshrinkintotheexactfigurethatDefargehadhadinkeeping.Affected,andimpressedwithterrorastheybothwere,bythisspectacleofruin,itwasnotatimetoyieldtosuchemotions.Hislonelydaughter,bereftofherfinalhopeandreliance,appealedtothembothtoostrongly.Again,asifbyagreement,theylookedatoneanotherwithonemeaningintheirfaces.Cartonwasthefirsttospeak:"Thelastchanceisgone:itwasnotmuch.Yes;hehadbetterbetakentoher.But,beforeyougo,willyou,foramoment,steadilyattendtome?Don'taskmewhyImakethestipulationsIamgoingtomake,andexactthepromiseIamgoingtoexact;Ihaveareason—agoodone.""Idonotdoubtit,"answeredMr.Lorry."Sayon."The figure in the chair between them, was all the time monotonouslyrocking itself to and fro, and moaning. They spoke in such a tone as theywouldhaveusediftheyhadbeenwatchingbyasick-bedinthenight.Cartonstoopedtopickup thecoat,which layalmostentanglinghisfeet.Ashedidso,asmallcase inwhich theDoctorwasaccustomed tocarry thelistsofhisday'sduties, fell lightlyon thefloor.Carton took itup,and therewasafoldedpaperinit."Weshouldlookatthis!"hesaid.Mr.Lorrynoddedhisconsent.Heopenedit,andexclaimed,"ThankGod!""Whatisit?"askedMr.Lorry,eagerly."Amoment!Letmespeakofit initsplace.First,"heputhishandinhiscoat,andtookanotherpaperfromit,"thatisthecertificatewhichenablesmetopassoutofthiscity.Lookatit.Yousee—SydneyCarton,anEnglishman?"Mr.Lorryhelditopeninhishand,gazinginhisearnestface."Keepitformeuntilto-morrow.Ishallseehimto-morrow,youremember,andIhadbetternottakeitintotheprison.""Whynot?""I don't know; I prefer not to do so. Now, take this paper that DoctorManettehascarriedabouthim.Itisasimilarcertificate,enablinghimandhisdaughterandherchild,atany time, topass thebarrierand thefrontier!Yousee?""Yes!""Perhaps he obtained it as his last and utmost precaution against evil,yesterday. When is it dated? But no matter; don't stay to look; put it upcarefullywithmineandyourown.Now,observe!Ineverdoubteduntilwithinthis hour or two, that he had, or could have such a paper. It is good, until

recalled.Butitmaybesoonrecalled,and,Ihavereasontothink,willbe.""Theyarenotindanger?""Theyareingreatdanger.TheyareindangerofdenunciationbyMadameDefarge.Iknowitfromherownlips.Ihaveoverheardwordsofthatwoman's,to-night,whichhavepresentedtheirdangertomeinstrongcolours.Ihavelostnotime,andsincethen,Ihaveseenthespy.Heconfirmsme.Heknowsthatawood-sawyer, livingbytheprisonwall, isunderthecontroloftheDefarges,andhasbeen rehearsedbyMadameDefargeas tohishavingseenHer"—henevermentionedLucie'sname—"makingsignsandsignals toprisoners. It iseasy to foresee that thepretencewillbe thecommonone,aprisonplot,andthatitwillinvolveherlife—andperhapsherchild's—andperhapsherfather's—forbothhavebeenseenwithheratthatplace.Don'tlooksohorrified.Youwillsavethemall.""HeavengrantImay,Carton!Buthow?""Iamgoingtotellyouhow.Itwilldependonyou,anditcoulddependonnobetterman.Thisnewdenunciationwillcertainlynottakeplaceuntilafterto-morrow;probablynotuntiltwoorthreedaysafterwards;moreprobablyaweekafterwards.Youknowitisacapitalcrime,tomournfor,orsympathisewith,avictimof theGuillotine.Sheandherfatherwouldunquestionablybeguiltyofthiscrime,andthiswoman(theinveteracyofwhosepursuitcannotbe described)wouldwait to add that strength to her case, andmake herselfdoublysure.Youfollowme?""Soattentively,andwithsomuchconfidenceinwhatyousay,thatforthemoment I lose sight," touching the back of theDoctor's chair, "even of thisdistress.""Youhavemoney,andcanbuythemeansoftravellingtotheseacoastasquicklyas the journeycanbemade.Yourpreparationshavebeencompletedforsomedays,toreturntoEngland.Earlyto-morrowhaveyourhorsesready,sothattheymaybeinstartingtrimattwoo'clockintheafternoon.""Itshallbedone!"Hismannerwassoferventandinspiring,thatMr.Lorrycaughttheflame,andwasasquickasyouth."Youareanobleheart.Did I saywecoulddependuponnobetterman?Tellher,to-night,whatyouknowofherdangerasinvolvingherchildandherfather. Dwell upon that, for she would lay her own fair head beside herhusband'scheerfully."Hefalteredforaninstant;thenwentonasbefore."Forthe sakeofher child andher father, pressuponher thenecessityof leavingParis,withthemandyou,at thathour.Tellher that itwasherhusband's lastarrangement. Tell her that more depends upon it than she dare believe, orhope.Youthinkthatherfather,evenin thissadstate,willsubmithimself toher;doyounot?"

"Iamsureofit.""Ithoughtso.Quietlyandsteadilyhaveallthesearrangementsmadeinthecourtyard here, even to the taking of your own seat in the carriage. ThemomentIcometoyou,takemein,anddriveaway.""IunderstandthatIwaitforyouunderallcircumstances?""Youhavemycertificate inyourhandwith the rest,youknow,andwillreservemyplace.Wait fornothingbut tohavemyplaceoccupied,and thenforEngland!""Why, then," saidMr. Lorry, grasping his eager but so firm and steadyhand, "it doesnot all dependononeoldman,but I shall have ayoungandardentmanatmyside.""BythehelpofHeavenyoushall!Promisemesolemnlythatnothingwillinfluence you to alter the course on which we now stand pledged to oneanother.""Nothing,Carton.""Rememberthesewordsto-morrow:changethecourse,ordelayinit—foranyreason—andnolifecanpossiblybesaved,andmanylivesmustinevitablybesacrificed.""Iwillrememberthem.Ihopetodomypartfaithfully.""AndIhopetodomine.Now,goodbye!"Thoughhesaid itwithagravesmileofearnestness,and thoughheevenput theoldman'shand tohis lips,hedidnotpart fromhimthen.Hehelpedhimso far to arouse the rocking figurebefore thedyingembers, as toget acloakandhatputupon it, and to tempt it forth to findwhere thebenchandworkwerehiddenthatitstillmoaninglybesoughttohave.Hewalkedontheother side of it and protected it to the courtyard of the house where theafflicted heart—so happy in thememorable time when he had revealed hisown desolate heart to it—outwatched the awful night. He entered thecourtyardandremainedthereforafewmomentsalone,lookingupatthelightin the window of her room. Before he went away, he breathed a blessingtowardsit,andaFarewell.

Fifty-two

In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaitedtheirfate.Theywereinnumberastheweeksoftheyear.Fifty-twoweretorollthat afternoon on the life-tide of the city to the boundless everlasting sea.Before their cellswere quit of them, new occupantswere appointed; beforetheirbloodranintothebloodspilledyesterday,thebloodthatwastomingle

withtheirsto-morrowwasalreadysetapart.Twoscoreand twelvewere toldoff.Fromthefarmer-generalofseventy,whoserichescouldnotbuyhislife,totheseamstressoftwenty,whosepovertyandobscurity couldnot saveher.Physical diseases, engendered in thevicesand neglects of men, will seize on victims of all degrees; and the frightfulmoral disorder, born of unspeakable suffering, intolerable oppression, andheartlessindifference,smoteequallywithoutdistinction.CharlesDarnay, alone in a cell, had sustained himselfwith no flatteringdelusionsincehecametoitfromtheTribunal.Ineverylineofthenarrativehehadheard,hehadheardhiscondemnation.Hehadfullycomprehendedthatnopersonalinfluencecouldpossiblysavehim,thathewasvirtuallysentencedbythemillions,andthatunitscouldavailhimnothing.Nevertheless, it was not easy, with the face of his beloved wife freshbeforehim, to composehismind towhat itmustbear.Hisholdon lifewasstrong, and itwasvery,veryhard, to loosen;bygradual efforts anddegreesuncloseda littlehere, it clenched the tighter there; andwhenhebroughthisstrengthtobearonthathandandityielded,thiswasclosedagain.Therewasahurry,too,inallhisthoughts,aturbulentandheatedworkingofhisheart,thatcontendedagainstresignation.If,foramoment,hedidfeelresigned,thenhiswifeandchildwhohadtoliveafterhim,seemedtoprotestandtomakeitaselfishthing.But,all thiswasatfirst.Beforelong, theconsiderationthat therewasnodisgrace in the fate he must meet, and that numbers went the same roadwrongfully, and trod it firmly every day, sprang up to stimulate him. Nextfollowedthethoughtthatmuchofthefuturepeaceofmindenjoyablebythedearones,dependedonhisquietfortitude.So,bydegreeshecalmedintothebetterstate,whenhecouldraisehisthoughtsmuchhigher,anddrawcomfortdown.Beforeithadsetindarkonthenightofhiscondemnation,hehadtravelledthusfaronhislastway.Beingallowedtopurchasethemeansofwriting,andalight, he sat down to write until such time as the prison lamps should beextinguished.HewrotealonglettertoLucie,showingherthathehadknownnothingofherfather'simprisonment,untilhehadheardofitfromherself,andthathehadbeenasignorantassheofhisfather'sanduncle'sresponsibilityforthatmisery,until the paper had been read. He had already explained to her that hisconcealment from herself of the name he had relinquished, was the onecondition—fully intelligible now—that her father had attached to theirbetrothal,andwastheonepromisehehadstillexactedonthemorningoftheirmarriage. He entreated her, for her father's sake, never to seek to knowwhetherherfatherhadbecomeobliviousoftheexistenceofthepaper,orhadhaditrecalledtohim(forthemoment,orforgood),bythestoryoftheTower,

on that old Sunday under the dear old plane-tree in the garden. If he hadpreservedanydefiniteremembranceofit,therecouldbenodoubtthathehadsupposed itdestroyedwith theBastille,whenhehadfoundnomentionof itamong the relics of prisonerswhich the populace had discovered there, andwhichhadbeendescribedtoalltheworld.Hebesoughther—thoughheaddedthat he knew it was needless—to console her father, by impressing himthrougheverytendermeansshecouldthinkof,withthetruththathehaddonenothing for which he could justly reproach himself, but had uniformlyforgottenhimselffortheirjointsakes.Nexttoherpreservationofhisownlastgratefulloveandblessing,andherovercomingofhersorrow,todevoteherselftotheirdearchild,headjuredher,astheywouldmeetinHeaven,tocomfortherfather.Toherfatherhimself,hewrote in thesamestrain;but,he toldherfatherthatheexpresslyconfidedhiswifeandchildtohiscare.Andhetoldhimthis,very strongly, with the hope of rousing him from any despondency ordangerousretrospecttowardswhichheforesawhemightbetending.ToMr.Lorry,hecommendedthemall,andexplainedhisworldlyaffairs.That done, with many added sentences of grateful friendship and warmattachment,allwasdone.HeneverthoughtofCarton.Hismindwassofulloftheothers,thatheneveroncethoughtofhim.Hehadtimetofinishtheselettersbeforethelightswereputout.Whenhelaydownonhisstrawbed,hethoughthehaddonewiththisworld.But,itbeckonedhimbackinhissleep,andshoweditselfinshiningforms.Freeandhappy,backintheoldhouseinSoho(thoughithadnothinginitliketherealhouse),unaccountablyreleasedandlightofheart,hewaswithLucieagain, and she toldhim itwas all a dream, andhehadnevergone away.Apauseofforgetfulness,andthenhehadevensuffered,andhadcomebacktoher,deadandatpeace,andyettherewasnodifferenceinhim.Anotherpauseofoblivion,andheawokeinthesombremorning,unconsciouswherehewasorwhathadhappened,until it flasheduponhismind,"this is thedayofmydeath!"Thus,hadhecomethroughthehours,tothedaywhenthefifty-twoheadsweretofall.Andnow,whilehewascomposed,andhopedthathecouldmeettheendwithquietheroism,anewactionbeganinhiswakingthoughts,whichwasverydifficulttomaster.Hehadneverseentheinstrumentthatwastoterminatehislife.Howhighitwasfromtheground,howmanystepsithad,wherehewouldbestood,howhewouldbe touched,whether the touchinghandswouldbedyedred,whichwayhisfacewouldbeturned,whetherhewouldbethefirst,ormightbethelast:theseandmanysimilarquestions,innowisedirectedbyhiswill,obtrudedthemselvesoverandoveragain,countlesstimes.Neitherweretheyconnectedwith fear: hewas conscious of no fear. Rather, they originated in a strange

besettingdesiretoknowwhattodowhenthetimecame;adesiregiganticallydisproportionate to the fewswiftmoments towhich it referred;awonderingthatwasmorelikethewonderingofsomeotherspiritwithinhis,thanhisown.The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck thenumbers hewould never hear again.Nine gone for ever, ten gone for ever,elevengoneforever,twelvecomingontopassaway.Afterahardcontestwiththateccentricactionofthoughtwhichhadlastperplexedhim,hehadgotthebetterofit.Hewalkedupanddown,softlyrepeatingtheirnamestohimself.The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free fromdistractingfancies,prayingforhimselfandforthem.Twelvegoneforever.HehadbeenapprisedthatthefinalhourwasThree,andheknewhewouldbesummonedsometimeearlier, inasmuchasthetumbrilsjoltedheavilyandslowly through the streets. Therefore, he resolved to keep Two before hismind,asthehour,andsotostrengthenhimselfintheintervalthathemightbeable,afterthattime,tostrengthenothers.Walking regularly to and frowith his arms folded on his breast, a verydifferentman from theprisoner,whohadwalked toand froatLaForce,heheardOne struck away fromhim,without surprise. The hour hadmeasuredlike most other hours. Devoutly thankful to Heaven for his recovered self-possession,hethought,"Thereisbutanothernow,"andturnedtowalkagain.Footstepsinthestonepassageoutsidethedoor.Hestopped.Thekeywasputinthelock,andturned.Beforethedoorwasopened,orasitopened,amansaidinalowvoice,inEnglish:"Hehasneverseenmehere;Ihavekeptoutofhisway.Goyouinalone;Iwaitnear.Losenotime!"Thedoorwasquicklyopenedandclosed,andtherestoodbeforehimfacetoface,quiet,intentuponhim,withthelightofasmileonhisfeatures,andacautionaryfingeronhislip,SydneyCarton.Therewas something so bright and remarkable in his look, that, for thefirst moment, the prisoner misdoubted him to be an apparition of his ownimagining.But, he spoke, and itwas his voice; he took the prisoner's hand,anditwashisrealgrasp."Ofallthepeopleuponearth,youleastexpectedtoseeme?"hesaid."I could not believe it to be you. I can scarcely believe it now.You arenot"—theapprehensioncamesuddenlyintohismind—"aprisoner?""No.Iamaccidentallypossessedofapoweroveroneofthekeepershere,and in virtue of it I stand before you. I come from her—your wife, dearDarnay."Theprisonerwrunghishand."Ibringyouarequestfromher."

"Whatisit?""Amostearnest,pressing,andemphaticentreaty,addressedtoyouinthemostpathetictonesofthevoicesodeartoyou,thatyouwellremember."Theprisonerturnedhisfacepartlyaside."YouhavenotimetoaskmewhyIbringit,orwhatitmeans;Ihavenotimetotellyou.Youmustcomplywithit—takeoffthosebootsyouwear,anddrawontheseofmine."Therewasachairagainstthewallofthecell,behindtheprisoner.Carton,pressingforward,hadalready,withthespeedoflightning,gothimdownintoit,andstoodoverhim,barefoot."Drawon thesebootsofmine.Putyourhands to them;putyourwill tothem.Quick!""Carton, there is no escaping from this place; it never canbedone.Youwillonlydiewithme.Itismadness.""ItwouldbemadnessifIaskedyoutoescape;butdoI?WhenIaskyoutopassoutatthatdoor,tellmeitismadnessandremainhere.Changethatcravatfor thisofmine, thatcoat for thisofmine.Whileyoudo it, letme take thisribbonfromyourhair,andshakeoutyourhairlikethisofmine!"Withwonderfulquickness,andwithastrengthbothofwillandaction,thatappeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him. Theprisonerwaslikeayoungchildinhishands."Carton!DearCarton! It ismadness. Itcannotbeaccomplished, itnevercanbedone,ithasbeenattempted,andhasalwaysfailed.Iimploreyounottoaddyourdeathtothebitternessofmine.""DoIaskyou,mydearDarnay,topassthedoor?WhenIaskthat,refuse.Therearepenandinkandpaperonthistable.Isyourhandsteadyenoughtowrite?""Itwaswhenyoucamein.""Steadyitagain,andwritewhatIshalldictate.Quick,friend,quick!"Pressing his hand to his bewildered head,Darnay sat down at the table.Carton,withhisrighthandinhisbreast,stoodclosebesidehim."WriteexactlyasIspeak.""TowhomdoIaddressit?""Tonoone."Cartonstillhadhishandinhisbreast."DoIdateit?""No."Theprisonerlookedup,ateachquestion.Carton,standingoverhimwithhishandinhisbreast,lookeddown.

"'If you remember,'" said Carton, dictating, "'the words that passedbetweenus,longago,youwillreadilycomprehendthiswhenyouseeit.Youdorememberthem,Iknow.Itisnotinyournaturetoforgetthem.'"Hewasdrawinghishandfromhisbreast;theprisonerchancingtolookupinhishurriedwonderashewrote,thehandstopped,closinguponsomething."Haveyouwritten'forgetthem'?"Cartonasked."Ihave.Isthataweaponinyourhand?""No;Iamnotarmed.""Whatisitinyourhand?""Youshallknowdirectly.Writeon; therearebutafewwordsmore."Hedictatedagain."'Iamthankfulthatthetimehascome,whenIcanprovethem.ThatIdosoisnosubjectforregretorgrief.'"Ashesaidthesewordswithhiseyesfixedonthewriter,hishandslowlyandsoftlymoveddownclosetothewriter'sface.ThependroppedfromDarnay'sfingersonthetable,andhelookedabouthimvacantly."Whatvapouristhat?"heasked."Vapour?""Somethingthatcrossedme?""Iamconsciousofnothing;therecanbenothinghere.Takeupthepenandfinish.Hurry,hurry!"Asifhismemorywereimpaired,orhisfacultiesdisordered, theprisonermadeanefforttorallyhisattention.AshelookedatCartonwithcloudedeyesandwithanalteredmannerofbreathing,Carton—hishandagaininhisbreast—lookedsteadilyathim."Hurry,hurry!"Theprisonerbentoverthepaper,oncemore."'Ifithadbeenotherwise;'"Carton'shandwasagainwatchfullyandsoftlystealingdown;"'Inevershouldhaveusedthelongeropportunity.Ifithadbeenotherwise;'" the handwas at the prisoner's face; "'I should but have had somuchthemoretoanswerfor.Ifithadbeenotherwise—'"Cartonlookedatthepenandsawitwastrailingoffintounintelligiblesigns.Carton'shandmovedbacktohisbreastnomore.Theprisonersprangupwithareproachfullook,butCarton'shandwascloseandfirmathisnostrils,andCarton'sleftarmcaughthimroundthewaist.Forafewsecondshefaintlystruggledwiththemanwhohadcometolaydownhislifeforhim;but,withinaminuteorso,hewasstretchedinsensibleontheground.Quickly, butwith hands as true to the purpose as his heartwas, Carton

dressed himself in the clothes the prisoner had laid aside, combed back hishair,andtieditwiththeribbontheprisonerhadworn.Then,hesoftlycalled,"Enterthere!Comein!"andtheSpypresentedhimself."Yousee?"saidCarton,lookingup,ashekneeledononekneebesidetheinsensiblefigure,puttingthepaperinthebreast:"isyourhazardverygreat?""Mr. Carton," the Spy answered, with a timid snap of his fingers, "myhazardisnotthat,inthethickofbusinesshere,ifyouaretruetothewholeofyourbargain.""Don'tfearme.Iwillbetruetothedeath.""Youmustbe,Mr.Carton,ifthetaleoffifty-twoistoberight.Beingmaderightbyyouinthatdress,Ishallhavenofear.""Havenofear!Ishallsoonbeoutofthewayofharmingyou,andtherestwillsoonbefarfromhere,pleaseGod!Now,getassistanceandtakemetothecoach.""You?"saidtheSpynervously."Him,man,withwhomIhaveexchanged.Yougooutatthegatebywhichyoubroughtmein?""Ofcourse.""Iwasweakandfaintwhenyoubroughtmein,andIamfainternowyoutake me out. The parting interview has overpowered me. Such a thing hashappenedhere, often, and toooften.Your life is inyourownhands.Quick!Callassistance!""Youswearnottobetrayme?"saidthetremblingSpy,ashepausedforalastmoment."Man, man!" returned Carton, stamping his foot; "have I sworn by nosolemn vow already, to go through with this, that you waste the preciousmoments now?Take him yourself to the courtyard you know of, place himyourselfinthecarriage,showhimyourselftoMr.Lorry,tellhimyourselftogivehimnorestorativebutair,andtoremembermywordsoflastnight,andhispromiseoflastnight,anddriveaway!"The Spy withdrew, and Carton seated himself at the table, resting hisforeheadonhishands.TheSpyreturnedimmediately,withtwomen."How, then?" said one of them, contemplating the fallen figure. "Soafflicted to find that his friend has drawn a prize in the lottery of SainteGuillotine?""Agoodpatriot,"saidtheother,"couldhardlyhavebeenmoreafflictediftheAristocrathaddrawnablank."Theyraisedtheunconsciousfigure,placeditonalittertheyhadbroughttothedoor,andbenttocarryitaway.

"Thetimeisshort,Evremonde,"saidtheSpy,inawarningvoice."Iknowitwell,"answeredCarton."Becarefulofmyfriend,Ientreatyou,andleaveme.""Come,then,mychildren,"saidBarsad."Lifthim,andcomeaway!"The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers oflisteningtotheutmost,helistenedforanysoundthatmightdenotesuspicionoralarm.Therewasnone.Keysturned,doorsclashed,footstepspassedalongdistant passages: no cry was raised, or hurry made, that seemed unusual.Breathingmorefreelyina littlewhile,hesatdownat thetable,andlistenedagainuntiltheclockstruckTwo.Soundsthathewasnotafraidof,forhedivinedtheirmeaning,thenbegantobeaudible.Severaldoorswereopenedinsuccession,andfinallyhisown.Agaoler, with a list in his hand, looked in, merely saying, "Follow me,Evremonde!"andhefollowedintoa largedarkroom,atadistance. Itwasadark winter day, and what with the shadows within, and what with theshadows without, he could but dimly discern the others who were broughttheretohavetheirarmsbound.Somewerestanding;someseated.Somewerelamenting, and in restless motion; but, these were few. The great majorityweresilentandstill,lookingfixedlyattheground.Ashestoodbythewallinadimcorner,whilesomeofthefifty-twowerebroughtinafterhim,onemanstoppedinpassing,toembracehim,ashavingaknowledgeofhim.Itthrilledhimwithagreatdreadofdiscovery;butthemanwenton.Averyfewmomentsafterthat,ayoungwoman,withaslightgirlishform, a sweet spare face inwhich therewasnovestigeof colour, and largewidely opened patient eyes, rose from the seat where he had observed hersitting,andcametospeaktohim."CitizenEvremonde,"shesaid,touchinghimwithhercoldhand."Iamapoorlittleseamstress,whowaswithyouinLaForce."Hemurmuredforanswer:"True.Iforgetwhatyouwereaccusedof?""Plots. Though the just Heaven knows that I am innocent of any. Is itlikely?Whowouldthinkofplottingwithapoorlittleweakcreaturelikeme?"Theforlornsmilewithwhichshesaidit,sotouchedhim,thattearsstartedfromhiseyes."Iamnotafraidtodie,CitizenEvremonde,butIhavedonenothing.Iamnotunwillingtodie,iftheRepublicwhichistodosomuchgoodtouspoor,will profit by my death; but I do not know how that can be, CitizenEvremonde.Suchapoorweaklittlecreature!"As the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, itwarmedandsoftenedtothispitiablegirl."Iheardyouwerereleased,CitizenEvremonde.Ihopeditwastrue?"

"Itwas.But,Iwasagaintakenandcondemned.""If Imay ridewith you, Citizen Evremonde,will you letme hold yourhand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give memorecourage."Asthepatienteyeswereliftedtohisface,hesawasuddendoubtinthem,and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn youngfingers,andtouchedhislips."Areyoudyingforhim?"shewhispered."Andhiswifeandchild.Hush!Yes.""Oyouwillletmeholdyourbravehand,stranger?""Hush!Yes,mypoorsister;tothelast."Thesameshadowsthatarefallingontheprison,arefalling,inthatsamehour of the early afternoon, on theBarrierwith the crowd about it,when acoachgoingoutofParisdrivesuptobeexamined."Whogoeshere?Whomhavewewithin?Papers!"Thepapersarehandedout,andread."AlexandreManette.Physician.French.Whichishe?"This is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old manpointedout."ApparentlytheCitizen-Doctorisnotinhisrightmind?TheRevolution-feverwillhavebeentoomuchforhim?"Greatlytoomuchforhim."Hah!Manysufferwithit.Lucie.Hisdaughter.French.Whichisshe?"Thisisshe."Apparentlyitmustbe.Lucie,thewifeofEvremonde;isitnot?"Itis."Hah!Evremondehasanassignationelsewhere.Lucie,herchild.English.Thisisshe?"Sheandnoother."Kissme,childofEvremonde.Now,thouhastkissedagoodRepublican;somethingnewinthyfamily;rememberit!SydneyCarton.Advocate.English.Whichishe?"Helieshere,inthiscornerofthecarriage.He,too,ispointedout."ApparentlytheEnglishadvocateisinaswoon?"Itishopedhewillrecoverinthefresherair.Itisrepresentedthatheisnotin strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is under the

displeasureoftheRepublic."Isthatall?Itisnotagreatdeal,that!Manyareunderthedispleasureofthe Republic, andmust look out at the little window. Jarvis Lorry. Banker.English.Whichishe?""Iamhe.Necessarily,beingthelast."ItisJarvisLorrywhohasrepliedtoallthepreviousquestions.ItisJarvisLorrywhohasalightedandstandswithhishandonthecoachdoor,replyingtoa group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurelymountthebox,tolookatwhatlittleluggageitcarriesontheroof;thecountry-peoplehangingabout,pressnearertothecoachdoorsandgreedilystarein;alittlechild,carriedbyitsmother,hasitsshortarmheldoutforit,thatitmaytouchthewifeofanaristocratwhohasgonetotheGuillotine."Beholdyourpapers,JarvisLorry,countersigned.""Onecandepart,citizen?""Onecandepart.Forward,mypostilions!Agoodjourney!""Isaluteyou,citizens.—Andthefirstdangerpassed!"These are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps his hands, andlooks upward. There is terror in the carriage, there is weeping, there is theheavybreathingoftheinsensibletraveller."Arewenotgoingtooslowly?Cantheynotbeinducedtogofaster?"asksLucie,clingingtotheoldman."Itwouldseemlikeflight,mydarling.Imustnoturgethemtoomuch;itwouldrousesuspicion.""Lookback,lookback,andseeifwearepursued!""Theroadisclear,mydearest.Sofar,wearenotpursued."Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, ruinous buildings,dye-works,tanneries,andthelike,opencountry,avenuesofleaflesstrees.Thehard uneven pavement is under us, the soft deep mud is on either side.Sometimes,westrikeintotheskirtingmud,toavoidthestonesthatclatterusandshakeus;sometimes,westickinrutsandsloughsthere.Theagonyofourimpatienceisthensogreat,thatinourwildalarmandhurryweareforgettingoutandrunning—hiding—doinganythingbutstopping.Outoftheopencountry,inagainamongruinousbuildings,solitaryfarms,dye-works, tanneries, and the like, cottages in twos and threes, avenues ofleaflesstrees.Havethesemendeceivedus,andtakenusbackbyanotherroad?Is not this the same place twice over? Thank Heaven, no. A village. Lookback,lookback,andseeifwearepursued!Hush!theposting-house.Leisurely,ourfourhorsesaretakenout;leisurely,thecoachstandsinthelittle street, bereft of horses, andwith no likelihoodupon it of evermoving

again; leisurely, the new horses come into visible existence, one by one;leisurely, the new postilions follow, sucking and plaiting the lashes of theirwhips;leisurely,theoldpostilionscounttheirmoney,makewrongadditions,and arrive at dissatisfied results. All the time, our overfraught hearts arebeatingataratethatwouldfaroutstripthefastestgallopofthefastesthorseseverfoaled.At length the new postilions are in their saddles, and the old are leftbehind.Wearethroughthevillage,upthehill,anddownthehill,andonthelowwaterygrounds.Suddenly,thepostilionsexchangespeechwithanimatedgesticulation,andthehorsesarepulledup,almostontheirhaunches.Wearepursued?"Ho!Withinthecarriagethere.Speakthen!""Whatisit?"asksMr.Lorry,lookingoutatwindow."Howmanydidtheysay?""Idonotunderstandyou.""—Atthelastpost.HowmanytotheGuillotineto-day?""Fifty-two.""I said so!Abravenumber!My fellow-citizenherewouldhave it forty-two;tenmoreheadsareworthhaving.TheGuillotinegoeshandsomely.Iloveit.Hiforward.Whoop!"Thenightcomesondark.Hemovesmore;heisbeginningtorevive,andto speak intelligibly; he thinks they are still together; he asks him, by hisname,whathehasinhishand.Opityus,kindHeaven,andhelpus!Lookout,lookout,andseeifwearepursued.Thewind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and themoonisplungingafterus,andthewholewildnightisinpursuitofus;but,sofar,wearepursuedbynothingelse.

XIV.TheKnittingDone

In that same juncture of time when the Fifty-Two awaited their fateMadame Defarge held darkly ominous council with The Vengeance andJacquesThreeof theRevolutionary Jury.Not in thewine-shopdidMadameDefargeconferwiththeseministers,butintheshedofthewood-sawyer,erstamenderofroads.Thesawyerhimselfdidnotparticipateintheconference,butabided at a little distance, like an outer satellitewhowas not to speak untilrequired,ortoofferanopinionuntilinvited."But our Defarge," said Jacques Three, "is undoubtedly a good

Republican?Eh?""There is nobetter," thevolubleVengeanceprotested inher shrill notes,"inFrance.""Peace, littleVengeance," saidMadameDefarge, layingher handwith aslight frown on her lieutenant's lips, "hear me speak. My husband, fellow-citizen, is a good Republican and a boldman; he has deservedwell of theRepublic,andpossessesitsconfidence.Butmyhusbandhashisweaknesses,andheissoweakastorelenttowardsthisDoctor.""It is a great pity," croaked Jacques Three, dubiously shaking his head,withhiscruelfingersathishungrymouth;"itisnotquitelikeagoodcitizen;itisathingtoregret.""Seeyou,"saidmadame,"IcarenothingforthisDoctor,I.Hemaywearhisheadorloseit,foranyinterestIhaveinhim;itisallonetome.But,theEvremondepeoplearetobeexterminated,andthewifeandchildmustfollowthehusbandandfather.""Shehasafineheadforit,"croakedJacquesThree."Ihaveseenblueeyesandgoldenhairthere,andtheylookedcharmingwhenSamsonheldthemup."Ogrethathewas,hespokelikeanepicure.MadameDefargecastdownhereyes,andreflectedalittle."Thechildalso,"observedJacquesThree,withameditativeenjoymentofhiswords,"hasgoldenhairandblueeyes.Andweseldomhaveachildthere.Itisaprettysight!""Inaword,"saidMadameDefarge,comingoutofhershortabstraction,"Icannottrustmyhusbandinthismatter.NotonlydoIfeel,sincelastnight,thatI darenot confide tohim thedetails ofmyprojects; but also I feel that if Idelay,thereisdangerofhisgivingwarning,andthentheymightescape.""Thatmust never be," croaked JacquesThree; "noonemust escape.Wehavenothalfenoughasitis.Weoughttohavesixscoreaday.""Inaword,"MadameDefargewenton,"myhusbandhasnotmyreasonforpursuingthisfamilytoannihilation,andIhavenothisreasonforregardingthisDoctorwithanysensibility.Imustactformyself,therefore.Comehither,littlecitizen."The wood-sawyer, who held her in the respect, and himself in thesubmission,ofmortalfear,advancedwithhishandtohisredcap."Touchingthosesignals,littlecitizen,"saidMadameDefarge,sternly,"thatshemade to the prisoners; you are ready to bear witness to them this veryday?""Ay,ay,whynot!"criedthesawyer."Everyday,inallweathers,fromtwotofour,alwayssignalling,sometimeswiththelittleone,sometimeswithout.IknowwhatIknow.Ihaveseenwithmyeyes."

He made all manner of gestures while he spoke, as if in incidentalimitationofsomefewofthegreatdiversityofsignalsthathehadneverseen."Clearlyplots,"saidJacquesThree."Transparently!""There is no doubt of the Jury?" inquiredMadame Defarge, letting hereyesturntohimwithagloomysmile."Rely upon the patriotic Jury, dear citizeness. I answer for my fellow-Jurymen.""Now, let me see," said Madame Defarge, pondering again. "Yet oncemore!CanIspare thisDoctor tomyhusband?Ihavenofeelingeitherway.CanIsparehim?""Hewould count as one head," observed JacquesThree, in a lowvoice."Wereallyhavenotheadsenough;itwouldbeapity,Ithink.""HewassignallingwithherwhenIsawher,"arguedMadameDefarge;"Icannotspeakofonewithouttheother;andImustnotbesilent,andtrustthecasewhollytohim,thislittlecitizenhere.For,Iamnotabadwitness."TheVengeance and Jacques Three viedwith each other in their ferventprotestations that she was themost admirable andmarvellous of witnesses.Thelittlecitizen,nottobeoutdone,declaredhertobeacelestialwitness."He must take his chance," saidMadame Defarge. "No, I cannot sparehim!Youareengagedatthreeo'clock;youaregoingtoseethebatchofto-dayexecuted.—You?"Thequestionwasaddressedtothewood-sawyer,whohurriedlyrepliedinthe affirmative: seizing the occasion to add that he was themost ardent ofRepublicans,andthathewouldbeineffectthemostdesolateofRepublicans,if anything prevented him from enjoying the pleasure of smoking hisafternoon pipe in the contemplation of the droll national barber.Hewas soverydemonstrativeherein, that hemighthavebeen suspected (perhapswas,bythedarkeyesthatlookedcontemptuouslyathimoutofMadameDefarge'shead)ofhavinghissmall individual fears forhisownpersonalsafety,everyhourintheday."I,"saidmadame,"amequallyengagedatthesameplace.Afteritisover—sayateightto-night—comeyoutome,inSaintAntoine,andwewillgiveinformationagainstthesepeopleatmySection."The wood-sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to attend thecitizeness.Thecitizenesslookingathim,hebecameembarrassed,evadedherglanceasasmalldogwouldhavedone,retreatedamonghiswood,andhidhisconfusionoverthehandleofhissaw.MadameDefargebeckonedtheJurymanandTheVengeancealittlenearertothedoor,andthereexpoundedherfurtherviewstothemthus:"Shewillnowbeathome,awaitingthemomentofhisdeath.Shewillbe

mourningandgrieving.ShewillbeinastateofmindtoimpeachthejusticeoftheRepublic.Shewillbefullofsympathywithitsenemies.Iwillgotoher.""What an admirable woman; what an adorable woman!" exclaimedJacques Three, rapturously. "Ah, my cherished!" cried The Vengeance; andembracedher."Take you my knitting," said Madame Defarge, placing it in herlieutenant'shands, "andhave it ready forme inmyusual seat.Keepmemyusual chair. Go you there, straight, for there will probably be a greaterconcoursethanusual,to-day.""I willingly obey the orders of my Chief," said The Vengeance withalacrity,andkissinghercheek."Youwillnotbelate?""Ishallbetherebeforethecommencement.""Andbeforethetumbrilsarrive.Besureyouarethere,mysoul,"saidTheVengeance,callingafterher,forshehadalreadyturnedintothestreet,"beforethetumbrilsarrive!"MadameDefarge slightlywaved her hand, to imply that she heard, andmightbereliedupontoarriveingoodtime,andsowentthroughthemud,androundthecorneroftheprisonwall.TheVengeanceandtheJuryman,lookingafterherasshewalkedaway,werehighlyappreciativeofherfinefigure,andhersuperbmoralendowments.There were many women at that time, upon whom the time laid adreadfully disfiguring hand; but, therewas not one among themmore to bedreadedthanthisruthlesswoman,nowtakingherwayalongthestreets.Ofastrong and fearless character, of shrewd sense and readiness, of greatdetermination, of that kind of beautywhich not only seems to impart to itspossessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into others an instinctiverecognition of those qualities; the troubled timewould have heaved her up,under any circumstances. But, imbued from her childhood with a broodingsenseofwrong,andaninveteratehatredofaclass,opportunityhaddevelopedher into a tigress. Shewas absolutelywithout pity. If she had ever had thevirtueinher,ithadquitegoneoutofher.Itwasnothingtoher, thatan innocentmanwas todiefor thesinsofhisforefathers;shesaw,nothim,butthem.Itwasnothingtoher,thathiswifewasto be made a widow and his daughter an orphan; that was insufficientpunishment,becausetheywerehernaturalenemiesandherprey,andassuchhadno right to live.To appeal to her,wasmadehopeless byher havingnosenseofpity,evenforherself.Ifshehadbeenlaidlowinthestreets,inanyofthe many encounters in which she had been engaged, she would not havepitiedherself;nor, if shehadbeenordered to theaxe to-morrow,would shehavegone to itwith any softer feeling than a fiercedesire to changeplaceswiththemanwhosentherthere.

Such a heartMadameDefarge carried under her rough robe. Carelesslyworn, itwas a becoming robe enough, in a certainweirdway, andher darkhairlookedrichunderhercoarseredcap.Lyinghiddeninherbosom,wasaloaded pistol. Lying hidden at her waist, was a sharpened dagger. Thusaccoutred,andwalkingwiththeconfidenttreadofsuchacharacter,andwiththe supple freedomof awomanwhohadhabituallywalked inhergirlhood,bare-footandbare-legged,onthebrownsea-sand,MadameDefargetookherwayalongthestreets.Now, when the journey of the travelling coach, at that very momentwaiting for the completion of its load, had been planned out last night, thedifficultyoftakingMissProssinithadmuchengagedMr.Lorry'sattention.Itwas notmerely desirable to avoid overloading the coach, but it was of thehighestimportancethatthetimeoccupiedinexaminingitanditspassengers,should be reduced to the utmost; since their escape might depend on thesavingofonlya fewsecondshereand there.Finally,hehadproposed,afteranxiousconsideration,thatMissProssandJerry,whowereatlibertytoleavethe city, should leave it at three o'clock in the lightest-wheeled conveyanceknowntothatperiod.Unencumberedwithluggage,theywouldsoonovertakethecoach,and,passingitandprecedingitontheroad,wouldorderitshorsesinadvance,andgreatlyfacilitateitsprogressduringtheprecioushoursofthenight,whendelaywasthemosttobedreaded.Seeing in this arrangement the hope of rendering real service in thatpressingemergency,MissProsshailed itwith joy.SheandJerryhadbeheldthecoachstart,hadknownwhoitwasthatSolomonbrought,hadpassedsometen minutes in tortures of suspense, and were now concluding theirarrangements to follow thecoach,evenasMadameDefarge, takingherwaythroughthestreets,nowdrewnearerandnearertotheelse-desertedlodginginwhichtheyheldtheirconsultation."Nowwhatdoyouthink,Mr.Cruncher,"saidMissPross,whoseagitationwassogreatthatshecouldhardlyspeak,orstand,ormove,orlive:"whatdoyou think of our not starting from this courtyard? Another carriage havingalreadygonefromhereto-day,itmightawakensuspicion.""Myopinion,miss," returnedMr.Cruncher, "is asyou're right.LikewisewotI'llstandbyyou,rightorwrong.""I am so distractedwith fear and hope for our precious creatures," saidMissPross,wildlycrying,"thatIamincapableofforminganyplan.Areyoucapableofforminganyplan,mydeargoodMr.Cruncher?""Respectin'afuturespearo'life,miss,"returnedMr.Cruncher,"Ihopeso.Respectin'anypresentuseo' thishereblessedoldheado'mine, I thinknot.Wouldyoudomethefavour,miss,totakenoticeo'twopromisesandwowswotitismywishesfurtorecordinthisherecrisis?""Oh,forgracioussake!"criedMissPross,stillwildlycrying,"recordthem

atonce,andgetthemoutoftheway,likeanexcellentman.""First,"saidMr.Cruncher,whowasallinatremble,andwhospokewithanashyandsolemnvisage,"thempoorthingswellouto'this,nevernomorewillIdoit,nevernomore!""Iamquitesure,Mr.Cruncher,"returnedMissPross,"thatyouneverwilldoitagain,whateveritis,andIbegyounottothinkitnecessarytomentionmoreparticularlywhatitis.""No,miss," returned Jerry, "it shall not be named to you. Second: thempoor things well out o' this, and never no more will I interfere with Mrs.Cruncher'sflopping,nevernomore!""Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be," said Miss Pross,strivingtodryhereyesandcomposeherself,"Ihavenodoubt it isbest thatMrs.Crunchershouldhaveitentirelyunderherownsuperintendence.—Omypoordarlings!""I go so far as to say,miss,moreover," proceededMr.Cruncher,with amostalarmingtendencytoholdforthasfromapulpit—"andletmywordsbetookdownandtooktoMrs.Cruncherthroughyourself—thatwotmyopinionsrespectin'floppinghasundergoneachange,andthatwotIonlyhopewithallmyheartasMrs.Crunchermaybeafloppingatthepresenttime.""There,there,there!Ihopesheis,mydearman,"criedthedistractedMissPross,"andIhopeshefindsitansweringherexpectations.""Forbidit,"proceededMr.Cruncher,withadditionalsolemnity,additionalslowness,andadditionaltendencytoholdforthandholdout,"asanythingwotIhaveeversaidordoneshouldbewisitedonmyearnestwishesforthempoorcreetursnow!Forbiditasweshouldn'tallflop(ifitwasanywaysconwenient)toget 'emouto' thisheredismalrisk!Forbidit,miss!WotIsay,for-bid it!"ThiswasMr.Cruncher'sconclusionafteraprotractedbutvainendeavour tofindabetterone.And still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, camenearerandnearer."Ifweevergetback toournative land,"saidMissPross,"youmayrelyuponmy tellingMrs.Cruncher asmuch as Imay be able to remember andunderstandofwhatyouhavesoimpressivelysaid;andatalleventsyoumaybe sure that I shall bearwitness to your being thoroughly in earnest at thisdreadful time. Now, pray let us think! My esteemed Mr. Cruncher, let usthink!"Still,MadameDefarge, pursuing herway along the streets, came nearerandnearer."If you were to go before," saidMiss Pross, "and stop the vehicle andhorsesfromcominghere,andweretowaitsomewhereforme;wouldn't thatbebest?"

Mr.Cruncherthoughtitmightbebest."Wherecouldyouwaitforme?"askedMissPross.Mr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he could think of no locality butTemple Bar. Alas! Temple Bar was hundreds of miles away, and MadameDefargewasdrawingverynearindeed."By the cathedral door," saidMiss Pross. "Would it bemuch out of theway,totakemein,nearthegreatcathedraldoorbetweenthetwotowers?""No,miss,"answeredMr.Cruncher."Then, like the best ofmen," saidMiss Pross, "go to the posting-housestraight,andmakethatchange.""Iamdoubtful,"saidMr.Cruncher,hesitatingandshakinghishead,"aboutleavingofyou,yousee.Wedon'tknowwhatmayhappen.""Heavenknowswedon't,"returnedMissPross,"buthavenofearforme.Takemeinatthecathedral,atThreeo'Clock,orasnearitasyoucan,andIamsureitwillbebetterthanourgoingfromhere.Ifeelcertainofit.There!Blessyou,Mr.Cruncher!Think-notofme,butofthelivesthatmaydependonbothofus!"This exordium, and Miss Pross's two hands in quite agonised entreatyclasping his, decided Mr. Cruncher. With an encouraging nod or two, heimmediately went out to alter the arrangements, and left her by herself tofollowasshehadproposed.The having originated a precaution which was already in course ofexecution,was a great relief toMissPross.Thenecessity of composingherappearancesothatitshouldattractnospecialnoticeinthestreets,wasanotherrelief.Shelookedatherwatch,anditwastwentyminutespasttwo.Shehadnotimetolose,butmustgetreadyatonce.Afraid, in her extreme perturbation, of the loneliness of the desertedrooms, and of half-imagined faces peeping from behind every open door inthem,MissProssgotabasinofcoldwaterandbeganlavinghereyes,whichwereswollenandred.Hauntedbyher feverishapprehensions,shecouldnotbeartohavehersightobscuredforaminuteatatimebythedrippingwater,butconstantlypausedandlookedroundtoseethattherewasnoonewatchingher. In one of those pauses she recoiled and cried out, for she saw a figurestandingintheroom.Thebasin fell to thegroundbroken, and thewater flowed to the feet ofMadameDefarge.By strange sternways, and throughmuch staining blood,thosefeethadcometomeetthatwater.MadameDefargelookedcoldlyather,andsaid,"ThewifeofEvremonde;whereisshe?"

It flasheduponMissPross'smind that thedoorswereall standingopen,andwouldsuggesttheflight.Herfirstactwastoshutthem.Therewerefourintheroom,andsheshutthemall.ShethenplacedherselfbeforethedoorofthechamberwhichLuciehadoccupied.MadameDefarge's dark eyes followedher through this rapidmovement,andrestedonherwhenitwasfinished.MissProsshadnothingbeautifulabouther; years had not tamed the wildness, or softened the grimness, of herappearance;but, she toowas adeterminedwoman inherdifferentway, andshemeasuredMadameDefargewithhereyes,everyinch."You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer," said MissPross,inherbreathing."Nevertheless,youshallnotgetthebetterofme.IamanEnglishwoman."MadameDefargelookedatherscornfully,butstillwithsomethingofMissPross'sownperceptionthattheytwowereatbay.Shesawatight,hard,wirywomanbeforeher,asMr.Lorryhadseeninthesamefigureawomanwithastronghand,intheyearsgoneby.SheknewfullwellthatMissProsswasthefamily'sdevotedfriend;MissProssknewfullwellthatMadameDefargewasthefamily'smalevolentenemy."Onmywayyonder," saidMadameDefarge,with a slightmovementofherhandtowardsthefatalspot,"wheretheyreservemychairandmyknittingforme,Iamcometomakemycompliments toher inpassing.Iwishtoseeher.""I know that your intentions are evil," said Miss Pross, "and you maydependuponit,I'llholdmyownagainstthem."Each spoke in her own language; neither understood the other's words;bothwereverywatchful,andintenttodeducefromlookandmanner,whattheunintelligiblewordsmeant."Itwilldohernogoodtokeepherselfconcealedfrommeatthismoment,"saidMadameDefarge."Goodpatriotswillknowwhatthatmeans.Letmeseeher.GotellherthatIwishtoseeher.Doyouhear?""Ifthoseeyesofyourswerebed-winches,"returnedMissPross,"andIwasanEnglishfour-poster,theyshouldn'tlooseasplinterofme.No,youwickedforeignwoman;Iamyourmatch."Madame Defarge was not likely to follow these idiomatic remarks indetail; but, she so far understood them as to perceive that she was set atnaught."Womanimbecileandpig-like!"saidMadameDefarge,frowning."Itakenoanswerfromyou.Idemandtoseeher.EithertellherthatIdemandtoseeher,orstandoutofthewayofthedoorandletmegotoher!"This,withanangryexplanatorywaveofherrightarm."I little thought,"saidMissPross,"thatIshouldeverwant tounderstand

your nonsensical language; but Iwouldgive all I have, except the clothes Iwear,toknowwhetheryoususpectthetruth,oranypartofit."Neither of them for a singlemoment released the other's eyes.MadameDefargehadnotmovedfromthespotwhereshestoodwhenMissProssfirstbecameawareofher;but,shenowadvancedonestep."IamaBriton,"saidMissPross,"Iamdesperate.Idon'tcareanEnglishTwopenceformyself.IknowthatthelongerIkeepyouhere,thegreaterhopethereisformyLadybird.I'llnot leaveahandfulof thatdarkhairuponyourhead,ifyoulayafingeronme!"ThusMissPross,withashakeofherheadandaflashofhereyesbetweenevery rapid sentence, and every rapid sentence a whole breath. Thus MissPross,whohadneverstruckablowinherlife.But, her courage was of that emotional nature that it brought theirrepressibletearsintohereyes.ThiswasacouragethatMadameDefargesolittlecomprehendedas tomistakeforweakness."Ha,ha!"shelaughed,"youpoorwretch!Whatareyouworth!IaddressmyselftothatDoctor."Thensheraisedhervoiceandcalledout,"CitizenDoctor!WifeofEvremonde!ChildofEvremonde! Any person but this miserable fool, answer the CitizenessDefarge!"Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some latent disclosure in theexpressionofMissPross'sface,perhapsasuddenmisgivingapartfromeithersuggestion,whisperedtoMadameDefargethattheyweregone.Threeofthedoorssheopenedswiftly,andlookedin."Thoseroomsareallindisorder,therehasbeenhurriedpacking,thereareoddsandendsupontheground.Thereisnooneinthatroombehindyou!Letmelook.""Never!" said Miss Pross, who understood the request as perfectly asMadameDefargeunderstoodtheanswer."If they are not in that room, they are gone, and can be pursued andbroughtback,"saidMadameDefargetoherself."Aslongasyoudon'tknowwhethertheyareinthatroomornot,youareuncertainwhattodo,"saidMissProsstoherself;"andyoushallnotknowthat,if Icanpreventyourknowingit;andknowthat,ornotknowthat,youshallnotleaveherewhileIcanholdyou.""Ihavebeen in the streets from the first, nothinghas stoppedme, Iwilltearyoutopieces,butIwillhaveyoufromthatdoor,"saidMadameDefarge."Wearealoneatthetopofahighhouseinasolitarycourtyard,wearenotlikelytobeheard,andIprayforbodilystrengthtokeepyouhere,whileeveryminuteyouarehereisworthahundredthousandguineastomydarling,"saidMissPross.

Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the instinct of themoment,seizedherroundthewaistinbothherarms,andheldhertight.Itwasin vain forMadameDefarge to struggle and to strike;Miss Pross,with thevigorous tenacity of love, always so much stronger than hate, clasped hertight,andevenliftedherfromthefloorinthestrugglethattheyhad.ThetwohandsofMadameDefargebuffetedandtoreherface;but,MissPross,withherheaddown,heldherroundthewaist,andclungtoherwithmorethantheholdofadrowningwoman.Soon,MadameDefarge'shandsceased tostrike,andfeltatherencircledwaist. "It isundermyarm," saidMissPross, in smothered tones, "youshallnotdrawit.Iamstrongerthanyou,IblessHeavenforit.Iholdyoutilloneorotherofusfaintsordies!"MadameDefarge'shandswereatherbosom.MissPross lookedup, sawwhat it was, struck at it, struck out a flash and a crash, and stood alone—blindedwithsmoke.Allthiswasinasecond.Asthesmokecleared,leavinganawfulstillness,it passedout on the air, like the soul of the furiouswomanwhosebody laylifelessontheground.Inthefirstfrightandhorrorofhersituation,MissProsspassedthebodyasfar from it as she could, and ran down the stairs to call for fruitless help.Happily,shebethoughtherselfoftheconsequencesofwhatshedid,intimetocheckherselfandgoback.Itwasdreadfultogoinatthedooragain;but,shedidgo in,andevenwentnear it, toget thebonnetandother things that shemustwear.Thesesheputon,outonthestaircase,firstshuttingandlockingthedoorandtakingawaythekey.Shethensatdownonthestairsafewmomentstobreatheandtocry,andthengotupandhurriedaway.Bygood fortune shehad a veil onher bonnet, or she couldhardlyhavegonealong thestreetswithoutbeingstopped.Bygood fortune, too, shewasnaturallysopeculiarinappearanceasnottoshowdisfigurementlikeanyotherwoman.Sheneededbothadvantages, for themarksofgrippingfingersweredeepinherface,andherhairwastorn,andherdress(hastilycomposedwithunsteadyhands)wasclutchedanddraggedahundredways.Incrossing thebridge,shedropped thedoorkey in theriver.Arrivingatthe cathedral some few minutes before her escort, and waiting there, shethought,whatifthekeywerealreadytakeninanet,whatifitwereidentified,what if the doorwere opened and the remains discovered,what if shewerestoppedat thegate,sent toprison,andchargedwithmurder!In themidstoftheseflutteringthoughts,theescortappeared,tookherin,andtookheraway."Isthereanynoiseinthestreets?"sheaskedhim."The usual noises," Mr. Cruncher replied; and looked surprised by thequestionandbyheraspect.

"Idon'thearyou,"saidMissPross."Whatdoyousay?"Itwas invainforMr.Cruncher torepeatwhathesaid;MissProsscouldnot hear him. "So I'll nodmy head," thoughtMr.Cruncher, amazed, "at alleventsshe'llseethat."Andshedid."Isthereanynoiseinthestreetsnow?"askedMissProssagain,presently.AgainMr.Crunchernoddedhishead."Idon'thearit.""Gone deaf in an hour?" said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, with his mindmuchdisturbed;"wot'scometoher?""Ifeel,"saidMissPross,"asiftherehadbeenaflashandacrash,andthatcrashwasthelastthingIshouldeverhearinthislife.""Blestifsheain'tinaqueercondition!"saidMr.Cruncher,moreandmoredisturbed. "Wot can she have been a takin', to keep her courage up?Hark!There'stherollofthemdreadfulcarts!Youcanhearthat,miss?""Icanhear,"saidMissPross,seeingthathespoketoher,"nothing.O,mygoodman, therewas first a great crash, and then a great stillness, and thatstillnessseemstobefixedandunchangeable,nevertobebrokenanymoreaslongasmylifelasts.""If she don't hear the roll of those dreadful carts, now very nigh theirjourney'send,"saidMr.Cruncher,glancingoverhisshoulder,"it'smyopinionthatindeedsheneverwillhearanythingelseinthisworld."Andindeedsheneverdid.

TheFootstepsDieOutForEver

Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Sixtumbrilscarrytheday'swinetoLaGuillotine.AllthedevouringandinsatiateMonstersimaginedsinceimaginationcouldrecorditself,arefusedintheonerealisation,Guillotine.AndyetthereisnotinFrance,withitsrichvarietyofsoilandclimate,ablade,aleaf,aroot,asprig,apeppercorn,whichwillgrowtomaturityunderconditionsmorecertain than those thathaveproducedthishorror.Crushhumanityoutofshapeoncemore,undersimilarhammers,anditwilltwistitselfintothesametorturedforms.Sowthesameseedofrapaciouslicense and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruitaccordingtoitskind.Six tumbrils rollalong thestreets.Change thesebackagain towhat theywere,thoupowerfulenchanter,Time,andtheyshallbeseentobethecarriagesofabsolutemonarchs, theequipagesof feudalnobles, the toilettesof flaring

Jezebels, thechurches thatarenotmyfather'shousebutdensof thieves, thehutsofmillionsofstarvingpeasants!No;thegreatmagicianwhomajesticallyworks out the appointed order of the Creator, never reverses histransformations."IfthoubechangedintothisshapebythewillofGod,"saytheseerstotheenchanted,inthewiseArabianstories,"thenremainso!But,ifthouwearthisformthroughmerepassingconjuration,thenresumethyformeraspect!"Changelessandhopeless,thetumbrilsrollalong.Asthesombrewheelsofthesixcartsgoround,theyseemtoploughupalong crooked furrow among the populace in the streets.Ridges of faces arethrownto thissideand to that,and theploughsgosteadilyonward.Sousedare the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, that in manywindowstherearenopeople,andinsometheoccupationofthehandsisnotsomuchassuspended,while theeyessurvey thefaces in the tumbrils.Hereand there, the inmate has visitors to see the sight; then he points his finger,withsomethingofthecomplacencyofacuratororauthorisedexponent,tothiscartand to this,andseems to tellwhosathereyesterday,andwho there thedaybefore.Oftheridersinthetumbrils,someobservethesethings,andallthingsontheirlastroadside,withanimpassivestare;others,withalingeringinterestinthewaysoflifeandmen.Some,seatedwithdroopingheads,aresunkinsilentdespair;again,therearesomesoheedfuloftheirlooksthattheycastuponthemultitudesuchglancesastheyhaveseenintheatres,andinpictures.Severalclosetheireyes,andthink,ortrytogettheirstrayingthoughtstogether.Onlyone,andheamiserablecreature,ofacrazedaspect,issoshatteredandmadedrunkbyhorror,thathesings,andtriestodance.Notoneofthewholenumberappealsbylookorgesture,tothepityofthepeople.There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, andfacesareoftenturneduptosomeofthem,andtheyareaskedsomequestion.Itwouldseemtobealwaysthesamequestion,for,itisalwaysfollowedbyapress of people towards the third cart. The horsemen abreast of that cart,frequentlypointoutonemaninitwiththeirswords.Theleadingcuriosityis,toknowwhichishe;hestandsat thebackof thetumbrilwithhisheadbentdown,toconversewithameregirlwhositsonthesideofthecart,andholdshis hand. He has no curiosity or care for the scene about him, and alwaysspeaks to the girl.Here and there in the long street ofSt.Honore, cries areraisedagainsthim. If theymovehimatall, it isonly toaquiet smile,asheshakeshishairalittlemorelooselyabouthisface.Hecannoteasilytouchhisface,hisarmsbeingbound.On thestepsofachurch,awaiting thecoming-upof the tumbrils, standstheSpyandprison-sheep.Helooksintothefirstofthem:notthere.Helooksinto thesecond:not there.Healreadyaskshimself, "Hashesacrificedme?"whenhisfaceclears,ashelooksintothethird."WhichisEvremonde?"saysamanbehindhim.

"That.Atthebackthere.""Withhishandinthegirl's?""Yes."The man cries, "Down, Evremonde! To the Guillotine all aristocrats!Down,Evremonde!""Hush,hush!"theSpyentreatshim,timidly."Andwhynot,citizen?""He isgoing topay the forfeit: itwillbepaid in fiveminutesmore.Lethimbeatpeace."But the man continuing to exclaim, "Down, Evremonde!" the face ofEvremonde is for a moment turned towards him. Evremonde then sees theSpy,andlooksattentivelyathim,andgoeshisway.Theclocksareonthestrokeofthree,andthefurrowploughedamongthepopulace is turning round, to comeon into the place of execution, and end.Theridgesthrowntothissideandtothat,nowcrumbleinandclosebehindthelastploughasitpasseson,forallarefollowingtotheGuillotine.Infrontofit,seated inchairs,as inagardenofpublicdiversion,areanumberofwomen,busilyknitting.Ononeofthefore-mostchairs,standsTheVengeance,lookingaboutforherfriend."Therese!" she cries, in her shrill tones. "Who has seen her? ThereseDefarge!""Shenevermissedbefore,"saysaknitting-womanofthesisterhood."No;norwillshemissnow,"criesTheVengeance,petulantly."Therese.""Louder,"thewomanrecommends.Ay!Louder,Vengeance,muchlouder,andstillshewillscarcelyhearthee.Louderyet,Vengeance,with a little oathor so added, andyet itwill hardlybringher.Sendotherwomenupanddowntoseekher,lingeringsomewhere;and yet, although themessengers have done dread deeds, it is questionablewhetheroftheirownwillstheywillgofarenoughtofindher!"BadFortune!"criesTheVengeance,stampingherfootinthechair,"andherearethetumbrils!AndEvremondewillbedespatchedinawink,andshenothere!Seeherknittinginmyhand,andheremptychairreadyforher.Icrywithvexationanddisappointment!"AsTheVengeancedescendsfromherelevationtodoit,thetumbrilsbeginto discharge their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed andready.Crash!—Aheadisheldup,andtheknitting-womenwhoscarcelyliftedtheir eyes to look at it amoment agowhen it could think and speak, countOne.Thesecondtumbrilemptiesandmoveson; the thirdcomesup.Crash!—

Andtheknitting-women,neverfalteringorpausingintheirWork,countTwo.ThesupposedEvremondedescends,and the seamstress is liftedoutnextafter him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but stillholds it as he promised.He gently places herwith her back to the crashingengine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face andthankshim."But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I amnaturallyapoorlittlething,faintofheart;norshouldIhavebeenabletoraisemy thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope andcomforthereto-day.IthinkyouweresenttomebyHeaven.""Or you to me," says Sydney Carton. "Keep your eyes upon me, dearchild,andmindnootherobject.""ImindnothingwhileIholdyourhand.IshallmindnothingwhenIletitgo,iftheyarerapid.""Theywillberapid.Fearnot!"Thetwostandin thefast-thinningthrongofvictims,but theyspeakas iftheywerealone.Eyetoeye,voicetovoice,handtohand,hearttoheart,thesetwochildrenof theUniversalMother,elsesowideapartanddiffering,havecometogetheronthedarkhighway,torepairhometogether,andtorestinherbosom."Braveandgenerousfriend,willyou letmeaskyouone lastquestion?Iamveryignorant,andittroublesme—justalittle.""Tellmewhatitis.""Ihaveacousin,anonlyrelativeandanorphan,likemyself,whomIloveverydearly.SheisfiveyearsyoungerthanI,andshelivesinafarmer'shouseinthesouthcountry.Povertypartedus,andsheknowsnothingofmyfate—forIcannotwrite—andifIcould,howshouldItellher!Itisbetterasitis.""Yes,yes:betterasitis.""WhatIhavebeenthinkingaswecamealong,andwhatIamstillthinkingnow,asIlookintoyourkindstrongfacewhichgivesmesomuchsupport,isthis:—IftheRepublicreallydoesgoodtothepoor,andtheycometobelesshungry,andinallwaystosufferless,shemaylivealongtime:shemayevenlivetobeold.""Whatthen,mygentlesister?""Do you think:" the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so muchendurance, fillwith tears,and the lipsparta littlemoreand tremble:"that itwillseemlongtome,whileIwaitforherinthebetterlandwhereItrustbothyouandIwillbemercifullysheltered?""Itcannotbe,mychild;thereisnoTimethere,andnotroublethere."

"Youcomfortmesomuch!Iamsoignorant.AmItokissyounow?Isthemomentcome?""Yes."She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. Thespare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet,brightconstancyisinthepatientface.Shegoesnextbeforehim—isgone;theknitting-womencountTwenty-Two."IamtheResurrectionandtheLife,saiththeLord:hethatbelievethinme,thoughheweredead,yetshallhelive:andwhosoeverlivethandbelievethinmeshallneverdie."Themurmuringofmanyvoices,theupturningofmanyfaces,thepressingonofmanyfootstepsintheoutskirtsofthecrowd,sothatitswellsforwardinamass,likeonegreatheaveofwater,allflashesaway.Twenty-Three.They said of him, about the city that night, that itwas the peacefullestman's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime andprophetic.One of themost remarkable sufferers by the same axe—awoman—hadaskedatthefootofthesamescaffold,notlongbefore,tobeallowedtowritedownthethoughtsthatwereinspiringher.Ifhehadgivenanyutterancetohis,andtheywereprophetic,theywouldhavebeenthese:"IseeBarsad,andCly,Defarge,TheVengeance,theJuryman,theJudge,longranksofthenewoppressorswhohaverisenonthedestructionoftheold,perishingbythisretributiveinstrument,beforeitshallceaseoutofitspresentuse.Iseeabeautifulcityandabrilliantpeoplerisingfromthisabyss,and,intheir struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through longyearstocome,Iseetheevilofthistimeandoftheprevioustimeofwhichthisisthenaturalbirth,graduallymakingexpiationforitselfandwearingout."IseethelivesforwhichIlaydownmylife,peaceful,useful,prosperousandhappy,inthatEnglandwhichIshallseenomore.IseeHerwithachildupon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, butotherwiserestored,andfaithfultoallmeninhishealingoffice,andatpeace.Isee thegoodoldman,so long their friend, in tenyears' timeenriching themwithallhehas,andpassingtranquillytohisreward."I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of theirdescendants,generationshence.Iseeher,anoldwoman,weepingformeontheanniversaryofthisday.Iseeherandherhusband,theircoursedone,lyingside by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not morehonouredandheldsacredintheother'ssoul,thanIwasinthesoulsofboth."Iseethatchildwholayuponherbosomandwhoboremyname,amanwinning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see himwinningitsowell,thatmynameismadeillustrioustherebythelightofhis.I

seetheblotsIthrewuponit,fadedaway.Iseehim,fore-mostofjustjudgesandhonouredmen,bringingaboyofmyname,withaforeheadthatIknowandgoldenhair,tothisplace—thenfairtolookupon,withnotatraceofthisday'sdisfigurement—andIhearhimtellthechildmystory,withatenderandafalteringvoice."Itisafar,farbetterthingthatIdo,thanIhaveeverdone;itisafar,farbetterrestthatIgotothanIhaveeverknown."THEEND

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