boom smash and rattle, and the furious sounding of the living sea;

but, still the deep ditch, and the single drawbridge, and the

massive stone walls, and the eight great towers, and still Defarge

of the wine-shop at his gun, grown doubly hot by the service of

four fierce hours.

A white flag from within the fortress, and a parleythis dimly

perceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible in it

suddenly the sea rose immeasurably, wider and higher, and swept

Defarge of the wine-shop over the lowered drawbridge, past the

massive stone outer walls, in among the eight great towers

surrendered!

So resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on, that

even to draw his breath or turn his head was as impracticable as if

he had been struggling in the surf at the South Sea, until he was

landed in the outer courtyard of the Bastille. There, against an

angle of a wall, he made a struggle to look about him. Jacques

Three was nearly at his side; Madame Defarge, still heading some

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of her women, was visible in the inner distance, and her knife was

in her hand. Everywhere was tumult, exultation, deafening and

maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet furious dumb-show.

“The Prisoners!”

“The Records!”

“The secret cells!”

“The instruments of torture!”

“The Prisoners!”

Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherencies, “The

Prisoners!” was the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as

if there were an eternity of people, as well as of time and space.

When the foremost billows rolled past, bearing the prison officers

with them, and threatening them all with instant death if any

secret nook remained undisclosed, Defarge laid his strong hand on

the breast of one of these mena man with a grey head, who had

a lighted torch in his handsseparated him from the rest, and got

him between himself and the wall.

“Show me the North Tower!” said Defarge. “Quick!”

“I will faithfully,” replied the man, “if you will come with me.

But there is no one there.”

“What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North

Tower?” asked Defarge. “Quick!”

“The meaning, monsieur?”

“Does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? Or do you mean

that I shall strike you dead?”

“Kill him!” croaked Jacques Three, who had come close up.

“Monsieur, it is a cell.”

“Show it me!”

“Pass this way, then.”

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Jacques Three, with his usual craving on him, and evidently

disappointed by the dialogue taking a turn that did not seem to