Monseigneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what

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he would do to avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. It

was too much the way of Monseigneur under his reverses as a

refugee, and it was much too much the way of native British

orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible Revolution as if it were the one

only harvest ever known under the skies that had not been sown

as if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be done, that had

led to itas if observers of the wretched millions in France, and of

the misused and perverted resources that should have made them

prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, and

had not in plain words recorded what they saw. Such vapouring,

combined with the extravagant plots of Monseigneur for the

restoration of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself,

and worn out heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be

endured without some remonstrance by any sane man who knew

the truth. And it was such vapouring all about his ears, like a

troublesome confusion of blood in his own head, added to a latent

uneasiness in his mind, which had already made Charles Darnay

restless, and which still kept him so.

Among the talkers, was Stryver, of the King’s Bench Bar, far on

his way to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme:

broaching to Monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up

and exterminating them from the face of the earth, and doing

without them: and for accomplishing many similar objects akin in

their nature to the abolition of eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails

of the race. Him, Darnay heard, with a particular feeling of

objection; and Darnay stood divided between going away that he

might hear no more, and remaining to interpose his word, when

the thing that was to be, went on to shape itself out.

The House approached Mr. Lorry, and laying a soiled and

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unopened letter before him, asked if he had yet discovered any

traces of the person to whom it was addressed? The House laid

the letter down so close to Darnay that he saw the directionthe

more quickly because it was his own right name. The address,

turned into English, ran:

“Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St.

Evremonde, of France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson

and Co., Bankers, London, England.”

On the marriage morning, Dr. Manette had made it his one

urgent and express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of

his name should beunless he, the Doctor, dissolved the

obligationkept inviolate between them. Nobody else knew it to

be his name; his own wife had no suspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry

could have none.

“No,” said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; “I have referred it, I

think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this

gentleman is to be found.”

The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the