excellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of suspicion,

that Mr. Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocratic English

government, is the spy of Pitt, the treacherous foe of the Republic

crouching in its bosom, the English traitor and agent of all

mischief so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That’s a card

not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?”

“Not to understand your play,” returned the spy, somewhat

uneasily.

“I play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest

Section Committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and see

what you have. Don’t hurry.”

He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of brandy,

and drank it off. He saw that the spy was fearful of his drinking

himself into a fit state for the immediate denunciation of him.

Seeing it, he poured out and drank another glassful.

“Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time.”

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It was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losing

cards in it that Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of his

honourable employment in England, through too much

unsuccessful hard swearing therenot because he was not

wanted there; our English reasons for vaunting our superiority to

secrecy and spies are of very modern datehe knew that he had

crossed the Channel, and accepted service in France: first, as a

tempter and an eavesdropper among his own countrymen there:

gradually, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among the natives.

He knew that under the overthrown government he had been a

spy upon Saint Antoine and Defarge’s wine-shop; had received

from the watchful police such heads of information concerning

Doctor Manette’s imprisonment, release, and history, as should

serve him for an introduction to familiar conversation with the

Defarges; and tried them on Madame Defarge, and had broken

down with them signally. He always remembered with fear and

trembling, that that terrible woman had knitted when he talked

with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingers moved.

He had since seen her, in the Section of Saint Antoine, over and

over again produce her knitted registers, and denounce people

whose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up. He knew, as

every one employed as he was did, that he was never safe; that

flight was impossible; that he was tied fast under the shadow of

the axe; and that in spite of his utmost tergiversation and

treachery in furtherance of the reigning terror, a word might bring

it down upon him. Once denounced, and on such grave grounds as

had just now been suggested to his mind, he foresaw that the

dreadful woman of whose unrelenting character he had seen many

proofs, would produce against him that fatal register, and would

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quash his last chance of life. Besides that all secret men are men

soon terrified, here were surely cards enough of one black suit, to

justify the holder in growing rather livid as he turned them over.