his foot.

“I forgot it,” he said.

Mr. Lorry’s eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of

the wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features,

and having the expression of prisoners’ faces fresh in his mind, he

was strongly reminded of that expression.

“And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?” said Carton,

turning to him.

“Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so

unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I hoped

to have left them in perfect safety, and then to have quitted Paris. I

have my Leave to Pass. I was ready to go.”

They were both silent.

“Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?” said Carton,

wistfully.

“I am in my seventy-eighth year.”

“You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly

occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?”

“I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man.

Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business when a boy.”

“See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people

will miss you when you leave it empty!”

“A solitary old bachelor,” answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his

head. “There is nobody to weep for me.”

“How can you say that! Wouldn’t She weep for you? Wouldn’t

her child?”

“Yes, yes, thank God. I didn’t quite mean what I said.”

“It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?”

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“Surely, surely.”

“If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, tonight,

‘I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or

respect, of no human creature; I have won myself a tender place in

no regard; I have done nothing good or serviceable to be

remembered by!’ your seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight

heavy curses; would they not?”

“You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be.”

Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence

of a few moments, said:

“I should like to ask you:Does your childhood seem far off?

Do the days when you sat at your mother’s knee, seem days of very

long ago?”

Responding to his softened manner, Mr. Lorry answered:

“Twenty years back, yes; at this time of my life, no. For, as I

draw closer and closer to the end, I travel in the circle, nearer and

nearer to the beginning. It seems to be one of the kind smoothings

and preparings of the way. My heart is touched now, by many

remembrances that have long fallen asleep, of my pretty young

mother (and I so old!), and by many associations of the days when

what we call the World was not so real with me, and my faults