hand on his account; and then re-crossed the road and entered the

wine-shop.

This wine-shop keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man

of thirty, and he should have been of a hot temperament, for,

although it was a bitter day, he wore no coat, but carried one slung

over his shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, too, and his

brown arms were bare to the elbows. Neither did he wear

anything more on his head than his own crisply-curling short dark

hair. He was a dark man altogether, with good eyes and a good

bold breadth between them. Good-humoured looking on the

whole, but implacable-looking, too; evidently a man of a strong

resolution and a set purpose; a man not desirable to be met,

rushing down a narrow pass with a gulf on either side, for nothing

would turn the man.

Madame Defarge, his wife, sat in the shop behind the counter

as he came in. Madame Defarge was a stout woman of about his

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

own age, with a watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at

anything, a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, strong

features, and great composure of manner. There was a character

about Madame Defarge from which one might have predicted that

she did not often make mistakes against herself in any of the

reckonings over which she presided. Madame Defarge being

sensitive to cold, was wrapped in fur, and had a quantity of bright

shawl twined about her head, though not to the concealment of

her large ear-rings. Her knitting was before her, but she had laid it

down to pick her teeth with a toothpick. Thus engaged, with her

right elbow supported by her left hand, Madame Defarge said

nothing when her lord came in, but coughed just one grain of

cough. This, in combination with the lifting of her darkly defined

eyebrows over her toothpick by the breadth of a line, suggested to

her husband that he would do well to look round the shop among

the customers, for any new customer who had dropped in while he

stepped over the way.

The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until

they rested upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who

were seated in a corner. Other company were there; two playing

cards, two playing dominoes, three standing by the counter

lengthening out a short supply of wine. As he passed behind the

counter, he took notice that the elderly gentleman said in a look to

the young lady, “This is our man.”

“What the devil do you do in that galley there?” said Monsieur

Defarge to himself; “I don’t know you.”

But, he feigned not to notice the two strangers, and fell into

discourse with the triumvirate of customers who were drinking at

the counter.

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“How goes it, Jacques?” said one of these three to Monsieur

Defarge. “Is all the spilt wine swallowed?”

“Every drop, Jacques,” answered Monsieur Defarge.