cravat, and his coat-collar, and his wild hair. This done, he went

on direct to Defarge’s, and went in.

There happened to be no customers in the shop but Jacques

Three, of the restless fingers and the croaking voice. This man,

whom he had seen upon the Jury. stood drinking at the little

counter, in conversation with the Defarges, man and wife. The

Vengeance assisted in the conversation, like a regular member of

the establishment.

As Carton walked in, took his seat and asked (in very indifferent

French) for a small measure of wine. Madame Defarge cast a

careless glance at him, and then a keener, and then a keener, and

then advanced to him herself, and asked him what it was he had

ordered.

He repeated what he had already said.

“English?” asked Madame Defarge, inquisitively raising her

dark eyebrows.

After looking at her, as if the sound of even a single French

word were slow to express itself to him, he answered, in his former

strong foreign accent. “Yes, madame, yes. I am English!”

Madame Defarge returned to her counter to get the wine, and,

as he took up a Jacobin journal and feigned to pore over it

puzzling out its meaning, he heard her say, “I swear to you, like

Evremonde!”

Defarge brought him the wine, and gave him Good Evening.

“How?”

“Good evening.”

“Oh! Good evening, citizen,” filling his glass. “Ah! and good

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

wine. I drink to the Republic.”

Defarge went back to the counter, and said, “Certainly, a little

like.” Madame sternly retorted, “I tell you a good deal like.”

Jacques Three pacifically remarked, “He is so much in your mind,

see you, madame.” The amiable Vengeance added, with a laugh.

“Yes, my faith! And you are looking forward with so much

pleasure to seeing him once more tomorrow!”

Carton followed the lines and words of his paper, with a slow

forefinger, and with a studious and absorbed face. They were all

leaning their arms on the counter close together, speaking low.

After a silence of a few moments, during which they all looked

towards him without disturbing his outward attention from the

Jacobin editor, they resumed their conversation.

“It is true what madame says,” observed Jacques Three. “Why

stop? There is great force in that. Why stop?”

“Well, well,” reasoned Defarge, “but one must stop somewhere.

After all, the question is still where?”

“At extermination,” said madame.

“Magnificent!” croaked Jacques Three. The Vengeance, also,

highly approved.

“Extermination is good doctrine, my wife,” said Defarge, rather

troubled; “in general, I say nothing against it. But this Doctor has