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1The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound
2that might denote suspicion or alarm. There was none. Keys turned, doors clashed, footsteps passed along distant
3passages: no cry was raised, or hurry made, that seemed unusual. Breathing more freely in a little while, he sat down at
4the table, and listened again until the clock struck Two. Sounds that he was not afraid of, for he divined their
5meaning, then began to be audible. Several doors were opened in succession, and finally his own. A gaoler, with a list
6in his hand, looked in, merely saying, "Follow me, Evrémonde!" and he followed into a large dark room, at a distance. It
7was a dark winter day, and what with the shadows within, and what with the shadows without, he could but dimly discern
8the others who were brought there to have their arms bound. Some were standing; some seated. Some were lamenting, and in
9restless motion; but, these were few. The great majority were silent and still, looking fixedly at the ground. As he
10stood by the wall in a dim corner, while some of the fifty-two were brought in after him, one man stopped in passing, to
11embrace him, as having a knowledge of him. It thrilled him with a great dread of discovery; but the man went on. A very
12few moments after that, a young woman, with a slight girlish form, a sweet spare face in which there was no vestige of
13colour, and large widely opened patient eyes, rose from the seat where he had observed her sitting, and came to speak to
14him. "Citizen Evrémonde," she said, touching him with her cold hand. "I am a poor little seamstress, who was with you in
15La Force." He murmured for answer: "True. I forget what you were accused of?" "Plots. Though the just Heaven knows that
16I am innocent of any. Is it likely? Who would think of plotting with a poor little weak creature like me?" The forlorn
17smile with which she said it, so touched him, that tears started from his eyes. "I am not afraid to die, Citizen
18Evrémonde, but I have done nothing. I am not unwilling to die, if the Republic which is to do so much good to us poor,
19will profit by my death; but I do not know how that can be, Citizen Evrémonde. Such a poor weak little creature!" As the
20last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, it warmed and softened to this pitiable girl. "I heard you
21were released, Citizen Evrémonde. I hoped it was true?" "It was. But, I was again taken and condemned." "If I may ride
22with you, Citizen Evrémonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give
23me more courage." As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He
24pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his lips. "Are you dying for him?" she whispered. "And his
25wife and child. Hush! Yes." "O you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?" "Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the
26last." **** The same shadows that are falling on the prison, are falling, in that same hour of the early afternoon, on
27the Barrier with the crowd about it, when a coach going out of Paris drives up to be examined. "Who goes here? Whom have
28we within? Papers!" The papers are handed out, and read. "Alexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is he?" This is
29he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old man pointed out. "Apparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his
30right mind? The Revolution-fever will have been too much for him?" Greatly too much for him. "Hah! Many suffer with it.
31Lucie. His daughter. French. Which is she?" This is she. "Apparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evrémonde; is it
32not?" It is. "Hah! Evrémonde has an assignation elsewhere. Lucie, her child. English. This is she?" She and no other.
33"Kiss me, child of Evrémonde. Now, thou hast kissed a good Republican; something new in thy family; remember it! Sydney
34Carton. Advocate. English. Which is he?" He lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out.
35"Apparently the English advocate is in a swoon?" It is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is represented that
36he is not in strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is under the displeasure of the Republic. "Is that
37all? It is not a great deal, that! Many are under the displeasure of the Republic, and must look out at the little
38window. Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which is he?" "I am he. Necessarily, being the last." It is Jarvis Lorry who has
39replied to all the previous questions. It is Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the coach door,
40replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurely mount the box, to look at what
41little luggage it carries on the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach doors and greedily
42stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has its short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an
43aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine. "Behold your papers, Jarvis Lorry, countersigned." "One can depart, citizen?"
44"One can depart. Forward, my postilions! A good journey!" "I salute you, citizens.--And the first danger passed!" These
45are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps his hands, and looks upward. There is terror in the carriage, there is
46weeping, there is the heavy breathing of the insensible traveller. "Are we not going too slowly? Can they not be induced
47to go faster?" asks Lucie, clinging to the old man. "It would seem like flight, my darling. I must not urge them too
48much; it would rouse suspicion." "Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued!" "The road is clear, my dearest. So
49far, we are not pursued." Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, ruinous buildings, dye-works, tanneries,
50and the like, open country, avenues of leafless trees. The hard uneven pavement is under us, the soft deep mud is on
51either side. Sometimes, we strike into the skirting mud, to avoid the stones that clatter us and shake us; sometimes, we
52stick in ruts and sloughs there. The agony of our impatience is then so great, that in our wild alarm and hurry we are
53for getting out and running--hiding--doing anything but stopping. Out of the open country, in again among ruinous
54buildings, solitary farms, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, cottages in twos and threes, avenues of leafless trees.
55Have these men deceived us, and taken us back by another road? Is not this the same place twice over? Thank Heaven, no.
56A village. Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued! Hush! the posting-house. Leisurely, our four horses are
57taken out; leisurely, the coach stands in the little street, bereft of horses, and with no likelihood upon it of ever
58moving again; leisurely, the new horses come into visible existence, one by one; leisurely, the new postilions follow,
59sucking and plaiting the lashes of their whips; leisurely, the old postilions count their money, make wrong additions,
60and arrive at dissatisfied results. All the time, our overfraught hearts are beating at a rate that would far outstrip
61the fastest gallop of the fastest horses ever foaled. At length the new postilions are in their saddles, and the old are
62left behind. We are through the village, up the hill, and down the hill, and on the low watery grounds. Suddenly, the
63postilions exchange speech with animated gesticulation, and the horses are pulled up, almost on their haunches. We are
64pursued? "Ho! Within the carriage there. Speak then!" "What is it?" asks Mr. Lorry, looking out at window. "How many did
65they say?" "I do not understand you." "--At the last post. How many to the Guillotine to-day?" "Fifty-two." "I said so!
66A brave number! My fellow-citizen here would have it forty-two; ten more heads are worth having. The Guillotine goes
67handsomely. I love it. Hi forward. Whoop!" The night comes on dark. He moves more; he is beginning to revive, and to
68speak intelligibly; he thinks they are still together; he asks him, by his name, what he has in his hand. O pity us,
69kind Heaven, and help us! Look out, look out, and see if we are pursued. The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds
70are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far, we
71are pursued by nothing else.
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