"I have saved him." It was not another of the dreams in which he had often
come back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and a vague but
heavy fear was upon her.
All the air round was so thick and dark, the people were so passionately
revengeful and fitful, the innocent were so constantly put to death on
vague suspicion and black malice, it was so impossible to forget that many
as blameless as her husband and as dear to others as he was to her, every
day shared the fate from which he had been clutched, that her heart could
not be as lightened of its load as she felt it ought to be. The shadows of
the wintry afternoon were beginning to fall, and even now the dreadful
carts were rolling through the streets. Her mind pursued them, looking for
him among the Condemned; and then she clung closer to his real presence
and trembled more.
Her father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superiority to this
woman's weakness, which was wonderful to see. No garret, no shoemaking, no
One Hundred and Five, North Tower, now! He had accomplished the task he
had set himself, his promise was redeemed, he had saved Charles. Let them
all lean upon him.
Their housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only because that was
the safest way of life, involving the least offence to the people, but
because they were not rich, and Charles, throughout his imprisonment, had
had to pay heavily for his bad food, and for his guard, and towards the
living of the poorer prisoners. Partly on this account, and partly to
avoid a domestic spy, they kept no servant; the citizen and citizeness who
acted as porters at the courtyard gate, rendered them occasional service;
and Jerry (almost wholly transferred to them by Mr. Lorry) had become
their daily retainer, and had his bed there every night.
It was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible of Liberty,
Equality, Fraternity, or Death, that on the door or doorpost of every
house, the name of every inmate must be legibly inscribed in letters of a
certain size, at a certain convenient height from the ground. Mr. Jerry
Cruncher's name, therefore, duly embellished the doorpost down below; and,
as the afternoon shadows deepened, the owner of that name himself
appeared, from overlooking a painter whom Doctor Manette had employed to
add to the list the name of Charles Evremonde, called Darnay.
In the universal fear and distrust that darkened the time, all the usual
harmless ways of life were changed. In the Doctor's little household, as
in very many others, the articles of daily consumption that were wanted
were purchased every evening, in small quantities and at various small
shops. To avoid attracting notice, and to give as little occasion as
possible for talk and envy, was the general desire.
For some months past, Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher had discharged the
office of purveyors; the former carrying the money; the latter, the
basket. Every afternoon at about the time when the public lamps were
lighted, they fared forth on this duty, and made and brought home such
purchases as were needful. Although Miss Pross, through her long
association with a French family, might have known as much of their
language as of her own, if she had had a mind, she had no mind in that
direction; consequently she knew no more of that "nonsense" (as she was
pleased to call it) than Mr. Cruncher did. So her manner of marketing was
to plump a noun-substantive at the head of a shopkeeper without any
introduction in the nature of an article, and, if it happened not to be
the name of the thing she wanted, to look round for that thing, lay hold
of it, and hold on by it until the bargain was concluded. She always made
a bargain for it, by holding up, as a statement of its just price, one
finger less than the merchant held up, whatever his number might be.
"Now, Mr. Cruncher," said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red with felicity;
"if you are ready, I am."
Jerry hoarsely professed himself at Miss Pross's service. He had worn all
his rust off long ago, but nothing would file his spiky head down.
"There's all manner of things wanted," said Miss Pross, "and we shall have
a precious time of it. We want wine, among the rest. Nice toasts these
Redheads will be drinking, wherever we buy it."
"It will be much the same to your knowledge, miss, I should think,"
retorted Jerry, "whether they drink your health or the Old Un's."
"Who's he?" said Miss Pross.
Mr. Cruncher, with some diffidence, explained himself as meaning "Old
"Ha!" said Miss Pross, "it doesn't need an interpreter to explain the
meaning of these creatures. They have but one, and it's Midnight Murder,
"Hush, dear! Pray, pray, be cautious!" cried Lucie.
"Yes, yes, yes, I'll be cautious," said Miss Pross; "but I may say among
ourselves, that I do hope there will be no oniony and tobaccoey
smotherings in the form of embracings all round, going on in the streets.
Now, Ladybird, never you stir from that fire till I come back! Take care
of the dear husband you have recovered, and don't move your pretty head
from his shoulder as you have it now, till you see me again! May I ask a
question, Doctor Manette, before I go?"
"I think you may take that liberty," the Doctor answered, smiling.
"For gracious sake, don't talk about Liberty; we have quite enough of
that," said Miss Pross.
"Hush, dear! Again?" Lucie remonstrated.
"Well, my sweet," said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically, "the
short and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most Gracious
Majesty King George the Third;" Miss Pross curtseyed at the name; "and as
such, my maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish
tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!"
Mr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly repeated the words after
Miss Pross, like somebody at church.
"I am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I wish you
had never taken that cold in your voice," said Miss Pross, approvingly.
"But the question, Doctor Manette. Is there"—it was the good
creature's way to affect to make light of anything that was a great
anxiety with them all, and to come at it in this chance manner—"is
there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this place?"
"I fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet."
"Heigh-ho-hum!" said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as she
glanced at her darling's golden hair in the light of the fire, "then we
must have patience and wait: that's all. We must hold up our heads and
fight low, as my brother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher!—Don't
you move, Ladybird!"
They went out, leaving Lucie, and her husband, her father, and the child,
by a bright fire. Mr. Lorry was expected back presently from the Banking
House. Miss Pross had lighted the lamp, but had put it aside in a corner,
that they might enjoy the fire-light undisturbed. Little Lucie sat by her
grandfather with her hands clasped through his arm: and he, in a tone not
rising much above a whisper, began to tell her a story of a great and
powerful Fairy who had opened a prison-wall and let out a captive who had
once done the Fairy a service. All was subdued and quiet, and Lucie was
more at ease than she had been.
"What is that?" she cried, all at once.
"My dear!" said her father, stopping in his story, and laying his hand on
hers, "command yourself. What a disordered state you are in! The least
thing—nothing—startles you! You, your father's
"I thought, my father," said Lucie, excusing herself, with a pale face and
in a faltering voice, "that I heard strange feet upon the stairs."
"My love, the staircase is as still as Death."
As he said the word, a blow was struck upon the door.
"Oh father, father. What can this be! Hide Charles. Save him!"
"My child," said the Doctor, rising, and laying his hand upon her
shoulder, "I have saved him. What weakness is this, my dear! Let me
go to the door."
He took the lamp in his hand, crossed the two intervening outer rooms, and
opened it. A rude clattering of feet over the floor, and four rough men in
red caps, armed with sabres and pistols, entered the room.
"The Citizen Evremonde, called Darnay," said the first.
"Who seeks him?" answered Darnay.
"I seek him. We seek him. I know you, Evremonde; I saw you before the
Tribunal to-day. You are again the prisoner of the Republic."
The four surrounded him, where he stood with his wife and child clinging
"Tell me how and why am I again a prisoner?"
"It is enough that you return straight to the Conciergerie, and will know
to-morrow. You are summoned for to-morrow."
Doctor Manette, whom this visitation had so turned into stone, that he
stood with the lamp in his hand, as if be woe a statue made to hold it,
moved after these words were spoken, put the lamp down, and confronting
the speaker, and taking him, not ungently, by the loose front of his red
woollen shirt, said:
"You know him, you have said. Do you know me?"
"Yes, I know you, Citizen Doctor."
"We all know you, Citizen Doctor," said the other three.
He looked abstractedly from one to another, and said, in a lower voice,
after a pause:
"Will you answer his question to me then? How does this happen?"
"Citizen Doctor," said the first, reluctantly, "he has been denounced to
the Section of Saint Antoine. This citizen," pointing out the second who
had entered, "is from Saint Antoine."
The citizen here indicated nodded his head, and added:
"He is accused by Saint Antoine."
"Of what?" asked the Doctor.
"Citizen Doctor," said the first, with his former reluctance, "ask no
more. If the Republic demands sacrifices from you, without doubt you as a
good patriot will be happy to make them. The Republic goes before all. The
People is supreme. Evremonde, we are pressed."
"One word," the Doctor entreated. "Will you tell me who denounced him?"
"It is against rule," answered the first; "but you can ask Him of Saint
The Doctor turned his eyes upon that man. Who moved uneasily on his feet,
rubbed his beard a little, and at length said:
"Well! Truly it is against rule. But he is denounced—and gravely—by
the Citizen and Citizeness Defarge. And by one other."
"Do you ask, Citizen Doctor?"
"Then," said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, "you will be
answered to-morrow. Now, I am dumb!"