Book 1 Chapter 1 The Period
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age offoolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so. far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever. 
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, a sat this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to comedown and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses old some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, be spattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, for as much as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of `the Captain, 'gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, `in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:  after which the mail was robbed in Peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature insight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a house-breaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of sixpence.
All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair laces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures--the creatures of this chronicle among the rest--along the roads that lay before them.  
那是最美好的时代，那是最糟糕的时代；那是智慧的年头，那是愚昧的年头；那是信仰的时期，那是怀疑的时期；那是光明的季节，那是黑暗的季节；那是希望的春天，那是失望的冬天；我们全都在直奔天堂，我们全都在直奔相反的方向--简而言之，那时跟现在非常相象，某些最喧嚣的权威坚持要用形容词的最高级来形容它。说它好，是最高级的；说它不好，也是最高级的。
英格兰宝座上有一个大下巴的国王和一个面貌平庸的王后；法兰西宝座上有一个大下巴的国王和一个面貌姣好的王后。对两国支配着国家全部财富的老爷来说，国家大局足以万岁千秋乃是比水晶还清楚的事。
那是耶稣纪元一干七百七十五年。灵魂启示在那个受到欢迎的时期跟现在一样在英格兰风行一时。骚斯柯特太太刚满了她幸福的二十五岁，王室卫队一个先知的士兵已宣布这位太太早已作好安排，要使伦敦城和西敏寺陆沉，从而为她崇高形象的出现开辟道路。即使雄鸡巷的幽灵在咄咄逼人地发出它的预言之后销声匿迹整整十二年，去年的精灵们咄咄逼人发出的预言仍跟她差不多，只是少了几分超自然的独创性而已。前不久英国国王和英国百姓才得到一些人世间的消息。那是从远在美洲的英国臣民的国会传来的。说来奇怪，这些信息对于人类的影响竟然比雄鸡巷魔鬼的子孙们的预言还要巨大。
法兰西的灵异事物大体不如她那以盾和三叉戟为标志的姐妹那么受宠。法兰西正在一个劲儿地往坡下滑，印制着钞票，使用着钞票。除此之外她也在教士们的指引下建立些仁慈的功勋，寻求点乐趣。比如判决一个青年斩去双手，用钳子拔掉舌头，然后活活烧死，因为他在一群和尚的肮脏仪仗队从五六十码之外他看得见的地方经过时，竟然没有跪倒在雨地里向它致敬。而在那人被处死时，生长在法兰西和挪威森林里的某些树木很可能已被“命运”这个樵夫看中，要砍倒它们，锯成木板，做成一种在历史上以恐怖著名的可以移动的架子，其中包含了一个口袋和一把铡刀。而在同一天，巴黎近郊板结的土地上某些农户的简陋的小披屋里也很可能有一些大车在那儿躲避风雨。那些车很粗糙，溅满了郊野的泥浆，猪群在它旁边嗅着，家禽在它上面栖息。这东西也极有可能已被“死亡”这个农民看中，要在革命时给它派上死囚囚车的用场。可是那“樵夫”和“农民”尽管忙个不停，却总是默不作声，蹑手蹑脚，不让人听见。因此若是有人猜想到他们已在行动，反倒会被看作是无神论和大逆不道。
英格兰几乎没有秩序和保障，难以为民族自夸提供佐证。武装歹徒胆大包天的破门抢劫和拦路翦径在京畿重地每天晚上出现。有公开的警告发表：各家各户，凡要离城外出，务须把家具什物存入家具店的仓库，以保安全。黑暗中的强盗却是大白天的城市商人。他若是被他以“老大”的身份抢劫的同行认了出来，遭到挑战，便潇洒地射穿对方的脑袋，然后扬长而去。七个强盗抢劫邮车，被押车卫士击毙了三个，卫士自己也不免“因为弹尽援绝”被那四个强盗杀死，然后邮件便被从从容容地弄走。伦敦市的市长大人，一个神气十足的大员，在特恩安森林被一个翦径的强徒喝住，只好乖乖地站住不动。那强盗竟当着众随员的面把那个显赫人物掳了个精光。伦敦监狱的囚犯跟监狱看守大打出手；法律的最高权威对着囚犯开枪，大口径短枪枪膛里填进了一排又一排的子弹和铁砂。小偷在法庭的客厅里扯下了贵族大人脖子上的钻石十字架。火枪手闯进圣.嘉尔斯教堂去检查私货，暴民们却对火枪手开枪。火枪手也对暴民还击。此类事件大家早已习以为常，见惯不惊。在这样的情况之下刽子手不免手忙脚乱。这种人无用胜于有用，却总是应接不暇。他们有时把各色各样的罪犯一大排一大排地挂起来。有时星期二抓住的强盗，星期六就绞死； 有时就在新门监狱把囚犯成打成打地用火刑烧死；有时又在西敏寺大厅门前焚烧小册子。今天处决一个穷凶极恶的杀人犯，明天杀死一个只抢了农家孩子六便士的可怜的小偷。
诸如此类的现象，还加上一千桩类似的事件，就像这样在可爱的古老的一千七百七十五年相继发生，层出不穷。在这些事件包围之中，“樵夫”和“农民”仍然悄悄地干着活，而那两位大下巴和另外两张平常的和姣好的面孔却都威风凛凛，专横地运用着他们神授的君权。一干七百七十五年就是像这样表现出了它的伟大，也把成干上万的小人物带上了他们前面的路--我们这部历史中的几位也在其中。
 
Book 1 Chapter 2 The Mail 
It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's Hill. He walked uphill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy that the horses had three times already come to a stop, beside once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbad a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty.
With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling he between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the large joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary `Wo-ho! so-ho then!' the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it--like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.
There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it hat roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, made its slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horse steamed into it, as if they had made it all.
Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheek-bones and over the ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could producesomebody in `the Captain's' pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable nondescript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred andseventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols,deposited on a substratum of cutlass. 
The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey.
`Wo-ho!' said the coachman. `So, then One more pull and you're at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it--Joe!'
`Halloa' the guard replied. 
`What o'clock do you make it, Joe?' 
`Ten minutes, good, past eleven.'
`My blood' ejaculated the vexed coachman, `and not atop of Shooter's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!'
The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail   struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side.They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman.
The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.
`Tst Joe!' cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.
What do you say, Tom?' 
They both listened. 
`I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe.'
`I say a horse at a gallop, Tom,' returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. `Gentlemen! In the king's name, all of you!'
With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.
The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step: getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of it; they remained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting. 
The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of he night made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state o] agitation.The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, an' having the pulses quickened by expectation.
The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.
`So-ho!' the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. `Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!'
The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a man's voice called from the mist, `Is that the Dover mail'
`Never you mind what it is?' the guard retorted. `Wham are you'
`Is that the Dover mail' 
`Why do you want to know' 
`I want a passenger, if it is.' 
`What passenger',
`Mr. Jarvis Lorry.'
Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.
`Keep where you are,' the guard called to the voice in the mist, `because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight.'
`What is the matter' asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. `Who wants me? Is it Jerry'
(`I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry,' growled the guard to himself. `He's hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.')
`Yes, Mr. Lorry.'
`What is the matter' 
`A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co.'
`I know this messenger, guard,' said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road--assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into he coach, shut the door, and pulled, up the window. `He may come close; there's nothing wrong.'
`I hope there ain't, but I can't make so `Nation sure of that,' said the guard, in gruff soliloquy. `Hallo you!'
`Well! And hallo you!' said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.
`Come on at a footpace! d'ye mind me? And if you've got holsters to that saddle o' yourn, don't let me see your hand go nigh 'em. For I'm a devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now let's look at you.'
The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small folded paper. The rider's horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.
`Guard!' said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.
The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye On the horseman, answered curtly, `Sir.'
`There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank. You must know Tellson's Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to drink. I may read this'
`If so be as you're quick, sir.'
He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and read--first to himself and then aloud: `"Wait at Door for Mam'selle." It's not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, RECALLED TO LIFE.'
Jerry started in his saddle. `That`s a Blazing strange answer, too,' said he, at his hoarsest.
`Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night.'
With those words the passenger opened tile coach-door and got in; not at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the hazard of originating any other kind of action.
The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to the supplementary pistolsthat he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smith's tools, a couple of torches, and a tinder-box. For he was furnished with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out, whichdid occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.
`Tom!' softly over the coach-roof. 
`Hallo, Joe.' 
`Did you hear the message' 
`I did, Joe.' 
`What did you make of it, Tom' 
`Nothing at all, Joe.'
`That's a coincidence, too,' the guard mused, `for I made the same of it myself Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding about half a gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily-splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing and the night was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill.
`After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I won't trust your fore-legs till I get you on the level,' said this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare. `"Recalled to life." That's a Blazing strange message. Much of that wouldn't do for you Jerry! I say, Jerry! You'd be in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry!' 
十一月下旬的一个星期五晚上，多佛大道伸展在跟这段历史有关的几个人之中的第一个人前面。多佛大道对此人说来就在多佛邮车的另一面。这时那邮车隆隆响着往射手山苦苦爬去。这人正随着邮车跟其他乘客一起踏着泥泞步行上山。倒不是因为乘客们对步行锻炼有什么偏爱，而是因为那山坡、那马具、那泥泞和邮件都太叫马匹吃力，它们已经三次站立不动，有一次还拉着邮车横过大路，要想叛变，把车拖回黑荒原去。好在缰绳、鞭子、车夫和卫士的联合行动有如宣读了一份战争文件的道理。那文件禁止擅自行动，因为它可以大大助长野蛮动物也有思想的理论。于是这套马便俯首投降，回头执行起任务来。
几匹马低着头、摇着尾，踩着深深的泥泞前进着，时而歪斜，时而趔趄，仿佛要从大骨节处散了开来。车夫每次让几匹马停下步子休息休息并发出警告，“哇嗬！嗦嗬，走！”他身边的头马便都要猛烈地摇晃它的头和头上的一切。那马仿佛特别认真，根本不相信邮车能够爬上坡去。每当头马这样叮叮当当一摇晃，那旅客便要吓一跳，正如一切神经紧张的旅人一样，总有些心惊胆战。
四面的山洼雾气氤氲，凄凉地往山顶涌动，仿佛是个邪恶的精灵，在寻找歇脚之地，却没有找到。那雾粘乎乎的，冰寒彻骨，缓缓地在空中波浪式地翻滚，一浪一浪，清晰可见，然后宛如污浊的海涛，彼此渗诱，融合成了一片。雾很浓，车灯只照得见翻卷的雾和几码之内的路，此外什么也照不出。劳作着的马匹发出的臭气也蒸腾进雾里，仿佛所有的雾都是从它们身上散发出来的。
除了刚才那人之外，还有两个人也在邮车旁艰难地行进。三个人都一直裹到颧骨和耳朵，都穿着长过膝盖的高统靴，彼此都无法根据对方的外表辨明他们的容貌。三个人都用尽多的障碍包裹住自己，不让同路人心灵的眼睛和肉体的眼睛看出自己的形迹。那时的旅客都很警惕，从不轻易对人推心置腹，因为路上的人谁都可能是强盗或者跟强盗有勾结。后者的出现是非常可能的，因为当时每一个邮车站，每一家麦酒店都可能有人“拿了老大的钱”，这些人从老板到最糟糕的马厩里的莫名其妙的人都有，这类花样非常可能出现。一千七百七十五年十一月底的那个星期五晚上，多佛邮车的押车卫士心里就是这么想的。那时他正随着隆隆响着的邮车往射手山上爬。他站在邮件车厢后面自己的专用踏板上，跺着脚，眼睛不时瞧着面前的武器箱，手也搁在那箱上。箱里有一把子弹上膛的大口径短抢，下面是六或八支上好子弹的马枪，底层还有一把短剑。
多佛邮车像平时一样“愉快和睦”：押车的对旅客不放心，旅客彼此不放心，对押车的也不放心，他们对任何人都不放心，车夫也是对谁都不放心，他放心的只有马。他可以问心无愧地把手放在《圣经》上发誓，他相信这套马并不适合拉这趟车。
“喔嗬！”赶车的说。“加劲！再有一段就到顶了，你们就可以他妈的下地狱了！赶你们上山可真叫我受够了罪！乔！”
“啊！”卫兵回答。
“儿点钟了，你估计，乔？”
“十一点过十分，没错。”
“操！”赶车的心烦意乱，叫道，“还没爬上射手山！啐！哟，拉呀！”
那认真的头马到做出个动作表示坚决反对，就被一鞭子抽了回去，只好苦挨苦挣着往上拉，另外三匹马也跟着学样。多佛邮车再度向上挣扎。旅客的长统靴在邮车旁踩着烂泥叭卿叭哪地响。刚才邮车停下时他们也停下了，他们总跟它形影不离。如果三人之中有人胆大包天敢向另一个人建议往前赶几步走进雾气和黑暗中去，他就大有可能立即被人当作强盗枪杀。
最后的一番苦挣扎终于把邮车拉上了坡顶。马匹停下脚步喘了喘气，押车卫士下来给车轮拉紧了刹车，然后打开车门让旅客上去。
“你听，乔！”赶车的从座位上往下望着，用警惕的口吻叫道。
“你说什么，汤姆？”
两人都听。
“我看是有匹马小跑过来了。”
“我可说是有匹马快跑过来了，汤姆，”卫士回答。他放掉车门,敏捷地跳上踏板。“先生们：以国王的名义，大家注意！”
他仓促地叫了一声，便扳开几支大口径短抢的机头，作好防守准备。
本故事记述的那位旅客已踩在邮车踏板上，正要上车，另外两位乘客也已紧随在后，准备跟着进去。这时那人却踩着踏板不动了--他半边身子进了邮车，半边却留在外面，那两人停在他身后的路上。三个人都从车夫望向卫士，又从卫士望向车夫，也都在听。车夫回头望着，卫兵回头望着，连那认真的头马也两耳一竖，回头看了看，并没有表示抗议。
邮车的挣扎和隆隆声停止了，随之而来的沉寂使夜显得分外安谧平静，寂无声息。马匹喘着气，传给邮车一份轻微的震颤，使邮车也仿佛激动起来，连旅客的心跳都似乎可以听见。不过说到底，从那寂静的小憩中也还听得出人们守候着什么东西出现时的喘气、屏息、紧张，还有加速了的心跳。
一片快速激烈的马蹄声来到坡上。
“嗦嗬！”卫兵竭尽全力大喊大叫。“那边的人，站住！否则我开枪了！”
马蹄声戛然而止，一阵泼刺吧唧的声音之后，雾里传来一个男入的声音，“前面是多佛邮车么？”
“别管它是什么！”卫兵反驳道，“你是什么人？”
“你们是多佛邮车么？”
“你为什么要打听？”
“若是邮车，我要找一个旅客。”
“什么旅客？”
“贾维斯.罗瑞先生。”
我们提到过的那位旅客马上表示那就是他的名字。押车的、赶车的和两位坐车的都不信任地打量着他。
“站在那儿别动，”卫兵对雾里的声音说，“我若是一失手，你可就一辈子也无法改正了。谁叫罗瑞，请马上回答。”
“什么事？”那旅客问，然后略带几分颤抖问道，“是谁找我？是杰瑞么？”
（“我可不喜欢杰瑞那声音，如果那就是杰瑞的话，”卫兵对自己咕噜道，“嘶哑到这种程度。我可不喜欢这个杰瑞。”）
“是的，罗瑞先生。”
“什么事？”
“那边给你送来了急件。Ｔ公司。”
“这个送信的我认识，卫兵，”罗瑞先生下到路上--那两个旅客忙不迭地从后面帮助他下了车，却未必出于礼貌，然后立即钻进车去，关上车门，拉上车窗。“你可以让他过来，不会有问题的。”
“我倒也希望没有问题，可我他妈的放心不下，”那卫兵粗声粗气地自言自语。“哈罗，那位！”
“嗯，哈罗！”杰瑞说，嗓子比刚才更沙哑。
“慢慢地走过来，你可别介意。你那马鞍上若是有枪套，可别让我看见你的手靠近它。我这个人失起手来快得要命，一失手飞出的就是子弹。现在让我们来看看你。”
一个骑马人的身影从盘旋的雾气中慢慢露出，走到邮车旁那旅客站着的地方。骑马人弯下身子，却抬起眼睛瞄着卫士，交给旅客一张折好的小纸片。他的马呼呼地喘着气，连人带马，从马蹄到头上的帽子都溅满了泥。
“卫兵！”旅客平静地用一种公事公办而又推心置腹的口气说。
充满警惕的押车卫士右手抓住抬起的大口径短枪，左手扶住枪管，眼睛盯住骑马人，简短地回答道，“先生。”
“没有什么好害怕的。我是台尔森银行的--伦敦的台尔森银行，你一定知道的。我要到巴黎出差去。这个克朗请你喝酒。我可以读这封信么？”
“可以，不过要快一点，先生。”
他拆开信，就着马车这一侧的灯光读了起来-一他先自己看完，然后读出了声音：“‘在多佛等候小姐。’并不长，你看，卫士。杰瑞，把我的回答告诉他们：死人复活了。”
杰瑞在马鞍上愣了一下。“回答也怪透了”，他说，嗓子沙哑到了极点。
“你把这话带回去，他们就知道我已经收到信，跟写了回信一样。路上多加小心，晚安。”
说完这几句话，旅客便打开邮车的门，钻了进去。这回旅伴们谁也没帮助他。他们早匆匆把手表和钱包塞进了靴子，现在已假装睡着了。他们再也没有什么明确的打算，只想回避一切能引起其他活动的危险。
邮车又隆隆地前进，下坡时被更浓的雾像花环似地围住。卫士立即把大口径短抢放回了武器箱，然后看了看箱里的其它枪支，看了看皮带上挂的备用手枪，再看了看座位下的一个小箱子，那箱里有几把铁匠工具、两三个火炬和一个取火盒。他配备齐全，若是邮车的灯被风或风暴刮灭（那是常有的事），他只须钻进车厢，不让燧石砸出的火星落到铺草上，便能在五分钟之内轻轻松松点燃车灯，而且相当安全。
“汤姆！”马车顶上有轻柔的声音传来。
“哈罗，乔。”
“你听见那消息了么？”
“听见了，乔。”
“你对它怎么看，汤姆？”
“什么看法都没有，乔。”
“那也是巧合，”卫士沉思着说，“因为我也什么看法都没有。”
杰瑞一个人留在了黑暗里的雾中。此刻他下了马，让他那疲惫不堪的马轻松轻松，也擦擦自己脸上的泥水，再把帽檐上的水分甩掉--帽檐里可能装上了半加仑水。他让马缰搭在他那溅满了泥浆的手臂上，站了一会儿，直到那车轮声再也听不见，夜已十分寂静，才转身往山下走去。
“从法学会到这儿这一趟跑完，我的老太太，我对你那前腿就不大放心了。我得先让你平静下来，”这沙喉咙的信使瞥了他的母马一眼，说。“死人复活了！”这消息真是奇怪透顶，它对你可太不利了，杰瑞！我说杰瑞！你怕要大倒其霉，若是死人复活的事流行起来的话，杰瑞！
Book 1 Chapter 3 The Night Shadows
Wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.A solemn consideration, when enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, if some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when Ihad read but a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end. In any of the burial-places of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutable than it busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality, to me or than I am to them.
As to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritance the messenger on horseback had exactly the same possession as the King, the first Minister of State, or the richest merchant in London. So with the three passengers shut up i' the narrow compassof one lumbering old mail-coach; the were mysteries to one another, as complete as if each ha been in his own coach and six, or his own coach and sixty, with the breadth of a county between him and the next.
The messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping pretty often at ale-houses by the way to drink, but evincing tendency to keep his own counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over his eyes. He had eyes that assorted very well with that decoration, being of a surface black, with no depth in the colour or form, and much too near together--as if they were afraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kept too far apart. They had a sinister expression, under an old cocked-hat like a three-cornered spittoon, and over a great muffler for the chin and throat, which descended nearly to the wearer's knees. Whenhe stopped for drink, he moved this muffler with his left hand, only while he poured his liquor in with his right; as soon as that was done, he muffled again.
No, Jerry, no!' said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. `It wouldn't do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it wouldn't suit your line of business! Recalled--! Bust me if I don't think he'd been a drinking!'
His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, several times, to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, which was raggedly bald, he had stiff black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, and growing down hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so like smith's work, so much more like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a head of hair, that the best of players at leap-frog might have declined him, as the most dangerous man in the world to go over. 
While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the night watchman in his box at the door of Tellson's Bank, by Temple Bar, who was to deliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night took such shapes to him as arose out of the message, and took such shapes to the mare as arose out of her private topics of  uneasiness. They seemed to be numerous, for she shied at every shadow on the road.
What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon its tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To whom, likewise, the shadows of the night revealed themselves, in the forms their dozing eyes and wandering thoughts suggested.
Tellson's Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank passenger--with an arm drawn through the leathern strap, which did what lay in it to keep him from pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his comer, whenever the coach got a special jolt--nodded in his place, with half-shut eyes, the little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly gleaming through them, and the bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became the bank, and did a great stroke of business. The rattle of the harness was the chink of money, and more drafts were honoured in five minutes than even Tellson's, with all its foreign and home connexion, ever paid in thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms underground, at Tellson's, with such of their valuable stores and secrets as were known to the passenger (and it was not a little that he knew about them), opened before him, and he went in among them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle, and found them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had last seen them.
But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though the coach (in a confused way, like the presence of pain under an opiate) was always with him, there was another current of impression that never ceased to run, all through the night. He was on his way to dig some one out of a grave.
Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves before him was the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did not indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of five-and-forty by years, and they differed principally in the passions they expressed, and in the ghastliness of their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness, submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so did varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and figures. But the face was in the main one face, and every head was prematurely white. A hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this spectre:
`Buried how long'
The answer was always the same: `Almost eighteen years.'
`You had abandoned all hope of being dug out'
`Long ago.'
`You know that you are recalled to life'
`They tell me so.
`I hope you care to live'
`I can't say.'
`Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see he''
The answers to this question were various and contradictory. Sometimes the broken reply was, `Wait! It would kill me if I saw her too soon.' Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was `Take me to her.' Sometimes it was staring and bewildered, and then it was, `I don't know her. I don't understand.'
After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, and dig, dig--now, with a spade, now with a great key, now with his hands--to dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth hanging about his face and hair, he would suddenly fall away to dust. The passenger would then start to himself and lower the window, to get the reality of mist and rain on his cheek.
Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the moving patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreating by jerks, the night shadow's outside the coach would fall into the train of the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple Bar, the real business of the past day, the real strong-rooms, the real express sent after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. Out of the midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would accost it again.
`Buried how long'
`Almost eighteen years.
`I hope you care to live'
`I can't say.'
Dig--dig--dig--until an impatient movement from one of the two passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm securely through the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering forms, until his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid away into the bank and the grave.
`Buried how long'
`Almost eighteen years.'
`You had abandoned all hope of being dug out' 
`Long ago.'
The words were still in his hearing as just spoken--distinctly in his hearing as ever spoken words had been in his life--when the weary passenger started to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the shadows of the night were gone.
He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was a ridge of ploughed land, with a plough upon it where it had been left last night when the horses were unyoked; beyond, a quiet coppice-wood, in which many leaves of burning red and golden yellow still remained upon the trees. Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the sun rose bright, placid, and beautiful.
`Eighteen years!' said the passenger, looking at the sun. `Gracious Creator of day! To be buried alive for eighteen years!' 
每个人对别的人都是个天生的奥秘和奇迹--此事细想起来确实有些玄妙。晚上在大城市里我总要郑重其事地沉思，那些挤成一片一片的黑洞洞的房屋，每一幢都包含着它自己的秘密，每一幢的每一间也包含着它自己的秘密；那数以十万计的胸膛中每一颗跳动的心所想象的即使对最靠近它的心也都是秘密！从此我们可以领悟到一些令人肃然竦然的东西，甚至死亡本身。我再也不可能翻开这本我所钟爱的宝贵的书，而妄想有时间把它读完了。我再也无法窥测这渊深莫测的水域的奥秘了。我曾趁短暂的光投射到水上时瞥见过埋藏在水下的珍宝和其它东西。可这本书我才读了一页，它却已注定要咔哒一声亿万斯年地关闭起来。那水域已命定要在光线只在它表面掠过、而我也只能站在岸上对它一无所知的时候用永恒的冰霜冻结起来。我的朋友已经死了，我的邻居已经死了，我所爱的人，我灵魂的亲爱者已经死了；在那人心中永远有一种无法遏制的欲望，要把这个奥秘记录下来，传之后世。现在我已接过这个遗愿，要在我有生之年把它实现。在我所经过的这座城市的墓地里，哪里有一个长眠者的内心世界对于我能比那些忙忙碌碌的居民更为深奥难测呢？或者，比我对他们更为深奥难测呢？
在这个问题上，即在这种天然的无法剥夺的遗传素质上，这位马背上的信使跟国王、首相或伦敦城最富有的商人毫无二致。因此关在那颠簸的老邮车的狭小天地里的三个乘客彼此都是奥秘，跟各自坐在自己的六马大车或是六十马大车里的大员一样，彼此总是咫尺天涯，奥妙莫测。
那位信使步态悠闲地往回走着，常在路旁的麦酒店停下马喝上一盅。他总想保持清醒的神态，让帽檐翘起，不致遮住视线。他那眼睛跟帽子很般配，表面是黑色的，色彩和形状都缺乏深度。他的双眼靠得太近，仿佛若是分得太开便会各行其是。他眼里有一种阴险的表情，露出在翘起的三角痰盂样的帽檐之下。眼睛下面是一条大围巾，裹住了下巴和喉咙，差不多一直垂到膝盖。他停下马喝酒时，只用左手拉开围巾，右手往嘴里灌，喝完又用围巾围了起来。
“不，杰瑞，不！”信使说。他骑马走着思考着一个问题。“这对你可不利，杰瑞。杰瑞，你是个诚实的生意人，这对你的业务可是不利！死人复--他要不是喝醉了酒你就揍我！”
他带回的信息使他很为迷惘，好几次都想脱下帽子搔一搔头皮。他的头顶已秃，只剩下几根乱发。秃得乱七八糟的头顶周围的头发却长得又黑又硬，向四面支棱开，又顺着前额往下长，几乎到了那宽阔扁平的鼻子面前。那与其说是头发，倒不如说像是某个铁匠的杰作，更像是竖满了铁蒺藜的墙顶，即使是跳田鸡的能手见了也只好看作是世界上最危险的障碍，敬谢不敏。
此人骑着马小跑着往回走。他要把消息带给伦敦法学院大门旁台尔森银行门口警卫棚里的守夜的，守夜的要把消息转告银行里更高的权威。夜里的黑影仿佛是从那消息里生出的种种幻象，出现在他面前，也仿佛是令母马心神不宁的幻象横出在那牲畜面前。幻象似乎频频出现，因为她每见了路上一个黑影都要吓得倒退。
与此同时邮车正载着三个难测的奥秘轰隆轰隆、颠颠簸簸、叮叮当当地行走在萧索无聊的道路上。窗外的黑影也以乘客们睡意朦胧的眼睛和游移不定的思绪所能引起的种种幻象在他们眼前闪过。
在邮车上台尔森银行业务正忙。那银行职员半闭着眼在打瞌睡。他一条胳膊穿进皮带圈，借助它的力量使自己不至于撞着身边的乘客，也不至于在马车颠簸太厉害时给扔到车旮旯儿里去。马车车窗和车灯朦胧映入他的眼帘，他对面的旅客的大包裹便变成了银行，正在忙得不可开交。马具的响声变成了钱币的叮当，五分钟之内签署的支票数目竟有台尔森银行在国际国内业务中三倍的时间签署的总量。于是台尔森银行地下室里的保险库在他眼前打开了，里面是他所熟悉的宝贵的贮藏品和秘密（这类东西他知道得很不少）。他手执巨大的钥匙串凭借着微弱的烛光在贮藏品之间穿行，发现那里一切安全、坚实、稳定、平静，跟他上次见到时完全一样。
不过，尽管银行几乎总跟他在一起，邮车却也总跟他在一起。那感觉迷离恍惚，像是叫鸦片剂镇住的疼痛一样。此外还有一连串印象也通夜没有停止过闪动--他正要去把一个死人从坟墓里挖出来。
可是夜间的黑影并不曾指明，在那一大堆闪现在他面前的面孔中哪一张才是那被埋葬者的。但这些全是一个四十五岁男人的面孔，它们之间的差别主要在于所表现的情感和它们那憔悴消瘦的可怕形象。自尊、轻蔑，挑战、顽强、屈服、哀悼的表情一个个闪现，深陷的双颊、惨白的脸色、瘦骨嶙峋的双手和身形。但是主要的面孔只有一张，每一颗头的头发也都过早地白了。睡意朦胧的旅客一百次地问那幽灵：
“埋了多少年了？”
回答总是相同。“差不多十八年。”
“你对被挖出来已经完全放弃希望了么？”
“早放弃了。”
“你知道你复活了么？”
“他们是这样告诉我的。”
“我希望你喜欢活下去？”
“很难说。”
“你要我带她来看你么？你愿来看她么？”
对这个问题的回答前后不同，而且自相矛盾。有时那零零碎碎的回答是，“别急！我要是太早看见她，我会死掉的。”有时却是涕泗纵横，一片深情地说，“带我去看她。”有时却是瞪大了眼，满脸惶惑地说，“我不认识她，我不懂你的意思。”
在这样想象中的对话之后，那乘客又在幻想中挖呀，挖呀，挖个不止--有时用一把铁锹，有时用一把大钥匙，有时用手--要把那可怜的人挖出来。终于挖出来了，脸上和头发上还带着泥土。他可能突然消失，化为尘土。这时那乘客便猛然惊醒，放下车窗，回到现实中来，让雾和雨洒落到面颊上。
但是，即使他的眼睛在雾和雨、在闪动的灯光、路旁晃动着退走的树篱前睁了开来，车外夜里的黑影也会跟车内的一连串黑影会合在一起。伦敦法学院大门旁头有的银行大厦，昨天实有的业务，实有的保险库，派来追他的实有的急脚信使，以及他所作出的真实回答也都在那片黑影里。那幽灵一样的面孔仍然会从这一切的雾影之中冒出来。他又会跟它说话。
“埋了多久了？”
“差不多十八年。”
“我希望你想活。”
“很难说。”
挖呀-一挖呀--挖呀，直挖到一个乘客作出一个不耐烦的动作使他拉上了窗帘，把手牢牢地穿进了皮带，然后打量着那两个昏睡的人影，直到两人又从他意识中溜走，跟银行、坟墓融汇到一起。
“埋了多久了？”
“差不多十八年。”
“对于被挖出来你已经放弃了希望么？”
“早放弃了。”
这些话还在他耳里震响，跟刚说出时一样，还清清楚楚在他耳里，跟他生平所听过的任何话语一样--这时那疲劳的乘客开始意识到天已亮了，夜的影子已经消失。
他放下窗，希着窗外初升的太阳。窗外有一条翻耕过的地畦，上面有一部昨夜除去马轭后留下的铧犁。远处是一片寂静的杂树丛，还残留着许多火红的和金黄的树叶。地上虽寒冷潮湿，天空却很晴朗。太阳升了起来，赫煜、平静而美丽。
“十八年！”乘客望着太阳说。“白昼的慈祥的创造者呀！活埋了十八年！”
Book 1 Chapter 4 The Preparation
WHEN the mail got successfully to Dover, in the course of the forenoon, the head drawer at the Royal George Hotel opened the coach-door as his custom was. He did it with some flourish of ceremony, for a mail journey from London in winter was an achievement to congratulate an adventurous traveller upon.
By that time, there was only one adventurous traveller left to be congratulated; for the two others had been set down at their respective roadside destinations. The mildewy inside of the coach, with its damp and dirty straw, its disagreeable smell, and its obscurity, was rather like a larger dog-kennel. Mr. Lorry, the passenger, shaking himself out of it in chains of straw, a tangle of shaggy wrapper, flapping hat, and muddy legs, was rather like a larger sort of dog.
`There will be a packet to Calais, to-morrow, drawer'
`Yes, sir, if the weather holds and the wind sets tolerable fair. The tide will serve pretty nicely at about two in the afternoon, sir.Bed, sir'
`I shall not go to bed till night; but I want a bedroom and a barber.'
`And then breakfast, sir? Yes, sir. That way, sir, if you please. Show Concord! Gentleman's valise and hot water to Concord. Pull off gentleman's boots in Concord. (You will find a fine sea-coal fire, sir.) Fetch barber to Concord. Stir about there, now,for Concord!'
The Concord bed-chamber being always assigned to passenger by the mail, and passengers by the mail being always heavily wrapped up from head to foot, the room ha' the odd interest for the establishment of the Royal George that although but one kind of man was seen to go into it, all kinds and varieties of men came out of it. Consequently another drawer, and two porters, and several maids and the landlady, were all loitering by accident at various points of the road between the Concord and the coffee-room, when a gentle-man of sixty, formally dressed in a brown suit of clothes, pretty well worn, but very well kept, with large square cuffs and large flaps to the pockets, passed along on his way to his breakfast.
The coffee-room had no other occupant, that forenoon, than the gentleman in brown. His breakfast-table was drawn before the fire, and as he sat, with its light shining on him, waiting for the meal, he sat so still, that he might have been sitting for his portrait.
Very orderly and methodical he looked, with a hand on each knee, and a loud watch ticking a sonorous sermon under his flapped waistcoat, as though it pitted its gravity and longevity against the levity and evanescence of the brisk fire. He had a good leg, and was a little vain of it, for his brown stockings fitted sleek and close, and were of a fine texture; his shoes and buckles, too, though plain, were trim. He wore an odd little sleek crisp flaxen wig, setting very close to his head: which wig, it is to be presumed, was made of hair, but which looked far more as though it were spun from filaments of silk or glass. His linen, though not of a fineness in accordance with his stockings, was as white as the tops of the waves that broke upon the neighbouring beach, or the specks of sail that glinted in the sunlight far at sea. A face habitually suppressed and quieted, was still lighted up under the quaint wig by a pair of moist bright eyes that it must have cost their owner, in years gone by, some pains to drill to the composed and reserved expression of Tellson's Bank. He had a healthy colour in his cheeks, and his face, though lined, bore few traces of anxiety. But, perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in Tellson's Bank were principally occupied with the cares of other people; and perhaps second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, come easily off and on.
Completing his resemblance to a man who was sitting for his portrait, Mr. Lorry dropped off to sleep. The arrival of his breakfast roused him, and he said to the drawer, as he moved his chair to it:
`I wish accommodation prepared for a young lady who may come here at any time to-day. She may ask for Mr. Jarvis Lorry, or she may only ask for a gentleman from Tellson's Bank. Please to let me know.
`Yes, sir. Tellson's Bank in London, sir?'
`Yes.'
`Yes, sir. We have often times the honour to entertain your gentlemen in their travelling backwards and forwards betwixt London and Paris, sir. A vast deal of travelling, sir, in Tellson and Company's House.'
`Yes. We are quite a French House, as well as an English one.'
`Yes, sir. Not much in the habit of such travelling your-self, I think, sir?'
`Not of late years. It is fifteen years since we--since I--came last from France.'
`Indeed, sir? That was before my time here, sir. Before our people's time here, sir. The George was in other hands at that time, sir.'
`I believe so.'
`But I would hold a pretty wager, sir, that  a House like Tellson and Company was flourishing, a matter of fifty, not to speak of fifteen years ago?'
`You might treble that, and say a hundred and fifty, yet not be far from the truth.'
`Indeed, sir!'
Rounding his mouth and both his eyes, as he stepped backward from the table, the waiter shifted his napkin from his-right arm to his left, dropped into a comfortable attitude, and stood surveying the guest while he ate and drank, as from an observatory or watch-tower. According to the immemorial usage of waiters in all ages.
When Mr. Lorry had finished his breakfast, he went out for a stroll on the beach. The little narrow, crooked town of Dover hid itself away from the beach, and ran its head into the chalk cliffs, like a marine ostrich. The beach was a desert of heaps of sea and stones tumbling wildly about, and the sea did what it liked, and what it liked was destruction. It thundered at the town, and thundered at the cliffs, and brought the coast down, madly. The air among the houses was of so strong a piscatory flavour that one might have supposed sick fish went up to be dipped in it, as sick people went down to be dipped in the sea. A little fishing was done in the port, and a quantity of strolling about by night, and looking seaward: particularly at those times when the tide made, and was near flood. Small tradesmen, who did no business whatever, sometimes unaccountably realised large fortunes, and it was remarkable that nobody in the neighbourhood could endure a lamplighter.
As the day declined into the afternoon, and the air, which had been at intervals clear enough to allow the French coast to be seen, became again charged with mist and vapour, Mr. Lorry's thoughts seemed to cloud too. When dark, and he sat before the coffee-room fire, awaiting his dinner as he had awaited his breakfast, his mind was digging, digging, digging, in the live red coals.
A bottle of good claret after dinner does a digger in the red coals no harm, otherwise than as it has a tendency to throw him out of work. Mr. Lorry had been idle a lo and had just poured out his last glassful of wine complete an appearance of satisfaction as is ever to be found in an elderly gentleman of a fresh complexion who has got to the end of a bottle, when a rattling of wheels came up the narrow street, and rumbled into the inn-yard.
He set down his glass untouched. `This is Mam'selle!' said he.
In a very few minutes the waiter came in to announce that Miss Manette had arrived from London, and", happy to see the gentleman from Tellson's.
`So soon?'
Miss Manette had taken some refreshment on the road, and required none then, and was extremely anxious to see the gentleman from Tellson's immediately, if it suited his pleasure and convenience.
The gentleman from Tellson's had nothing left for it but to empty his glass with an air of stolid desperation, settle his odd little flaxen wig at the ears, and follow the waiter to Miss Manette's apartment. It was a large, dark room, furnished in a funereal manner with black horsehair, and loaded with heavy dark tables. These had been oiled, until the two tall candles on the table in the of the room were gloomily reflected on every leaf; were buried, in deep graves of black mahogany, and to speak of could be expected from them until the dug out.
The obscurity was so difficult to penetrate that Mr Lorry, picking his way over the well-worn Turkey carpet, supposed Miss Manette to be, for the moment, in some adjacent room, until, having got past the two tall candles, he saw to receive him by the table between them and the young lady of not more than seventeen, in a riding-cloak, and still holding her straw travelling-hat by its ribbon in her hand. As his eyes rested on a short, slight, pretty figure, a quantity of golden hair, a pair of blue eyes that met his own with an inquiring look, and a forehead with a singular capacity (remembering how young and smooth it was oflifting and knitting itself into an expression that was not quite one of perplexity, or wonder, or alarm or merely of a bright fixed attention, though is included all the four expressions--as his eyes rested on these things, a sudden vivid likeness passed before him, of a child whom he had held in his arms on the passage across that very Channel, one cold time, when the hail drifted heavily and the sea ran high. The likeness passed away, like a breath along the surface of the gaunt pier-glass behind her, on the frame of which, a hospital procession of negro cupids, several head-less and all cripples, were offering black baskets of Dead Sea fruit to black divinities of the feminine gender--and he made his formal bow to Miss Manette.
`Pray take a seat, sir.' In a very clear and pleasant young voice; a little foreign in its accent, but a very little indeed.
`I kiss your hand, miss,' said Mr. Lorry, with the manners of an earlier date, as he made his formal bow again, and took hisseat.
`I received a letter from the Bank, sir, yesterday, informing me that some intelligence--or discovery---
`The word is not material, miss; either word will do.'
`--respecting the small property of my poor father, whom I never saw--so long dead---'
Mr. Lorry moved in his chair, and cast a troubled look towards the hospital procession of negro cupids. As if they had any help for anybody in their absurd baskets!
`--rendered it necessary that I should go to Paris, there to communicate with a gentleman of the Bank, so good as to be despatched to Paris for the purpose.'
`Myself'
`As I was prepared to hear, sir.'
She curtseyed to him (young ladies made curtseys in those days), with a pretty desire to convey to him that she felt how much older and wiser he was than she. He made her another bow.
`I replied to the Bank, sir, that as it was considered necessary, by those who know, and who are so kind as to advise me, that I should go to France, and that as I am an orphan and have no friend who could go with me, I should esteem it highly if I might be permitted to place myself, during the journey, under that worthy gentleman's protection. The gentleman had left London, but I think a messenger was sent after him to beg the favour of his waiting for me here.'
`I was happy,' said Mr. Lorry, `to be entrusted with the charge. I shall be more happy to execute it.'
`Sir, I thank you indeed. I thank you very gratefully. It was told me by the Bank that the gentleman would explain to me the details of the business, and that I must prepare myself to find them of a surprising nature. I have done my best to prepare myself, and I naturally have a strong and eager interest to know what they are. 
`Naturally,' said Mr. Lorry. `Yes--I---'
Alter a pause, he added, again settling the crisp flaxen wig at the ears:
`It is very difficult to begin.'
He did not begin, but, in his indecision, met her glance.
The young forehead lifted itself into that singular expression--but it was pretty and characteristic, besides being singular--and she raised her hand, as if with an involuntary action she caught at, or stayed some passing shadow.
`Are you quite a stranger to me, sir?'
`Am I not?' Mr. Lorry opened his hands, and extended them outwards with an argumentative smile.
Between the eyebrows and just over the little feminine nose, the line of which was as delicate and fine as it was possible to be, the expression deepened itself as she took her seat thoughtfully in the chair by which she had hitherto remained standing. He watched her as she mused, and the moment she raised her eyes again, went on:
`In your adopted country, I presume, I cannot do better than address you as a young English lady, Miss Manette?'
`If you please, sir.'
`Miss Manette, I am a man of business. I have a business charge to acquit myself of. In your reception of it, don't heed me any more than if I was a speaking machine--truly, I am not much else. I will, with your leave, relate to you, miss, the story of one of our customers.'
`Story!'
He seemed wilfully to mistake the word she had repeated, when he added, in a hurry, `Yes, customers; in the banking business we usually call our connexion our customers. He was a French gentleman; a scientific gentleman; a man of great acquirements--a Doctor.'
`Not of Beauvais?'
`Why, yes, of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of repute in Paris. I had the honour of knowing him there. Our relations were business relations, but confidential. I was at that time in our French--House, and had been--oh! twenty years.'
`At that time--I may ask, at what time, sir?'
`I speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He married--an English lady--and I was one of the trustees. His affairs, like the affairs of many other French gentlemen and French families, were entirely in Tellson's hands. In a similar way I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or other for scores of our customers. These are mere business relations, miss; there is no friendship in them, no particular interest, nothing like sentiment. I have passed from one to another, iii the course of my business life, just as I pass from one of our customers to another in the course of my business day; in short, I have no feelings; I am a mere machine. To goon--- 
`But this is my father's story, sir; and I begin to think'--the curiously roughened forehead was very intent upon him--'that when I was left an orphan through my mother's surviving my father only two years, it was you who brought me to England. I am almost sure it was you.
Mr. Lorry took the hesitating little hand that confidingly advanced to take his, and he put it with some ceremony to his lips. He then conducted the young lady straightaway to her chair again, and, holding the chair-back with his left hand, and using his right by turns to rub his chin, pull his wig at the ears, or point what lie said, stood looking down into her face while she sat looking up into his.
`Miss Manette, it was I. And you will see how truly I spoke of myself just now, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold with my fellow-creatures are mere business relations, when you reflect that I have never seen you since. No; you have been the ward of Tellsons House since, and I have been busy with the other business of Tellsons House since. Feelings I have no time for them, no chance of them. I pass my whole life, miss, in turning an immense pecuniary Mangle.'
After this odd description of his daily routine of employment, Mr. Lorry flattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which was most unnecessary, for nothing could be flatter than its shining surface was before), and resumed his former attitude.
`So far, miss (as you have remarked), this is the story of your regretted father. Now comes the difference. If your father had not died when he did---Don't be frightened! How you start!'
She did, indeed, start. And she caught his wrist with both her hands.
`Pray,' said Mr. Lorry, in a soothing tone, bringing hi' left hand from the back of the chair to lay it on the supplicatory fingers that clasped him in so violent a tremble; `pray control your agitation--a matter of business. As I was saying---'
Her look so discomposed him that he stopped, wandered and began anew:
`As I was saying; if Monsieur Manette had not died; if he had suddenly and silently disappeared; if he had been spirited away; if it had not been difficult to guess to what dreadful place, though no art could trace him; if he had an enemy in some compatriotwho could exercise a privilege that I in my own time have known the boldest people afraid to speak of in a whisper, across the water there; for instance the privilege of filling up blank forms for the consignment of any one to the oblivion of a prison for any length of time if his wife had implored the king, the queen, the court, the clergy, for any tidings of him, and all quite in vain ;--then the history of your father would have been the history of this unfortunate gentleman, the Doctor of Beauvais. 
`I entreat you to tell me more, sir.'
`I will. I am going to. You can bear it?'
`I can bear anything but the uncertainty you leave me in at this moment.
`You speak collectedly, and you--are collected. `That good!' (Though his manner was less satisfied than hi words.) `A matter of business. Regard it as a matter o-business-business that must be done. Now if this doctor's wife, though a lady of great courage and spirit, had suffered so intensely from this cause before her little child was born---'
`The little child was a daughter, sir?'
`A daughter. A--a--matter of business--don't be distressed. Miss, if the poor lady had suffered so intensely before her little child was born, that she came to the determination of sparing the poor child the inheritance of any part of the agony she had known the pains of, by rearing her in the belief that her father was dead---No, don't kneel! In Heaven's name why should you kneel to me?'
`For the truth. O dear, good, compassionate sir, for the truth!'
`A--a matter of business. You confuse me, and how can I transact business if I am confused? Let us be clear-headed. If you could kindly mention now, for instance, what nine times ninepence are, or how many shillings in twenty guineas, it would be so encouraging. I should be so much more at my ease about your state of mind.'
Without directly answering to this appeal, she sat so still when he had very gently raised her, and the hands that had not ceased to clasp his wrists were so much more steady than they had been, that she communicated some reassurance to Mr. Jarvis Lorry.
`That's right, that's right. Courage! Business! You have business before you; useful business. Miss Manette, your mother took this course with you. And when she died--I believe broken-hearted--having never slackened her unavailing search for your father, she left you, at two years old, to grow to be blooming, beautiful, and happy, without the dark cloud upon you of living in uncertainty whether your father soon wore his heart out in prison, or wasted there through many lingering years.' 
As he said the words he looked down, with an admiring pity, on the flowing golden hair; as if he pictured to him-self that it might have been already tinged with grey.
`You know that your parents had no great possession, and that what they had was secured to your mother and to you. There has been no new discovery, of money, or of any other property; but---
He felt his wrist held closer, and he stopped. The expression in the forehead, which had so particularly attracted his notice, and which was now immovable, had deepened into one of pain and horror.
`But he has been-been found. He is alive. Greatly changed, it is too probable; almost a wreck, it is possible; though we will hope the best. Still, alive. Your father has been taken to the house of an old servant in Paris, and we are going there: I, to identify him if I can: you, to restore him to life, love, duty, rest, comfort.'
A shiver ran through her frame, and from it through his. She said, in a low, distinct, awe-stricken voice, as if she were saying it in a dream,
`I am going to see his Ghost! It will be his Ghost--not him!'
Mr. Lorry quietly chafed the hands that held his arm. `There, there, there! See now, see now! The best and the worst are known to you, now. You are well on your way to the poor wronged gentleman, and, with a fair sea voyage, and a fair land journey, you will be soon at his dear side.'
She repeated in the same tone, sunk to a whisper, `I have been free, I have been happy, yet his Ghost has never haunted me!'
`Only one thing more,' said Mr. Lorry, laying stress upon it as a wholesome means of enforcing her attention: `he has been found under another name; his own, long forgotten or long concealed. It would be worse than useless now to inquire which; worse than useless to seek to know whether he has been for years overlooked, or always designedly held prisoner. It would be worse than useless now to make any inquiries, because it would be dangerous. Better not to mention the subject, anywhere or in any way, and to remove him--for a while at all events--out of France. Even I, safe as an Englishman, and even Tellson's, important as they are to French credit, avoid all naming of the matter. I carry about me, not a scrap of writing openly referring to it. This is a secret service altogether. My credentials, entries, and memoranda, are all comprehended in the one line, "Recalled to Life;" which may mean anything. But what is the matter? She doesn't notice a word! Miss Manette!'
Perfectly still and silent, and not even fallen back in her chair, she sat under his hand, utterly insensible; with her eyes open and fixed upon him, and with that last expression looking as if it were carved or branded into her forehead. So close was her hold upon his arm, that he feared to detach himself lest he should hurt her; therefore he called out loudly for assistance without moving.
A wild-looking woman, whom even in his agitation, Mr. Lorry observed to be all of a red colour, and to have red hair, and to be dressed in some extraordinary tight fitting fashion, and to have on her head a most wonderful bonnet like a Grenadier wooden measure, and good measure too, or a great Stilton cheese, came running into the room in advance of the inn servants, and soon settled the question of his detachment from the poor young lady, by laying a brawny hand upon his chest, and sending him flying back against the nearest wall.
(`I really think this must be a man!' was Mr. Lorry's breathless reflection, simultaneously with his coming against the wall.)
`Why, look at you all!' bawled this figure, addressing the inn servants. `Why don't you go and fetch things, instead of standing there staring at me? I am not so much to look at, am I? Why don't you go and fetch things? I'll let you know, if you don't bring smelling-salts, cold water, and vinegar, quick, I will.'
There was an immediate dispersal for these restoratives, and she softly laid the patient on a sofa, and tended her with great skill and gentleness: calling her `my precious!' and `my bird!' and spreading her golden hair aside over her shoulders with great pride and care.
`And you in brown!' she said, indignantly turning to Mr. Lorry; `couldn't you tell her what you had to tell her, without frightening her to death? Look at her, with her pretty pale face and her cold hands. Do you call that being a Banker?'
Mr. Lorry was so exceedingly disconcerted by a question so hard to answer, that he could only look on, at a distance, with much feebler sympathy and humility, while the strong woman, having banished the inn servants under the mysterious penalty of `letting them know' something not mentioned if they stayed there, staring, recovered her charge by a regular series of gradations, and coaxed her to lay her drooping head upon her shoulder.
`I hope she will do well now,' said Mr. Lorry.
`No thanks to you in brown, if she does. My darling pretty!'
`I hope,' said Mr. Lorry, after another pause of feeble sympathy and humility, `that you accompany Miss Manette to France?'
`A likely thing, too!' replied the strong woman. `If it was ever intended that I should go across salt water, do you suppose Providence would have cast my lot in an island?'
This being another question hard to answer, Mr. Jarvis Lorry withdrew to consider it.
邮车上午顺利到达多佛。乔治王旅馆的帐房先生按照他的习惯打开了邮车车门，动作略带几分礼仪性的花哨，因为能在冬天从伦敦乘邮车到达这里是一项值得向具有冒险精神的旅客道贺的成就。
这时值得道贺的具有冒险精神的旅客只剩下了一个，另外两位早已在途中的目的地下了车。邮车那长了霉的车厢里满是潮湿肮脏的干草和难闻的气味，而且光线暗淡，真有点像个狗窝；而踏着链条样的干草钻出车来的旅客罗瑞先生却也哆哆嗦嗦、一身臃肿褴褛、满腿泥泞、耷拉着帽檐，颇有点像个大种的狗。
“明天有去加莱的邮船么，帐房？”
“有的，先生，若是天气不变，而且风向有利的话。下午两点左右海潮一起，就好航行了，先生。要个铺位么，先生？”
“我要到晚上才睡，不过我还是要个房间，还要个理发匠。”
“然后，就吃早饭么，先生？是，先生，照您的吩咐办。领这位先生到协和轩去！把先生的箱子、还有热水送去。进了屋先给先生脱掉靴子--里面有舒服的泥炭火。还要个理发匠。都到协和轩办事去。”
协和轩客房总是安排给邮车旅客，而邮车旅客通常是浑身上下裹得严严实实。因此在乔治王旅馆的协和轩便出现了一种别有情趣的现象：进屋时一律一个模样，出门时却有千差万别。于是另一个帐房先生、两个看门的、几个女仆和老板娘都仿佛偶然似地停留在协和轩和咖啡室之间的通道上，迟迟不去。不久，一位六十岁左右的绅士便走出门来，去用早餐。此人身穿一套出入交际场所穿的褐色礼服，那礼服有大而方的袖口，巨大的荷包盖，颇有些旧，却洗烫得很考究。
那天上午咖啡室里除了这位穿褐色礼服的先生再也没有客人。他的餐桌已拉到壁炉前面，他坐在那儿等待着早餐时，炉火照在他身上，他却一动不动，仿佛在让人给他画像。
他看上去十分整饬，十分拘谨。两手放在膝盖上，有盖的背心口袋里一只怀表大声滴答着，响亮地讲着道，仿佛要拿它的庄重与长寿跟欢乐的火焰的轻佻与易逝作对比。这人长着一双漂亮的腿，也多少以此自豪，因为他那质地上乘的褐色长袜穿在腿上裹得紧紧的，闪着光，鞋和鞋扣虽不花哨，却也精巧。他戴了一个亚麻色的小假发，式样别致，鬈曲光泽，紧紧扣在头上。据说是用头发做的，可看上去更像是甩真丝或玻璃丝纺出来的。他的衬衫虽不如长袜精美，却也白得耀眼，像拍打着附近海滩的浪尖，或是阳光中闪耀在遥远的海上的白帆。那张脸习惯性地绷着，一点表情也没有。可在那奇妙的假发之下那对光泽明亮的眼睛却闪着光辉。看来这人在训练成为台尔森银行的那种胸有城府、不动声色的表情的过程中确曾饱经磨练。他的双颊泛着健康的红晕，险上虽有皱纹，却无多少忧患的痕迹。这大约是因为台尔森银行处理秘密业务的单身行员主要是为别人的忧患奔忙，而转手的忧患也如转手的服装，来得便宜去得也容易吧！
罗瑞先生仿佛在完成请人画像的动作时睡着了，是送来的早餐惊醒了他。他拉拉椅子靠近了餐桌，对管帐的说：
“请你们安排一位小姐的食宿。她今天任何时候都可能到达。她可能来打听贾维斯.罗瑞，也可能只打听台尔森银行的人。到时请通知我。”
“是的，先生。伦敦的台尔森银行么，先生？”
“是的。”
“是的，先生。贵行人员在伦敦和巴黎之间公干时我们常有幸接待，先生。台尔森银行的出差人员不少呢。”
“不错。我们是英国银行，却有颇大的法国成份。”
“是的，先生。我看您不大亲自出差，先生？”
“近几年不大出差了。我们--我--上次去法国回来到现在已是十五个年头了。”
“真的，先生？那时候我还没来这儿呢，先生。那是在我们这批人之前，先生。乔治王旅馆那时还在别人手上，先生。”
“我相信是的。”
“可是我愿打一个不小的赌，先生，像台尔森银行这样的企业在--不说十五年--在五十年前怕就已经挺兴旺了吧？”
“你可以翻三倍，说是一百五十年前，也差不多。”
“真的，先生！”
侍者张大了嘴，瞪大了眼，从餐桌边退后了几步，把餐巾从右臂转到左臂上，然后便悠然站着，仿佛是站在天文台或是了望台上，观赏着客人吃喝，那是侍者们世代相传不知已多少年的习惯做法。
罗瑞先生吃完了早饭便到海滩上去散步。多佛小城窄窄的，弯弯的，似是一只海上的鸵鸟为了逃避海滩，一头扎进了白垩质的峭壁里。海滩是大海与石头疯狂搏战的遗迹。大海已经干完了他想干的事，而它想干的事就是破坏。它曾疯狂地袭击过城市，袭击过峭壁，也曾摧毁过海岸。街舍间流荡着浓浓的鱼腥味，使人觉得是鱼生了病便到这儿来洗淡水浴，就像生病的人到海里去洗海水浴一样。海港里有少量渔船，晚上有不少人散步，眺望海景，在海潮渐渐升起快要涨满时游人更多。这有时叫某些并不做生意的小贩莫名其妙地发了财，可奇怪的是，这附近却没有人乐意承担一个点灯夫的费用。
已是下午时分，有时清明得可以看见法国海岸的空气又蒙上了雾霭与水气。罗瑞先生的思想也似乎蒙上了雾霭。黄昏时他坐到了咖啡室的壁炉前，像早上等待早餐一样等着晚餐，这时他心里又在匆匆忙忙地挖呀，挖呀，挖呀，在燃烧得通红的煤块里挖。
饭后一瓶优质红葡萄酒对于在通红的煤块里挖掘的人除了有可能使他挖不下去之外，别无妨碍。罗瑞先生已经悠闲了许久，刚带着心满意足的神情斟上最后一杯。这位因喝完了足足一瓶酒而容光焕发的老年绅士露出了完全满足的神态。此时那狭窄的街道上却响起了辚辚的车轮声，然后隆隆的车声便响进了院子。
他放下了那一杯尚未沾唇的酒。“小姐到了！”他说。
一会儿工夫，侍者已经进来报告，曼内特小姐已从伦敦到达，很乐意跟台尔森银行的先生见面。
“这么快？”
曼内特小姐在途中已经用过点心，不想再吃什么，只是非常急于跟台尔森银行的先生见面--若是他乐意而又方便的话。
台尔森银行的先生无可奈何，只好带着麻木的豁出去了的神情灌下最后一杯酒，整了整耳边那奇怪的淡黄色小假发，跟着侍者来到了曼内特小姐的屋子。那是一间阴暗的大屋，像丧礼一样摆着黑色马毛呢面的家具和沉重的黑色桌子。几张桌子曾上过多次油漆。摆在大屋正中桌面上的两枝高高的蜡烛只能模糊地反映在一张张桌面上，仿佛是埋葬在那黑色的桃花心木坟墓的深处，若是不挖掘，就别想它们发出光来。
那黑暗很难穿透，在罗瑞先生踩着破旧的土耳其地毯小心翼翼走去时，一时竟以为曼内特小姐是在隔壁的屋里，直到他走过那两枝蜡烛之后，才发现这一位不到十七岁的小姐正站在他和壁炉之间的桌边迎接他。那小姐披了一件骑马披风，旅行草帽的带子还捏在手里。他的目光落在了一个娇小美丽的身躯，一大堆金色的秀发，一双用询问的神色迎接着他的蓝色眼睛，还有一个那么年轻光洁、却具有那么独特的能力、可以时而抬起时而攒聚的前额上。那额头所露出的表情不完全是困惑、迷惘或是惊觉，也不仅仅是一种聪明集中的专注，不过它也包括了这四种表情。他一看到这一切，眼前便突然闪过一种强烈的似曾相识之感。那是一个孩子，他在跨越那海峡时曾抱在怀里的孩子。那天很冷，空中冰雹闪掠，海里浊浪排空。那印象消失了，可以说像呵在她身后那窄而高的穿衣镜上的一口气一样消失了。镜框上是像到医院探视病人的一群黑种小爱神，全都缺胳膊少腿，有的还没有脑袋，都在向黑皮肤的女神奉献盛满死海水果的黑色花篮--他向曼内特小姐郑重地鞠躬致敬。
“请坐，先生。”年轻的声音十分清脆动听，带几分外国腔调，不过不算重。
“我吻你的手，小姐。”罗瑞先生说着又用早年的仪式正式鞠了一躬，才坐下来。
“我昨天收到银行一封信，先生。通知我说有一个消息--或是一种发现--”
“用词无关紧要，两个叫法都是可以的。”
“是关于我可怜的父亲的一小笔财产的，我从来没见过他一-他已死去多年--”
罗瑞先生在椅子上动了动，带着为难的神色望了望黑色小爱神的探病队伍，仿佛他们那荒唐的篮子里会有什么对别人有用的东西。
“因此我必须去一趟巴黎。我要跟银行的一位先生接头。那先生很好，他为了这件事要专程去一趟巴黎。”
“那人就是我。”
“我估计你会这么说，先生。”
她向他行了个屈膝礼（那时年轻的妇女还行屈膝礼），同时温婉可爱地表示，她认为他比她要年长许多。他再次向她鞠了一躬。
“我回答银行说，既然了解此事而且好意向我提出建议的人认为我必须去一趟法国，而我却是个孤儿，没有亲友能与我同行，因此我若是能在旅途中得到那位可敬的先生的保护，我将十分感激。那位先生已经离开了伦敦，可我认为已经派了信使通知他，请他在这儿等我。”
“我很乐意接受这项任务，”罗瑞先生说，“更高兴执行。”
“先生，我的确要感谢你，发自内心地感谢你。银行告诉我说，那位先生会向我详细说明情况，让我作好思想准备，因为那事很令人吃惊。我已作好了思想准备。我当然产生了一种强烈的、急切的兴趣，要想知道真象。”
“当然，”罗瑞先生说。“是的--我--”
他略作停顿，整了整耳边蓬松的假发。
“这事真有些不知从何说起。”
他并没有立即说起，却在犹豫时迎接了她的目光。那年轻的眉头抬了起来，流露出一种独特的表情--独特而美丽，也颇有性格--她举起手来，好像想以一个无意识的动作抓住或制止某种一闪而过的影子。
“你从来没见过我么，先生？”
“难道我见过你么？”罗瑞张开两臂，摊开了双手，带着争辩的微笑。
在她那双眉之间、在她小巧的女性鼻子的上方出现了一道淡到不能再淡的纤细的皱纹。她一直站在一张椅子旁边，这时便若有所思地在椅子上坐了下来。他望着她在思索，她一抬起眼睛，他又说了下去：
“我看，在你所寄居的国家我只好称呼你英国小姐曼内特了。”
“随您的便，先生。”
“曼内特小姐，我是个生意人，我在执行一项业务工作。你在跟我来往中就把我当作一部会说话的机器好了--我实在也不过如此。你若是同意，小姐，我就把我们一个客户的故事告诉你。”
“故事！”
他似乎有意要曲解她所重复的那个词，匆匆补充道，“是的，客户；在银行业务中我们把跟我们有往来的人都叫做客户。他是个法国绅士；搞科学的，很有成就，是个医生。”
“不是波维人吧？”
“当然是，是波维人。跟令尊大人曼内特先生一样是波维人。这人跟令尊曼内特先生一样在巴黎也颇有名气。我在那儿有幸结识了他。我们之间是业务关系，但是彼此信任。那时我还在法国分行工作，那已是--啊！三十年前的事了。”
“那时--我可以问问是什么时候么，先生？”
“我说的是二十年前，小姐。他跟一个--英国小姐结了婚，我是他婚礼的经办人之一。他跟许多法国人和法国家庭一样把他的事务全部委托给了台尔森银行。同样，我是，或者说曾经是，数十上百个客户的经办人。都不过是业务关系，小姐；没有友谊，也无特别的兴趣和感情之类的东西。在我的业务生涯中我曾换过许多客户--现在我在业务工作中也不断换客户。简而言之，我没有感情；我只是一部机器。我再说--”
“可你讲的是我父亲的故事；我开始觉得--”她奇怪地皱紧了眉头仔细打量着他--“我父亲在我母亲去世后两年也去世了。把我带到英国来的就是你--我差不多可以肯定。”
罗瑞先生抓住那信赖地走来、却带几分犹豫想跟他握手的人的小手，礼貌地放到唇上，随即把那年轻姑娘送回了座位。然后便左手扶住椅背，右手时而擦擦面颊，时而整整耳边的假发，时而俯望着她的脸，打着手势说了下去--她坐在椅子上望着他。
“曼内特小姐，带你回来的是我。你会明白我刚才说过的话有多么真实：我没有感情，我跟别人的关系都只是业务关系。你刚才是在暗示我从那以后从来没有去看过你吧！不，从那以后你就一直受到台尔森银行的保护，我也忙于台尔森银行的其它业务。感情！我没有时间讲感情，也没有机会，小姐，我这一辈子就是在转动着一个硕大无朋的金钱机器。”
做完了这篇关于他日常工作的奇怪描述之后，罗瑞先生用双手压平了头上的亚麻色假发（那其实全无必要，因为它那带有光泽的表面已经平顺到不能再平顺了），又恢复了他原来的姿势。
“到目前为止，小姐，这只是你那不幸的父亲的故事--这你已经意识到了，现在我要讲的是跟以前不同的部分。如果令尊大人并没有在他死去时死去--别害怕，你吓得震了一下呢！”
她的确吓得震了一下。她用双手抓住了他的手腕。
“请你，”罗瑞先生安慰她说，把放在椅背上的左手放到紧抓住他的求援的手指上，那手指剧烈地颤抖着，“控制自己，不要激动--这只是业务工作。我刚才说过--”
姑娘的神色今他十分不安，他只好停下了话头，走了几步，再说下去：
“我刚才说：假定曼内特先生并没有死，而是突然无声无息地消失了；假定他是被绑架了，而那时猜出他被弄到了什么可怕的地方并不困难，难的只是找到他；如果他的某个同胞成了他的敌人，而那人却能运用某种在海的那边就连胆大包天的人也不敢悄悄谈起的特权，比如签署一张空白拘捕证就可以把任何人送进监牢，让他在任何规定的时间内被世人忘记。假定他的妻子向国王、王后、宫廷和教会请求调查他的下落，却都杳无音讯--那么，你父亲的历史也就成了这个不幸的人的历史，那波维城医生的历史。”
“我求你告诉我更多一些情况，先生。”
“我愿意。我马上就告诉你。可你能受得了么？”
“除了你现在让我感到的不安之外，我什么都受得了。”
“你这话倒还有自制力，而你--也确实镇静。好！”（虽然他的态度并不如他的话所表示的那么满意）“这是业务工作，就把它当业务工作看吧！--一种非办不可的业务。好，假定那医生的妻子虽然很有勇气，很有魄力，在孩子生下来之前遭到过严重的伤害-一”
“那孩子是女的吧，先生？”
“是女的。那是业--业务工作--你别难过。小姐，若是那可怜的太太在她的孩子出生之前遭到过极大的伤害，而她却下定了决心不让孩子承受她所承受过的任何痛若，只愿让孩子相信她的父亲已经死去，让孩子就像这样长大--不，别跪下！天啦！你为什么要向我跪下？”
“我要知道真象。啊，亲爱的，善良慈悲的先生，我要知道真象。”
“那是--是业务。你把我的心弄乱了。心弄乱了怎么能搞业务呢？咱们得要头脑清醒。如果你现在能告诉我九个九便士是多少，或是二十个畿尼合多少个先令，我就很高兴了。那我对你的心理状态也就放心了。”
在他温和地把她扶起后，她静静地坐着，虽没有回答他的请求，但抓住他的手腕的手反倒比刚才平静了许多，于是贾维斯.罗瑞先生才略微放心了些。
“说得对，说得对。鼓起勇气！这是业务工作！你面前有你的业务，你能起作用的业务，曼内特小姐，你的母亲跟你一起办过这事。而在她去世之前--我相信她的心已经碎了--一直坚持寻找你的父亲，尽管全无结果。她在你两岁时离开了你。她希望你像花朵一样开放，美丽、幸福，无论你的父亲是不久后安然出狱，还是长期在牢里消磨憔悴，你头上都没有乌云，不用提心吊胆过日子。”
他说此话时怀着赞许和怜惜的心情低头望着她那满头金色的飘洒的秀发，似乎在设想着它会立即染上灰白。
“你知道你的父母并无巨大的家产，他们的财产是由你母亲继承过来留给你的。此后再也没有发现过金钱或其它的财富，可是--”
他感到手腕捏得更紧了，便住了嘴。刚才特别引起他注意的额头上的表情已变得深沉固定，表现出了痛苦和恐惧。
“可是我们已经--已经找到了他。他还活着。只是大变了--这几乎是势所必然的。差不多成了废人--难免如此，虽然我们还可以往最好的方面希望。毕竟还，活着，你的父亲已经被接到一个他过去的仆人家里，在巴黎。我们就要到那儿去：我要去确认他，如果还认得出来的话；你呢，你要去恢复他的生命、爱、责任心，给他休息和安慰。”
她全身一阵震颤，那震颤也传遍了他的全身。她带着惶恐，仿佛梦呓一样低低地却清晰地说道：
“我要去看他的鬼魂！那将是他的鬼魂！--而不是他。”
罗瑞先生默默地摩挲着那只抓住他手臂的手，“好了，好了，好了。听我说，听我说，现在最好的和最坏的消息你都已经知道了。你马上就要去看这个蒙冤受屈的可怜人了。只要海上和陆上的旅行顺利，你很快就会到达他亲爱的身边了。”
她用同样的调子说，只是声音低得近似耳语，“我一直自由自在、无忧无虑，可他的灵魂却从没来纠缠过我。”
“还有一件事，”罗瑞先生为了引起她的注意，说时语气很重，“我们找到他时他用的是另外一个名字，他自己的名字早就被忘掉了，或是被抹掉了。现在去追究他用的是哪个名字只能是有害无益；去追究他这么多年来究竟只是遭到忽视或是有意被囚禁，也会是有害无益；现在再去追究任何问题都是有害无益的，因为很危险。这个问题以后就别再提了--无论在什么地方，无论用什么方式都别提了。只要千方百计把他弄出法国就行了。我是英国人，是安全的，台尔森银行在法国声望也很高。可就连我和银行也都要避免提起此事。我身上没有片纸只字正面提到这个问题。这完全是桩秘密业务。我的委任状、通行证和备忘录都包括在一句话里：‘死人复活了。’这适可以作任何解释。可是，怎么了？她一句话也没有听到！曼内特小姐！”
她在他的手下一动不动，一言不发，甚至没有靠到椅背上，却已完全失去了知觉。她瞪着眼睛凝望着他，还带着那最后的仿佛是雕刻在或是烙在眉梢的表情。她的手还紧紧地抓住他。他怕伤害了她，简直不敢把手抽开，只好一动不动，大声叫人来帮忙。
一个满面怒容的妇女抢在旅馆仆役之前跑进屋里。罗瑞尽管很激动，却也注意到她全身一片红色。红头发，特别的裹身红衣服。非常奇妙的女帽，像是王室卫队掷弹兵用的大容量的木质取酒器，或是一大块斯梯尔顿奶酪。这女人立即把他跟那可怜的小姐分开了--她把一只结实的手伸到他胸前一搡，便让他倒退回去，撞在靠近的墙上。
（“我简直以为她是个男人呢！”罗瑞先生撞到墙上喘不过气来时心里想道。）
“怎么，你看看你们这些人！”这个女人对旅馆仆役大叫，“你们站在这儿瞪着我干什么？我有什么好看的？为什么不去拿东西？你们若是不把嗅盐、冷水和醋拿来，我会叫你们好看的。我会的，快去！”
大家立刻走散，去取上述的解救剂了。那妇女把病人轻轻放到沙发上，很内行很体贴地照顾她，叫她作“我的宝贝”，“我的鸟儿”，而且很骄傲很小心地把她一头金发摊开披到肩上。
“你这个穿棕色衣服的，”她怒气冲冲地转向罗瑞先生，“你为什么把不该告诉她的东西告诉她，把她吓坏了？你看看她，漂亮的小脸儿一片煞白，手也冰凉。你认为这样做像个干银行的么？”
这问题很难回答，弄得罗瑞先生狼狈不堪，只好远远站着，同情之心和羞惭之感反倒受到削弱。这个健壮的女人用“若是你们再瞪着眼睛望着，我会叫你们好看的”这种没有明说的神秘惩罚轰走了旅馆仆役之后，又一步步恢复了她的工作。她哄着姑娘把她软垂的头靠在她的肩上。
“希望她现在会好些了，”罗瑞先生说。
“就是好了也不会感谢你这个穿棕色衣服的--我可爱的小美人儿！”
“我希望，”罗瑞先生带着微弱的同情与羞傀沉默了一会儿，“是你陪曼内特小姐到法国去？”
“很有可能！”那结实的妇女说。“如果有人让我过海去，你以为上帝还会把我的命运放在一个小岛上么？”
这又是一个很难回答的问题。贾维斯.罗瑞先生退到一旁思考去了。
Book 1 Chapter 5 The Wine-shop
A LARGE cask of wine had been dropped and broken, street. The accident had happened in getting it out of a cart; the cask had tumbled out with a run, the hoops had burst, and it lay on the stones just outside the door of the wine-shop, shattered like a walnut-shell.
All the people within reach had suspended their business or their idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough, irregular stones of the street, pointing every way, and designed, one might have thought, expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little pools; these were surrounded, each by its own jostling group or crowd, according to its size. Some men kneeled down, made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, or tried to help women, who bent over their shoulders to sip, before the wine had all run out between their fingers. Others, men and women, dipped inthe puddles with little mugs of mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads, which were squeezed dry into infants mouths; others made small mud embankments, to stem the wine as it ran; others, directed by lookers-on up at high windows, darted here and there, to cut off little streams of wine that started away in new directions; others devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed pieces of the cask licking, and even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager relish. There was no drainage to carry off the wine, and not only did it all get taken up, but so much mud got taken up along with it, that there might have been a scavenger in the street, if anybody acquainted with it could have believed in such a miraculous presence.
A shrill sound of laughter and of amused voices--voices of men, women, and children--resounded in the street while this wine game lasted. There was little roughness in the spot and much playfulness. There was a special companionship in it, an observable inclination on the part of every one to join some other one, which led, especially among the luckier or lighter-hearted, to frolicsome embraces, drinking of healths, shaking of hands, and even joining of hands and dancing, a dozen together. When the wine was gone, and the places where it had been most abundant were raked into a gridiron-pattern by fingers, these demonstrations ceased, as suddenly as they had broken out. The man who had left his saw sticking in the firewood he was cutting, set it in motion again; the woman who had left on a door-step the little pot of hot ashes, at which she had been trying to soften the pain in her own starved fingers and toes, or in those of her child, returned to it; men with bare arms, matted locks, and cadaverous faces, who had emerged into the winter light from cellars, moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on the scene that appeared more natural to it than sunshine.
The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left red marks on the billets; and the forehead of the woman who nursed her baby, was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her head again. Those who had been greedy with the staves of the cask, had acquired a tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so besmirched, his head more out of a long squalid bag of a night-cap than in it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy wine-lees--BLOOD.
The time was to come, when that wine too would be spilled on the street-stones, and when the stain of it would be red upon many there.
And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavy--cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want, were the lords in waiting on the saintly presence--nobles of great power all of them; but, most especially the last. Samples of a people that had undergone a terrible grinding and re-grinding in the mill, and certainly not in the fabulous mill which ground old people young, shivered at every corner, passed in and out at every doorway, looked from every window, fluttered in every vestige of a garment that the wind shock. The mill which had worked them down, was the mill that grinds young people old; the children had ancient faces and grave voices; and upon them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into every furrow of age and coming up afresh, was the sign, Hunger. It was prevalent everywhere. Hunger was pushed out of the tall houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and lines; Hunger was patched into them with straw and rag and wood and paper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum offirewood that the man sawed off; Hunger stared down from the smokeless chimneys, and started up from the filthy street that had no offal, among its refuse, of anything to eat. Hunger was the inscription on the baker's shelves, written in every small loaf of his Scanty stock of bad bread; at the sausage-shop, in every dead-dog preparation that was offered for sale. Hunger rattled its dry bones among the roasting chestnuts in the turned cylinder; Hunger was shred into atomies in every farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil. 
Its abiding place was in all things fitted to it. A narrow winding street, full of offence and stench, with other narrow winding streets diverging, all peopled by rags and nightcaps, and all smelling of rags and nightcaps, and all visible things with a brooding look upon them that looked ill. In the hunted air of the people there was yet some wild-beast thought of the possibility of turning at bay. Depressed and slinking though they were, eyes of fire were not wanting among them; nor compressed lips, white with what they suppressed; nor foreheads knitted into the likeness of the gallows-rope they mused about enduring, or inflicting. The trade signs (and they were almost as many as the shops) were, all, grim illustrations of Want. The butcher and the porkman painted up, only the leanest scrags of meat; the baker, the coarsest of meagre loaves. The people rudely pictured as drinking in the wine-shops, croaked over their scanty measures of thin wine and beer, and were gloweringly confidential together. Nothing was represented in a flourishing condition, save tools and weapons; but, the cutler's knives and axes were sharp and bright, thesmith's hammers-were heavy, and the gunmaker's stock was murderous. The crippling stones of the pavement, with their many little reservoirs of mud and water, had no footways, but broke off abruptly at the doors. The kennel, to make amends, randown the middle of the street--when it ran at all: which was only after heavy rains, and then it ran, by many eccentric fits, into the houses. Across the streets, at wide intervals, one clumsy lamp was slung by a rope and pulley; at night, when the lamplighterhad let these down, and lighted, and hoisted them again, a feeble grove of dim wicks swung in a sickly manner overhead, as if they were at sea. Indeed they were at sea, and the ship and crew were in peril of tempest.
For, the time was to come, when the gaunt scarecrows of that region should have watched the lamplighter, in their idleness and hunger, so long, as to conceive the idea of improving on his method, and hauling up men by those ropes and pulleys, to flareupon the darkness of their condition. But, the time was not come yet; and every wind that blew over France shook the rags of the scarecrows in vain, for the birds, fine of song and feather, took no warning.
The wine-shop was a comer shop, better than most other' in its appearance and degree, and the master of the wine shop had stood outside it, in a yellow waistcoat and green breeches, looking on at the struggle for the lost wine. `It'' not my affair,' said he, with a final shrug of the shoulders, `The people from the market did it. Let them bring another.
There, his eyes happening to catch the tall joker writing up his joke, he called to him across the way:
`Say, then, my Gaspard, what do you do there?'
The fellow pointed to his joke with immense significance as is often the way with his tribe. It missed its mark, and completely failed, as is often the way with his tribe too.
`What now? Are you a subject for the mad hospital?' said the wine-shop keeper, crossing the road, and obliterating the jest with a handful of mud, picked up for the purpose and smeared over it. `Why do you write in the public streets? Is there--tell me thou--is there no other place to write such words in?'
In his expostulation he dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accidentally, perhaps not) upon the joker's heart. The joke rapped it with his own, took a nimble spring upward, and came down in a fantastic dancing attitude, with one of his stained shoes jerked off his foot into his hand, and held out A joker of an extremely, not to say wolfishly practical character, he looked, under those circumstances.
`Put it on, put it on,' said the other. `Call wine, wine and finish there.' With that advice, he wiped his soiled hand upon the joker's dress, such as it was--quite deliberately, as having dirtied the 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 bean 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 own age, with a watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything, a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, strongfeatures, and great composure of manner. There was a character about Madame Defarge, from which one might have predicated 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 earrings. 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 newcustomer 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.
`How goes it, Jacques?' said one of these three to Monsieur Defarge. `Is all the spilt wine swallowed?' 
`Every drop, Jacques,' answered Monsieur Defarge.
When this interchange of christian name was effected. Madame Defarge, picking her teeth with her toothpick coughed another grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line.
`It is not often,' said the second of the three, addressing Monsieur Defarge, `that many of these miserable beasts know the taste of wine, or of anything but black bread and death. Is it not so, Jacques?'
`It is so, Jacques,' Monsieur Defarge returned.
At this second interchange of the christian name, Madame Defarge, still using her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line.
The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his empty drinking vessel and smacked his lips.
`Ah! So much the worse! A bitter taste it is that such poor cattle always have in their mouths, and hard lives they live, Jacques. Am I right, Jacques?'
`You are right, Jacques,' was the response of Monsieur Defarge.
This third interchange of the christian name was completed at the moment when Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled in her seat.
`Hold then! True!' muttered her husband. `Gentlemen--my wife!'
The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with three flourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, and giving them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner round the wine-shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness and repose of spirit, and became absorbed in it.
`Gentlemen,' said her husband, who had kept his bright eye observantly upon her, `good day. The chamber, furnished bachelor-fashion, that you wished to see, and `were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on the fifth floor. The doorway of the staircase gives on the little court-yard close to the left here,' pointing with his hand, `near to the window of my establishment. But, now that I remember, one of you has already been there, and can show the way. Gentlemen, adieu!
They paid for their wine, and left the place. The eyes of Monsieur Defarge were studying his wife at her knitting when the elderly gentleman advanced from his corner, and begged the favour of a word.
`Willingly, sir,' said Monsieur Defarge, and quietly stepped with him to the door.
Their conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the first word, Monsieur Defarge started and became deeply attentive. It had not lasted a minute, when he nodded and went out. The gentleman then beckoned to the young lady, and they,too, went out. Madame Defarge knitted with nimble fingers and steady eyebrows, and saw nothing.
Mr. Jarvis Lorry and Miss Manette, emerging from the wine-shop thus, joined Monsieur Defarge in the doorway to which he had directed his other company just before. It opened from a stinking little black court-yard, and was the general public entrance to a great pile of houses, inhabited by a great number of people. In the gloomy tile-paved entry to the gloomy tile-paved staircase, Monsieur Defarge bent down on one knee to the child of his old master, and put her hand to his lips. It was a gentle action, but not at all gently done; a very remarkable transformation had come over him in a few seconds. He had no good-humour in his face, nor any openness of aspect left, but had become a secret, angry, dangerous man.
`It is very high; it is a little difficult. Better to begin slowly.' Thus, Monsieur Defarge, in a stern voice, to Mr. Lorry, as they began ascending the stairs.
`Is he alone?' the latter whispered.
`Alone! God help him, who should be with him?' said the other, in the same low voice.
`Is he, always alone, then?'
`Yes.
`Of his own desire?'
`Of his own necessity. As he was, when I first saw him after they found me and demanded to know if I would take him, and, at my peril be discreet--has he was then, so he is now.
`He is greatly changed?'
`Changed!'
The keeper of the wine-shop stopped to strike the wall with his hand, and mutter a tremendous curse. No direct answer could have been half so forcible. Mr. Lorry's spirits grew heavier and heavier, as he and his two companions ascended higher andhigher.
Such a staircase, with its accessories, in the older and more crowded parts of Paris, would be bad enough now; but, at that time, it was vile indeed to unaccustomed and unhardened senses. Every little habitation within the great foul nest of one highbuilding--that is to say, the room or rooms within every door that opened on the general staircase--left its own heap of refuse on its own landing, besides Ringing other refuse from its own windows. The uncontrollable and hopeless mass of decomposition so engendered, would have polluted the air, even if poverty and deprivation had not loaded it wit!' their intangible impurities; the Mo bad sources combined made it almost insupportable. Through such an atmosphere, by a steep dark shaft of dirt and poison, the way lay. Yielding to his own disturbance of mind, and to his young companion's agitation, which became greater every instant, Mr. Jarvis Lorry twice stopped to rest. Each of these stoppages was made at a doleful grating, by which any languishing good airs that were left uncorrupted seemed to escape, and all spoilt and sickly vapours seemed to crawl in.Through the rusted bars, tastes, rather than glimpses, were caught of the jumbled neighbourhood; and nothing within range, nearer or lower than the summits of the two-great towers of Notre-Dame, had any promise on it of healthy life or wholesomeaspirations.
At last, the top of the staircase was gained, and they stopped for the third time. There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination and of contracted dimensions, to be ascended, before the garret story was reached. The keeper of the wine-shop,always going a little in advance, and always going on the side which Mr. Lorry took, as though he dreaded to be asked any question by the young lady, turned himself about here, and, carefully feeling in the pockets of the coat he carried over his shoulder, took out a key.
`The door is locked then, my friend?' said Mr. Lorry', surprised.
`Ay. Yes,' was the grim reply of Monsieur Defarge.
`You think it necessary to keep the unfortunate gentleman so retired?'
`I think it necessary to turn the key.' Monsieur Defarge whispered it closer in his ear, and frowned heavily.
`Why?'
`Why! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he would be frightened--rave--tear himself to pieces--die--come to I know not what harm-if his door was left open.'
`Is it possible?' exclaimed Mr. Lorry.
`Is it possible?' repeated Defarge, bitterly. `Yes. And a beautiful world we live in, when it is possible, and when many other such things are possible, and not only possible, but done--done, see you!--under that sky there, every day. Long live the Devil. Let us go on.'
This dialogue had been held in so very low a whisper, that not a word of it had reached the young lady's ears. But, by this time she trembled under such strong emotion, and her face expressed such deep anxiety, and, above all, such dread and terror, that Mr. Lorry felt it incumbent on him to speak a word or two of reassurance.
`Courage, dear miss! Courage! Business! The worst will be over in a moment; it is but passing the room-door, and the worst is over. Then, all the good you bring to him, all the relief, all the happiness you bring to him, begin. Let our good friend here, assist you on that side. That's well, friend Defarge. Come, now. Business, business!'
They went up slowly and softly. The staircase was short, and they were soon at the top. There, as it had an abrupt turn in it, they came all at once in sight of three men, whose heads were bent down close together at the side of a door, and who were intently looking into the room to which the door belonged, through some chinks or holes in the wall. On hearing footsteps close at hand, these three turned, and rose, and showed themselves to be the three of one name who had been drinking in the wine-shop.
`I forgot them in the surprise of your visit,' explained Monsieur Defarge. `Leave us, good boys; we have business' here.'
The three glided by, and went silently down.
There appearing to be no other door on that floor, and the keeper of the wine-shop going straight to this one when they were left alone, Mr. Lorry asked him in a whisper, with little anger:
`Do you make a show of Monsieur Manette?'
`I show him, in the way you have seen, to a chosen few.'
`Is that well?'
`I think it is well.'
`Who are the few? How do you choose them?'
`I choose them as real men, of my name--Jacques is my name--to whom the sight is likely to do good. Enough you are English; that is another thing. Stay there, if you please, a little moment.'
With an admonitory gesture to keep them back, he stooped, and looked in through the crevice in the wall. Soon raising his head again, he struck twice or thrice upon the door--evidently with no other object than to make a noise there With the same intention, he drew the key across it, three or four times, before he put it clumsily into the lock, and turned it as heavily as he could.
The door slowly opened inward under his hand, and he looked into the room and said something. A faint voice answered something. Little more than a single syllable could have been spoken on either side.
He looked back over his shoulder, and beckoned them cc enter. Mr. Lorry got his arm securely round the daughter waist, and held her; for he felt that she was sinking.
`A--a--a--business, business!' he urged, with a moisture that was not of business shining on his cheek. `Come in come in!'
`I am afraid of it,' she answered, shuddering.
`Of it? What?'
`I mean of him. Of my father.'
Rendered in a manner desperate, by her state and by the beckoning of their conductor, he drew over his neck the arm that shook upon his shoulder, lifted her a little, and hurried her into the room. He set her down just within the door and held her, clinging to him.
Defarge drew out the key, closed the door, locked it on the inside, took out the key again, and held it in his hand. All this he did, methodically, and with as loud and harsh an accompaniment of noise as he could make. Finally, he walked across the room with a measured tread to where the window was. He stopped there, and faced round.
The garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like, was dim and dark: for the window of dormer shape, was in truth a door in the roof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of stores from the street: unglazed, anal closing up the middle in two pieces, like any other door of French construction. To exclude the cold, one half of thin door was fast closed, and the other was opened but a very little way. Such a scanty portion of light was admitted through these means, that it was difficult, on first coming in, to see anything; and long habit alone could have slowly formed in any one, the ability to do any work requiring nicety in such obscurity. Yet, work of that kind was being done in the garret; for, with his back towards the door, and his face towards the window where the keeper of the wine-shop stood looking at him, a white-haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making shoes.
街上落下一个大酒桶，磕散了，这次意外事件是在酒桶从车上搬下来时出现的。那桶一骨碌滚了下来，桶箍散开，酒桶躺在酒馆门外的石头上，像核桃壳一样碎开了。
附近的人都停止了工作和游荡，来抢酒喝。路上的石头原很粗糙，锋芒毕露，叫人以为是有意设计来弄瘸靠近它的生物的，此时却变成了一个个小酒洼；周围站满了挤来挤去的人群，人数多少随酒洼的大小而定。有人跪下身子，合拢双手捧起酒来便喝，或是趁那酒还没有从指缝里流走时捧给从他肩上弯下身子的女人喝。还有的人，有男有女，用残缺不全的陶瓷杯子到水洼里去舀；有的甚至取下女人头上的头巾去蘸满了酒再挤到婴儿嘴里；有的用泥砌起了堤防，挡住了酒；有的则按照高处窗口的人的指示跑来跑去，堵截正要往别的方向流走的酒，有的人却在被酒泡涨、被酒渣染红的酒桶木片上下功夫，津津有味地咂着湿漉漉的被酒浸朽的木块，甚至嚼了起来。那儿完全没有回收酒的设备，可是，不但一滴酒也没有流走，而且连泥土也被刮起了一层。如果有熟悉这条街的人相信这儿也会有清道夫的话，倒是会认为此时已出现了这种奇迹。
抢酒的游戏正在进行。街上响起了尖声的欢笑和兴高采烈的喧哗--男人、女人和孩子的喧哗。这场游戏中粗鲁的成份少，快活的成份多。其中倒有一种独特的伙伴感情，一种明显的逗笑取乐的成份。这种倾向使较为幸运和快活的人彼此欢乐地拥抱、祝酒、握手，甚至使十多个人手牵着手跳起舞来。酒吸完了，酒最多的地方划出了许多像炉桥似的指爪印。这一场表演也跟它爆发时一样突然结束了。刚才把锯子留在木柴里的人又推起锯子来。刚才把盛满热灰的小罐放在门口的妇女又回到小罐那里去了-一那是用来缓和她自己或孩子饥饿的手指或脚趾的疼痛的。光着膀子、蓬松着乱发、形容枯槁的男人刚才从地窖里出来，进入冬天的阳光里，现在又回到地窖里去了；这儿又聚起一片在这一带似乎比阳光更为自然的阴云。
酒是红酒；它染红了的是巴黎近郊圣安托万的一条窄街，也染红了很多双手，很多张脸，很多双赤足，很多双木屐。锯木柴的手在柴块上留下了红印；用酒喂过婴儿的妇女的额头也染上了她重新裹上的头巾的红印。贪婪的吮吸过酒桶板的人嘴角画上了道道，把他画成了老虎。有一个调皮的高个儿也变成了老虎。他那顶像个长口袋的脏睡帽只有小部分戴在头上，此时竟用手指蘸着和了泥的酒渣在墙上写了一个字：血。
他写的那东西在街面的石板上流淌并溅满居民身上的日子马上就要来了。
此时乌云又笼罩在圣安托万的头上，适才短暂的阳光曾从他神圣的脸上驱走乌云。现在这儿又笼罩着沉沉的阴霾--寒冷、肮脏、疾病、愚昧和贫困是服侍这位圣徒的几位大老爷--他们一个个大权在握，尤其是最后一位：贫穷。这儿的人是在磨坊里饱经苦难，受过反复碾磨的人的标本--但磨他们的肯定不是那能把老头儿磨成小伙子的神磨。他们在每一个角落里发抖，在每一道门里进进出出，在一家窗户前张望。他们穿着难以蔽体的衣服在寒风中瑟缩。那碾磨着他们的是能把小伙子磨成老头儿的磨；儿童被它磨出了衰老的面容，发出了沉重的声音；它在他们的脸上，也在成年人的脸上，磨出了一道道岁月的沟畦，又钻出来四处活跃。饥饿无所不在，它专横霸道。饥饿是破烂不堪的衣服，在竹竿上，绳子上，从高高的楼房里挂了出来；饥饿用稻草、破布、木片和纸补缀在衣物上；饥饿在那人锯开的少量木柴的每一片上反复出现；饥饿瞪着大眼从不冒烟的烟囱往下看；饥饿也从肮脏的街道上飘起，那儿的垃圾堆里没有一丁点可以吃的东西。饥饿写在面包师傅的货架上，写在每一片存货无多的劣质面包上，写在腊肠店里用死狗肉做成出售的每一根腊肠上。饥饿在旋转的铁筒里的烤板栗中摇着它焦干的骨头嗒嗒作响。饥饿被切成了一个铜板一小碗的极薄的干洋芋片，用极不情愿花掉的几滴油炒着。
饥饿居住在一切适合于它居住的东西上。从一条弯曲狭窄的街道分出了许多别的弯曲狭窄的街道，街上满是犯罪和臭气，住满了衣衫褴褛、戴着睡帽的人，人人散发出褴褛的衣衫和睡帽的气味。一切可以看到的东西都阴沉着脸，望着病恹恹的一切。在人们走投无路的神色里，还带着困兽犹斗的意思。虽然大家精神萎靡，可抿紧了嘴唇、眼里冒火者也大有人在-一那嘴唇因咽下的怒气而抿得发白。也有的人眉头绞成一团，就像他们打算自己接受或让别人接受的绞索。店铺的广告（几乎每家店铺都挂着广告）也全是匮乏的象征。屠户和肉铺的广告上全是皮包骨头的碎块；面包师傅陈列的广告是最粗劣的面包片。酒店广告上拙劣地画着喝酒的客人捧着少量的淡酒和啤酒在发牢骚，满脸是愤怒和机密。没有一样东西兴旺繁荣，只有工具和武器除外。磨刀匠的刀子和斧头锋利锃亮，铁匠的锤子结实沉重，枪匠造的枪托杀气腾腾，能叫人残废的石头路面有许多水洼，盛满了泥和水。路面直通到住户门口，没有人行道，作为补偿，阳沟一直通到街道正中--若是没受到阻塞的话。可要不阻塞须得下大雨，但真下了大雨，它又会在胡乱流转之．后灌进住户屋里。每隔一段较大的距离便有一盏粗笨的路灯，用绳和滑车吊在街心。晚上，灯夫放下一盏盏的灯，点亮了，再升到空中，便成了一片暗淡微弱的灯光之林，病恹恹地挂在头上，仿佛是海上的爝火。实际上它们也确是在海上，这只小船和它的船员确已面临风暴袭来的危险。
因为，不久之后那地区闲得无聊、肚子不饱的瘦削的穷苦人在长期观察灯夫工作之后就想出了一个改进工作方法的主意：用绳和滑车把人也吊起来，用以照亮他们周围的黑暗。不过，那个时期此刻尚未到来。刮过法兰西的每一阵风都吹得穷苦人破烂的衣襟乱飘，却都不起作用，因为羽毛美丽歌声嘹亮的鸟儿们并不理会什么警告。
酒店在街角上，外形和级别都超出大多数的同行。刚才它的老板就穿着黄色的背心和绿色的裤子，站在门外看着人们争夺泼洒在地上的酒。“那不关我的事，”他最后耸了耸肩说。“是市场的人弄翻的。叫他们补送一桶来好了。”
这时他偶然见到了那高个儿在墙上写的那玩笑话，便隔着街对他叫道：
“喂，加斯帕德，你在墙上写些什么？”
那人意味深长地指了指他写的字。他们这帮人常常彼此这么做。可他这一招并不灵，对方完全不理会一-．这样的现象在这帮人之间也是常有的。
“你怎么啦？你要进疯人院么？”酒店老板走过街去，从地上抓一把烂泥涂在他的字上，把它抹掉了，说，“你干吗在大街上乱画？这种字体就没有别的地方写么，告诉我？”
说话时他那只干净手有意无意地落到了那开玩笑的人心口。那人一巴掌打开他的手，敏捷地往上一蹦，便用一种奇怪的姿势跳起舞来。一只脏鞋从脚上飞起，他又一把接住举了起来。在当时情况下，他刚才那恶作剧即使不致弄得家破入亡，也是很危险的。
“把鞋穿上，穿上，”店老板说。“来杯酒，来杯酒，就在那儿喝！”老板提出劝告之后就在那人衣服上擦了擦脏手--他是故意的，因为他那手是为他弄脏的。然后他又横过街回到了酒店。
这位酒店老板三十左右年纪，脖子粗得像公牛，一副好斗的形象。他准是燥热体质，因为虽是严寒天气，他还把外衣搭在肩头，并不穿上，而且卷起了衬衫袖子，让棕黄的胳膊直露到手肘。他有一头蓬松鬈曲的黑色短发，没戴帽子。这人肤色黝黑，目光炯炯，双眼之间分得很开，惹人注目。大体看来他脾气不坏，却透着股倔强劲，显然是个有魄力有决断想干什么就得干成的人。你可别跟他在两面是水之处狭路相逢，这人是无论用什么东西也拽不回头的。
他进屋时，他的妻子德伐日太太坐在店里柜台后面。德伐日太太跟他年龄相近，是个壮实的女人，一双机警的眼睛似乎很少望着什么东西。她的大手上戴满了戒指，五官粗大，却安详沉静。她那神态叫人相信她所经管的帐目决不会有任何差错。她对寒冷很敏感，所以用裘皮裹得严严实实，还用一条色彩鲜亮的大围巾缠在头上，只露出了两个大耳环。毛线就在她面前，她却放着没织，只是一手托着胳膊，一手拿着根牙签剔牙。她的丈夫走进酒店时她一声没吭，只轻轻咳了一下。这声咳嗽再配上她那浓眉在牙签之上微微的一抬，便是向她丈夫建议，最好在店里转一圈，看看在他过街去之后有没有新的顾客进来。
酒店老板眼珠一转，看到了一位老先生和一个年轻姑娘坐在屋角。其他的顾客没有变化：两个在玩纸牌，两个在玩骨牌，三个站在柜台前悠悠地品味着所余不多的酒。他从柜台经过时注意到那位老先生向年轻姑娘递了个眼色，“就是他。”
“你钻到那旮旯里搞什么鬼呀？”德伐日先生心想，“我又不认识你。”
可是他却装出没有注意到这两位生客的样子，只跟在柜台边喝酒的三个客人搭讪。
“怎么祥，雅克？”三人中有一个对德伐日先生说。“泼翻的酒喝，喝光了没有？”
“每一滴都喝光了，雅克，”德伐日先生回答。
就在双方互称雅克时，剔着牙的德伐日太太又轻轻地咳了一声，眉头更抬高了一些。
“这些可怜虫里有好些人，”三人中第二个对德伐日先生说，“是难得有酒喝的。他们除了黑面包和死亡的滋味之外很难尝到别的东西。是吧，雅克？”
“是这样的，雅克，”德伐日先生回答。
第二次交换着叫雅克时，德伐日太太又轻轻地咳嗽了一声，仍然十分平静地剔着牙，眉头更抬高了一些，轻轻地挪了挪身子。
现在是第三个人在说话，同时放下空酒杯咂了咂嘴唇。
“啊！那就更可怜了！这些畜生嘴里永远是苦味，日子也过得艰难。我说得对不，雅克？”
“说得对，雅克，”德伐日先生回答。
这第三次雅克叫完，德伐日太太已把牙签放到了一边，眉毛仍然高抬着，同时在座位上略微挪了挪身子。
“别说了！真的！”她的丈夫叽咕道。“先生们--这是内人！”
三个客人对德伐日太太脱下帽子，做了三个花哨的致敬动作。她点了点头，瞥了他们一眼，表示领受。然后她便漫不经心地打量了一下酒店，以一派心平气和胸怀坦荡的神气拿起毛线专心织了起来。
“先生们，”她的丈夫那双明亮的眼睛一直仔细盯着她，现在说道，“日安。你们想要看的房间--我刚才出去时你们还问起的一-就在五楼，是按单身住房配备好了家具的。楼梯连着紧靠左边的小天井，”他用手指着，“我家窗户边的小天井。不过，我想起来了，你们有个人去过，他可以带路。再见吧，先生们！”
三人付了酒钱走掉了。德伐日先生的眼睛望着他老婆织着毛线，这时那老先生从屋角走了出来，客气地要求说一句话。
“说吧，先生，”德伐日先生说，平静地跟他走到门边。
两人交换的话不多，却很干脆。德伐日先生几乎在听见第一个字时就吃了一惊，然后便很专注地听着。话没有谈到一分钟，他便点了点头走了出去。老先生向年轻姑娘做了个手势，也跟了出去。德伐日太太用灵巧的手织着毛线，眉头纹丝不动，什么也没看见。
贾维斯.罗瑞先生和曼内特小姐就这样从酒店走了出来，在德伐日先生刚才对那几个人指出的门口跟他会合了。这门里面是一个又黑又臭的小天井，外面是一个公共入口，通向一大片人口众多的住房。德伐日先生经过青砖铺地的人口走进青砖铺地的楼梯口时，对他往日的主人跪下了一只脚，把她的手放到了唇边。这原是一个温和的动作，可在他做来却并不温和。几秒钟之内他便起了惊人的变化，脸上那温和、开朗的表情完全消失了，变成了一个神秘的、怒气冲冲的危险人物。
“楼很高，有点不好走。开始时不妨慢一点。”三人开始上楼，德伐日先生用粗重的声音对罗瑞先生说。
“他是一个人么？”罗瑞先生问。
“一个人？上帝保佑他，还有谁能跟他在一起？”另一个人同样低声说。
“那么，他总是一个人？”
“是的。”
“是他自己的意思么？”
“他非如此不可。他们找到我，问我愿不愿意接手时--那对我有危险，我必须小心--他就是那样，现在还是那样。”
“他的变化很大么？”
“变化！”
酒店老板停下脚步，一拳揍在墙上，发出一声凶狠的诅咒，这个动作比什么直接的回答都更有力。罗瑞先生和两个伙伴越爬越高，心情也越来越沉重。
这样的楼梯和附属设施现在在巴黎较为拥挤的老市区就已经是够糟的了，在那时对于还不习惯的、没受过锻炼的人来说更是十分难堪。一幢大楼便是一个肮脏的窠。大楼的每一个居室-一就是说通向这道公用楼梯的每一道门里的一间或几间住房--不是把垃圾从窗口倒出去，就是把它堆在门前的楼梯口上。这样，即使贫穷困乏不曾把它看不见摸不到的肮脏笼罩住户大楼，垃圾分解所产生的无法控制、也无可救药的肮脏也能叫空气污染。而这两种污染源合在一起更叫人无法忍受。楼梯所经过的就是这样一个黑暗陡峭、带着脏污与毒素的通道。贾维斯.罗瑞因为心绪不宁，也因为他年轻的同伴越来越激动，曾两次停下脚步来休息，每次都在一道凄凉的栅栏旁边。还没有完全败坏，却已失去动力的新鲜空气似乎在从那栅栏逃逸，而一切败坏了的带病的潮气则似乎从那里扑了进来。通过生锈的栅栏可以看到乱七八糟的邻近地区，但更多的是闻到它的味道。视野之内低于圣母院两座高塔塔尖和它附近的建筑的一切没有一件具有健康的生命和远大的希望。
他们终于爬到了楼梯顶上，第三次停下了脚步。还要爬一道更陡更窄的楼梯才能到达阁楼。酒店老板一直走在前面几步，就在罗瑞先生身边，仿佛害怕那小姐会提出问题。他在这里转过身子，在搭在肩上的外衣口袋里仔细摸索了一会儿，掏出一把钥匙来。
“那么，门是锁上的么，朋友？”罗瑞先生吃了一惊，说。
“是的，不错，”德伐日的回答颇为冷峻。
“你认为有必要让那不幸的人这样隔绝人世么？”
“我认为必须把他锁起来，”德伐日先生皱紧了眉头，靠近他的耳朵低声说。，
“为什么？”
“为什么！因为他锁起来过的日子太长，若是敞开门他会害怕的，会说胡话，会把自己撕成碎片，会死，还不知道会遭到什么伤害。”
“竟然可能这样么？”罗瑞先生惊叫道。
“竟然可能么！”德伐日尖刻地重复道。“可能。我们这个世界很美好，这样的事是可能的，很多类似的事也是可能的，不但可能，而且干了出来一-干了出来，你明白不！--就在那边的天底下，每天都有人干。魔鬼万岁！咱们往前走。”
这番对话声音极低，那位小姐一个字也没有听见。可这时强烈的激动已使她浑身发抖脸上露出严重的焦虑，特别是露出害怕和恐惧。罗瑞先生感到非得说几句话安慰她一下不可了。
“勇气，亲爱的小姐！勇气！业务！最严重的困难很快就会过去。一走进门困难就过去了，然后你就可以把一切美好的东西带给他，给他安慰和快乐了。请让我们这位朋友在那边搀扶着你。好了，德伐日朋友，现在走吧。业务，业务！”
他们放轻脚步缓慢地往上爬。楼梯很短，他们很快便来到了顶上。转过一道急弯，他们突然看到有三个人弯着身子，脑袋挤在一道门边，正通过门缝或是墙洞专心地往屋里瞧着。那三人听见身后的脚步声，急忙回过头来，站直了身子。原来是在酒店喝酒的那三个同名的人。
“你们一来，我吃了一惊，竟把这三位朋友给忘了，”德伐日先生解释说，“你们都走吧，几位好伙计，我们要在这儿办点事。
那三人从他们身边侧身走过，一声不响地下了楼。
这层楼似乎再也没有别的门。酒店老板目送三人走开，才直接来到门边。罗瑞先生略有些生气地小声问道：
“你拿曼内特先生作展览么？”
“我只让经过选择的少数人看。这你已经看到了。”
“这样做好么？”
“我认为很好。”
“这少数人都是些什么人？你凭什么作选择？”
“我选中他们，因为他们是真正的男子汉，他们都使用我的名字--雅克是我的名字--让他们看看会有好处的。够了，你是英国人，是另外一回事。请你们站在这儿等一等。”
他做了一个警告的手势，让他们别再往前走，然后弯下腰，从墙上的缝隙里望了进去，随即抬起头，在门上敲了两三下--显然只是想发出声音，再没有其它的目的。怀着同样的目的他把钥匙在门上敲了三四下，才笨手笨脚地插进锁孔，大声地转动起来。
那门在他手下向里面慢慢打开。他往屋里望了望，没有出声。一点轻微的声音作了某种回答，双方都只说了一两个音节。
他回过头招呼他俩进去。罗瑞先生用手小心地搂住姑娘的腰，扶住她，因为他觉得她有些站立不稳了。
“啊一-啊--啊，业务，业务！”他给她鼓劲，但面颊上却闪动着并非业务的泪光。“进来吧，进来吧！”
“我害怕，”她发着抖，说。
“害怕什么？”
“害怕他，害怕我的父亲。”
她的情况和向导的招手使罗瑞先生无可奈何，只好把那只放在他肩上的发着抖的手臂拉到自己脖子上，扶她站直了身子，匆匆进了屋，然后放下她，扶她靠紧自己站住。
德伐日掏出钥匙，反锁上门，拔出钥匙拿在手里。这些事他做得缓慢吃力，而且故意弄出些刺耳的声音。最后，他才小心翼翼地走到窗边站住，转过头来。
阁楼原是做储藏室堆放柴禾之类的东西用的，十分阴暗；那老虎窗样的窗户其实是房顶的一道门，门上还有一个活动吊钩，是用来从街而起吊储藏品的。那门没有油漆过，是一道双扇门，跟一般法国式建筑一样，从当中关闭。为了御寒，有一扇门紧紧关闭，岳扇也只开了一条缝，诱进极少的光线。这样，乍一进门便很难看见东西。在这种幽暗的环境里，没有经过长期的适应和磨练是无法进行细致的工作的。可是现在这种工作却在这里进行着。因为一个白发老人正坐在一张矮凳上，背向着门，面向着窗户，佝偻着身子忙着做鞋。酒店老板站在窗前望着他。
Book 1 Chapter 6 The Shoemaker
`GOOD DAY!' said Monsieur Defarge, looking down at he white head that bent low over the shoemaking.
It was raised for a moment, and a very faint voice responded to the salutation, as if it were at a distance:
`Good day!'
`You are still hard at work, I see?'
After a long silence, the head was lifted for another moment, and the voice replied,   `Yes--I am working.' This time, a pair of haggard eyes had looked at the questioner, before the face had dropped again.
The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not the faintness of physical weakness, though confinement and hard fare no doubt had their part in it. Its deplorable peculiarity was, that it was the faintness of solitude and disuse. It was like the last feeble echo of a sound made long and long ago. So entirely had it lost the life and resonance of the human voice, that it affected the senses like a once beautiful colour faded away into a poor weak stain. So sunken and suppressed it was, that it was like a voice under-ground. So expressive it was, of a hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller, wearied Out by lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have remembered home and friends in such a tone before lying down to die.
Some minutes of silent work had passed: and the haggard eyes had looked up again: not with any interest or curiosity, but with a dull mechanical perception, beforehand, that the spot where the only visitor they were aware of had stood, was not yet empty.
`I want,' said Defarge, who had not removed his gaze from the shoemaker, `to let in a little more light here. You can bear a little more?'
The shoemaker stopped his work; looked with a vacant air of listening, at the floor on one side of him; then similarly, at the floor on the other side of him; then, upward at the speaker.
`What did you say?'
`You can bear a little more light?'
`I must bear it, if you let it in.' (Laying the palest shadow of a stress upon the second word.)
The opened half-door was opened a little further, and secured at that angle for the time. A broad ray of light fell into the garret, and showed the workman with an un-finished shoe upon his lap, pausing in his labour. His few common tools and various scraps of leather were at his feet and on his bench. He had a white beard, raggedly cut, but not very long, a hollow face, and exceedingly bright eyes. The hollowness and thinness of his face would have caused them to look large, under his yet dark eyebrows and his confused white hair, though they had been really otherwise; but, they were naturally large, and lookedun-naturally so. His yellow rags of shirt lay open at the throat, and showed his body to be withered and worn. He, and his old canvas frock, and his loose stockings, and all his poor tatters of clothes, had, in a long seclusion from direct light and air, faded down to such a dull uniformity of parchment-yellow, that it would have been hard to say which was which.
He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and the very bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat, with a steadfastly vacant gaze, pausing in his work. He never looked at the figure before him, without first looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he had lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never spoke, without first pandering in this manner, and forgetting to speak.
`Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?' asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward.
`What did you say?'
`Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?' `I can't say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don't know.'
But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it again.
Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the door. When he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoemaker looked up. He  showed no surprise at seeing another figure, but the unsteady fingers of one of his hands strayed to his lips as he looked at it (his lips and his nails were of the same pale lead-colour), and then the hand dropped to his work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The look and the action had occupied but an instant. 
`You have a visitor, you see,' said Monsieur Defarge.
`What did you say?'
`Here is a visitor.'
The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a hand from his work.
`Come!' said Defarge. `Here is monsieur, who knows a well-made shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working at. Take it, monsieur.'
Mr. Lorry took it in his hand.
`Tell monsieur what kind of shoe it is, and the maker's name.'
There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoe-maker replied:
`I forget what it was you asked me. What did you say?'
`I said, couldn't you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieur's information?'
`It is a lady's shoe. It is a young lady's walking-shoe. It is in the present mode. I never saw the mode. I have had a pattern in my hand.' He glanced at the shoe with some little passing touch of pride.
`And the maker's name?' said Defarge.
Now that he had no work to hold, he laid the knuckles of the right hand in the hollow of the left, and then the knuckles of the left hand in the hollow of the right, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, and so on in regular changes, without a moment's intermission. The task of recalling him from the vacancy into which he always sank when he had spoken, was like recalling some very weak person from a swoon, or endeavouring, in the hope of some disclosure, to stay the spirit of a fast-dying man.
`Did you ask me for my name?'
`Assuredly I did.'
`One Hundred and Five, North Tower.'
`Is that all?'
`One Hundred and Five, North Tower.'
With a weary sound that was not a sigh, nor a groan, he bent to work again, until the silence was again broken.
`You are not a shoemaker by trade?' said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly at him.
His haggard eyes turned to Defarge as if he would have transferred the question to him: but as no help came from that quarter, they turned back on the questioner when they had sought the ground.
`I am not a shoemaker by trade? No, I was not a shoe-maker by trade. I--I learn't it here. I taught myself. I asked leave to---'
He lapsed away, even for minutes, ringing those measured changes on his hands the whole time. His eyes came slowly back, at last, to the face from which they had wandered; when they rested on it, he started, and resumed, in the manner of a sleeper that moment awake, reverting to a subject of last night.
`I asked leave to teach myself, and I got it with much difficulty after a long while, and I have made shoes ever since.'
As he held out his hand for the shoe that had been taken from him, Mr. Lorry said, still looking steadfastly in his face:
`Monsieur Manette, do you remember nothing of me?'
The shoe dropped to the ground, and he sat looking fixedly at the questioner.
`Monsieur Manette;' Mr. Lorry laid his hand upon Defarge's arm; `do you remember nothing of this man? Look at him. Look at me. Is there no old banker, no old business, no old servant, no old time, rising in your mind, Monsieur Manette?'
As the captive of many years sat looking fixedly, by turns, at Mr. Lorry and at Defarge, some long obliterated marks of an actively intent intelligence in the middle of the fore-head, gradually forced themselves through the black mist that had fallen on him. They were overclouded again, they were fainter, they were gone; but they had been there. And so exactly was the expression repeated on the fair young face of her who had crept along the wall to a point where she could see him, and where she now stood looking at him, with hands which at first had been only raised in frightened compassion, if not even to keep him off and shut out the sight of him, but which were now extending towards him, trembling with eagerness to lay the spectral face upon her warm young breast, and love it back to life and hope--so exactly was the expression repeated (though in strongercharacters) on her fair young face, that it looked as though it had passed like a moving light, from him to her.
Darkness had fallen on him in its place. He looked at the two, less and less attentively, and his eyes in gloomy abstraction sought the ground and looked about him in the old way. Finally, with a deep long sigh, he took the shoe up, and resumed his work.
`Have you recognised him, monsieur?' asked Defarge in a whisper.
`Yes; for a moment. At first I thought it quite hope-less, but I have unquestionably seen, for a single moment, the face that I once knew so well. Hush! Let us draw further back. Hush!'
She had moved from the wall of the garret, very near to the bench on which he sat. There was something awful in his unconsciousness of the figure that could have put out its hand and touched him as lie stooped over his labour.
Not a word was spoken, not a sound was made. She stood, like a spirit, beside him, and he bent over his work.
It happened, at length, that he had occasion to change the instrument in his hand, for his shoemaker's knife. It lay on that side of him which was not the side on which she stood. He had taken it up, and was stooping to work again, when his eyes caught the skirt of her dress. He raised them, and saw her face. The two spectators started forward, hut she stayed them with a motion of her hand. She had no fear of his striking at her with the knife, though they had.
He stared at her with a fearful look, and after a while his lips began to form some words, though no sound proceeded from them. By degrees, in the pauses of his quick and laboured breathing, he was heard to say:
`What is this?'
With the tears streaming down her face, she put her two hands to her lips, and kissed them to him; then clasped them on her breast, as if she laid his ruined head there.
`You are not the gaoler's daughter?'
She sighed `No.'
`Who are you?'
Not yet trusting the tones of her voice, she sat down on the bench beside him. He recoiled, but she laid her hand upon his arm. A strange thrill struck him when she did so, and visibly passed over his frame; he laid the knife down softly, as he sat staring at her.
Her golden hair, which she wore in long curls, had been hurriedly pushed aside, and fell down over her neck. Advancing his hand by little and little, he took it up and looked at it. In the midst of the action he went astray, and, with another deep sigh, fell to work at his shoemaking.
But not for long. Releasing his arm, she laid her hand upon his shoulder. After looking doubtfully at it, two or three times, as if to be sure that it was really there, he laid down his work, put his hand to his neck, and took off a blackened string with a scrap of folded rag attached to it. He opened this, carefully, on his knee, and it contained a very little quantity of hair: not more than one or two long golden hairs, which he had, in some old day, wound on upon his finger.
He took her hair into his hand again, and looked closely at it. `It is the same. How can it be! When was it! How was it!'
As the concentrating expression returned to his forehead, he seemed to become conscious that it was in hers too. He turned her full to the light, and looked at her.
`She had laid her head upon my shoulder, that night when I was summoned out--she had a fear of my going, though I had none--and when I was brought to the North Tower they found these upon my sleeve. "You will leave me them? They can never help me to escape in the body, though they may in the spirit." Those were the words I said. I remember them very well.'
He formed this speech with his lips many times before he could utter it. But when he did find spoken words for it, they came to him coherently, though slowly.
`How was this?--Was it you?'
Once more, the two spectators started, as he turned upon her with a frightful suddenness. But she sat perfectly still in his grasp, and only said, in a low voice, `I entreat you, good gentlemen, do not come near us, do not speak, do not move!'
`Hark!' he exclaimed. `Whose voice was that?'
His hands released her as he uttered this cry, and went up to his white hair, which they tore in a frenzy. It died out, as everything but his shoemaking did die out of him, and he refolded his little packet and tried to secure it in his breast; but he still looked at her, and gloomily shook his head.
`No, no, no; you are too young, too blooming. It can't be. See what the prisoner is. These are not the hands she knew, this is not the face she knew, this is not a voice she ever heard. No, no. She was--and He was--before the slow years of the North Tower--ages ago. What is your name, my gentle angel?'
Hailing his softened tone and manner, his daughter fell upon her knees before him, with her appealing hands upon his breast.
`O, sir, at another time you shall know my name, and who my mother was, and who my father, and how I never knew their hard, hard history. But I cannot tell you at this time, and I cannot tell you here. All that I may tell you, here and now, is, that I pray to you to touch me and to bless me. Kiss me, kiss me! O my dear, my dear!'
His cold white head mingled with her radiant hair, which warmed and lighted it as though it were the light of Freedom shining on him.
`If you hear in my voice--I don't know that it is so, but I hope it is--if you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that once was sweet music in your ears, weep for it, weep for it! If you touch, in touching my hair, anything that recalls a beloved head that lay on your breast when you were young and free, weep for it, weep for it! If, when I hint to you of a Home that is before us, where I will be true to you with all my duty and with all my faithful service, I bring back the remembrance of a Home long desolate, while your poor heart pined away, weep for it, weep for it!'
She held him closer round the neck, and rocked him on her breast like a child.
`If' when I tell you, dearest dear, that your agony is over, and that I have come here to take you from it, and that we go to England to be at peace and at rest, I cause you to think of your useful life laid waste, and of our native France so wicked to you, weep for it, weep for it! And if' when I shall tell you of my name, and of my father who is living, and of my mother who is dead, you learn that I have to kneel to my honoured father, and implore his pardon for having never for his sake striven all day and lain awake and wept all night, because the love of my poor mother hid his torture from me, weep for it, weep for it! Weepfor her, then, and for me! Good gentlemen, thank God! I feel his sacred tears upon my face, and his sobs strike against my heart. O, see Thank God for us, thank God!'
He had sunk in her arms, and his face dropped on her breast: a sight so touching, yet so terrible in the tremendous wrong and suffering which had gone before it, that the two beholders covered their faces.
When the quiet of the garret had been long undisturbed, and his heaving breast and shaken form had long yielded to the calm that must follow all storms--emblem to humanity, of the rest and silence into which the storm called Life must hush at last--they came forward to raise the father and daughter from the ground. He had gradually dropped to the floor, and lay there in a lethargy, worn out. She had nestled down with him, that his head might lie upon her arm; and her hair drooping over him curtained him from the light.
`If, without disturbing him,' she said, raising her hand to Mr. Lorry as he stooped over them, after repeated blowings of his nose, `all could be arranged for our leaving Paris at once, so that, from the very door, he could be taken away---'
`But, consider. Is he fit for the journey?' asked Mr. Lorry.
`More fit for that, I think, than to remain in this city, so dreadful to him.'
`It is true,' said Defarge, who was kneeling to look on and hear. `More than that; Monsieur Manette is, for all reasons, best out of France. Say, shall I hire a carriage and post-horses?'
`That's business,' said Mr. Lorry, resuming on the shortest notice his methodical manners; `and if business is to be dune, I had better do it.'
`Then be so kind,' urged Miss Manette, `as to leave us here. You see how composed he has become, and you cannot be afraid to leave him with me now. Why should you be? If you will lock the door to secure us from interruption, I do not doubt that you will find him, when you come back, as quiet as you leave him. In any case, I will take care of him until you return, and then we will remove him straight.'
Both Mr. Lorry and Defarge were rather disinclined to this course, and in favour of one of them remaining. But, as there were not only carriage and horses to be seen to, but travelling papers; and as time pressed, for the day was drawing to an end, it came at last to their hastily dividing the business that was necessary to be done, and hurrying away to do it.
Then, as the darkness closed in, the daughter laid her head down on the hard ground close at the father's side, and watched him. The darkness deepened and deepened, and they both lay quiet, until a light gleamed through the chinks in the wall.
Mr. Lorry and Monsieur Defarge had made all ready for the journey, and had brought with them, besides travelling cloaks and wrappers, bread and meat, wine, and hot coffee. Monsieur Defarge put this provender, and the lamp he carried, on the shoemaker's bench (there was nothing else in the garret but a pallet bed), and he and Mr. Lorry roused the captive, and assisted him to his feet.
No human intelligence could have read the mysteries of his mind, in the scared blank wonder of his face. Whether he knew what had happened, whether he recollected what they had said to him, whether he knew that he was free, were questions which no sagacity could have solved. They tried speaking to him; but, he was so confused, and so very slow to answer, that they took fright at his bewilderment, and agreed for the time to tamper with him no more. He had a wild, lost manner of occasionally clasping his head in his hands, that had not been seen in him before; yet, he had some pleasure in the mere sound of his daughter's voice, and invariably turned to it when she spoke.
In the submissive way of one long accustomed to obey under coercion, he ate and drank what they gave him to eat and drink, and put on the cloak and other wrappings, that they gave him to wear. He readily responded to his daughter's drawing her arm through his, and took--and kept--her hand in both his own.
They began to descend; Monsieur Defarge going first with the lamp, Mr. Lorry closing the little procession. They had not traversed many steps of the long main staircase when he stopped, and stared at the roof and round at the walls.
`You remember the place, my father? You remember coming up here?
`What did you say?'
But, before she could repeat the question, he murmured an answer as if she had repeated it.
`Remember? No, I don't remember. It was so very long ago.'
That he had no recollection whatever of his having been brought from his prison to that house, was apparent to them. They heard him mutter, `One Hundred and Five, North Tower;' and when he looked about him, it evidently was for the strong fortress-walls which had long encompassed him. On their reaching the courtyard he instinctively altered his tread, as being in expectation of a drawbridge; and when there was no drawbridge, and he saw the carriage waiting in the open street, he dropped his daughter's hand and clasped his head again.
No crowd was about the door; no people were discernible at any of the many windows; not even a chance passer-by was in the street. An unnatural silence and desertion reigned there. Only one soul has to be seen, and that was Madame Defarge--wholeaned against the door-post, knitting, and saw nothing.
The prisoner had got into a coach, and his daughter had followed him, when Mr. Lorry's feet were arrested on the step by his asking, miserably, for his shoemaking tools and the unfinished shoes. Madame Defarge immediately called to her husband that she would get them, and went, knitting, out of the lamplight, through the court-yard. She quickly brought them down and handed them in ;--and immediately afterwards leaned against the door-post, knitting, and saw nothing.
Defarge got upon the box, and gave the word `To the Barrier!' The postilion cracked his whip, and they clattered away under the Feeble over swinging lamps.
Under the over-swinging lamps--swinging ever brighter in the better streets, and ever dimmer in the worse--and by lighted shops, gay crowds, illuminated coffee-houses, and theatre-doors, to one of the city gates. Soldiers with lanterns, at the guard-house there. `Your papers, travellers!' `See here then, Monsieur the Officer,' said Defarge, getting down, and taking him gravely apart, `these are the papers of monsieur inside, with the white head. They were consigned to me, with him, at the---' He dropped his voice, there was a flutter among the military lanterns, and one of them being handed into the coach by an arm in uniform, the eyes connected with the arm looked, not an every-day or an every-night look, at monsieur with the white head. `It is well. Forward!' from the uniform. `Adieu!' from Defarge. And so, under a short grove of feebler and feebler over swinginglamps, out under the great grove of stars.
Beneath that arch of unmoved and eternal lights; some, so remote from this little earth that the learned tell us it is doubtful whether their rays have even yet discovered it, as a point in space where anything is suffered or done: the shadows of the night were broad and black. All through the cold and restless interval, until dawn, they once more whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis Lorry--sitting opposite the buried man who had been dug out, and wondering what subtle powers were for ever lost to him, and what were capable of restoration--the old inquiry:
`I hope you care to be recalled to life?'
And the old answer:
`I can't say.'
“日安！”德伐日先生说，低头看着那个低垂着的白发的头。那人在做鞋。
那头抬起了一下，一个非常微弱的声音作了回答，仿佛来自遥远的地方。
“日安！”
“我看你工作得还是很辛苦？”
良久的沉默，然后那头才抬了起来；那声音回答说，“是--我在工作。”这一回有一双失神的眼睛望了望发问的人，然后那张脸又低了下去。
那声音之微弱今人怜悯，却也吓人，并非由于体力上的衰弱，虽然囚禁与粗劣的食物无疑都起过作用；却是由于孤独与废弃所导致的衰弱，而这正是它凄惨的特色。它仿佛是漠漠远古的声音那微弱、濒危的回响，已完全失去了人类嗓音所具有的生命力与共鸣，仿佛只是一种曾经美丽的颜色褪败成的模糊可怜的污斑。那声音很低沉，很压抑，像是从地下发出来的，令人想起在荒野里踽踽独行、疲惫不堪、饥饿待毙的旅人，那无家可归的绝望的生灵在躺下身子准备死去之前苦念着家庭和亲友时所发出的哀音。
一声不吭的工作进行了几分钟，那双失神的眼睛又抬起来望了望。眼里全无兴趣或好奇，只是模糊地机械地意识到刚才有个唯一的客人站立的地方现在还没有空出来。
“我想多放一点光线进来，”德伐日目不转睛地望着鞋匠，“你可以多接受一点么？
鞋匠停止了工作，露出一种茫然谛听的神情，望了望他身边的地板，同样望了望另一面地板，再抬头望着说话的人。
“你说什么？”
“你可以多接受一点光线么？”
“你要放进来，我只好忍受。”（“只好”两字受到很轻微的强调）
只开了一线的门开大了一些，暂时固定在了那个角度。一大片光线射进阁楼，照出鞋匠已停止了工作；．一只没做完的鞋放在他膝头上；几件平常的工具和各种皮件放在脚旁或长凳上。他长了一把白胡子，不长，修剪得很乱；面颊凹陷，眼睛异常明亮。因为面颊干瘦和凹陷，长在仍然深浓的眉毛和乱糟糟的头发之下的那双眼睛似乎显得很大，虽然实际上并非如此一-它们天生就大，可现在看去却大得不自然。他那破烂的黄衬衫领口敞开，露出瘦骨嶙峋的身子。由于长期与直接的阳光和空气隔绝，他跟他那帆布外衣、松垂的长袜和破烂的衣衫全都淡成了羊皮纸似的灰黄，混成一片，难以分清了。
他一直用手挡住眼前的光线，那手似乎连骨头都透明了。他就像这样坐着，停止了工作，直勾勾地瞪着眼。在直视眼前的人形之前，他总要东望望，西望望，仿佛已失去了把声音跟地点联系的习惯。说话之前也是如此，东看看，西看看，又忘掉了说话。
“你今天要做完那双鞋么？”德伐日问。
“你说什么？”
“你今天打算做完那双鞋么？”
“我说不清是不是打算，我想是的。我不知道。”
但是，这个问题却让他想起了他的工作，便又埋头忙起活儿来。
罗瑞先生让那姑娘留在门口，自己走上前去。他在德伐日身边站了一两分钟，鞋匠才抬起了头。他并不因见了另一个人而显得惊讶，但他一只颤巍巍的手指却在见他时放错了地方，落到了嘴唇上（他的嘴唇和指甲都灰白得像铅），然后那手又回到了活儿上，他弯下腰重新做起鞋来。那目光和身体的动作都只是一瞬间的事。
“你有客人了，你看，”德伐日先生说。
“你说什么？”
“这儿有个客人。”
鞋匠像刚才一样抬头望了望，双手还在继续工作。
“来吧！”德伐日说。“这位先生很懂得鞋的好坏。把你做的鞋让他看看。拿好，先生。”
罗瑞先生接过鞋。
“告诉这位先生这是什么鞋，是谁做的。”
这一次的停顿比刚才要长，好一会儿之后鞋匠才回了话：
“我忘了你问的话。你说的是什么？”
“我说，你能不能介绍一下这类鞋，给这位先生介绍一下情况。”
“这是女鞋，年轻女士走路时穿的。是流行的款式。我没见过那款式。可我手上有图样。”他带着瞬息即逝的一丝自豪望了望他的鞋。
“鞋匠的名字是……？”德伐日说。
现在手上再没了工件，他便把右手的指关节放在左手掌心里，然后又把左手的指关节放到右手掌心里，接着又用一只手抹了抹胡子拉碴的下巴。他就像这样一刻不停地依次摸来摸去，每说出一句话他总要落入一片空白。要想把他从那片空白之中唤醒过来简直像是维持一个极度衰弱的病人不致休克，或是维持濒于死亡者的生命，希望他能透露些什么。
“你问我的名字吗？”
“是的。”
“北塔一Ｏ五。”
“就这个？”
“北塔一０五。”
他发出了一种既非叹息也非呻吟的厌倦的声音，然后又弯腰干起活儿来，直做到沉默再度被打破。
“做鞋不是你的职业吧？”罗瑞先生注视着他说。
他那枯槁的眼睛转向了德伐日，仿佛希望把题目交给他来回答，从那儿没得到答案，他又在地下找了一会儿，才又转向提问者。
“做鞋不是我的职业么？不是。我--我是在这儿才学做鞋的。我是自学的。我请求让我--”
他又失去了记忆。这回长达几分钟，这时他那两只手又依次摸索起来。他的眼睛终于慢慢回到刚才离开的那张脸上。一见到那张脸，他吃了一惊，却又平静下来，像是那时才醒来的人，又回到了昨夜的题目上。
“我申请自学做鞋，费了很多力，花了很多时间，批准了。从那以后我就做鞋。”
他伸手想要回被拿走的鞋，罗瑞先生仍然注视着他的脸，说：
“曼内特先生，你一点都想不起我了么？”
鞋掉到地下，他坐在那儿呆望着提问题的人。
“曼内特先生，”罗瑞先生一只手放在德伐日的手臂上，“你一点也想不起这个人了么？看看他，看看我。你心里是不是还想得起以前的银行职员，以前的职业和仆人，曼内特先生？”
这位多年的囚徒坐在那儿一会儿呆望着罗瑞先生，一会儿呆望着德伐日，他额头正中已被长期抹去的聪明深沉的智力迹象逐渐穿破笼罩着它的阴霾透了出来，却随即又被遮住了，模糊了，隐没了，不过那种迹象确实出现过。可他的这些表情却都在一张年轻漂亮的面孔上准确地得到了反映。那姑娘早已沿着墙根悄悄走到一个能看见他的地点，此时正凝望着他。她最初举起了手，即使不是想把自己与他隔开，怕见到他，也是表现了一种混合着同情的恐惧。现在那手却又伸向了他，颤抖着，急于把他那幽灵样的面孔放到她温暖年轻的胸膛上去，用爱使他复活，使他产生希望--那表情在她那年轻漂亮的脸上重复得如此准确（虽是表现了坚强的性格），竟仿佛是一道活动的光从他身上移向了她。
黑暗又笼罩了他，他对两人的注视逐渐松懈下来，双眼以一种昏瞀而茫然的表情在地下找了一会儿，便又照老样子东张西望，最后发出一声深沉的长长的叹息，拿起鞋又干起了活儿。
“你认出他了么，先生？”德伐日先生问。
“认出来了，只一会儿。开头我还以为完全没有希望了，可我却在一瞬间毫无疑问地看到了那张我曾十分熟悉的面孔。嘘！咱们再退开一点，嘘！”
那姑娘已离开阁楼的墙壁，走近了老人的长凳。老人在低头干活儿，靠近他的人影几乎要伸出手来摸摸他，而他却一无所知。此中有一种东西令人肃然竦然。
没有话语，没有声音。她像精灵一样站在他身边，而他则弯着腰在干活。
终于，他放下了手中的工具，要取皮匠刀了。那刀就在他身边--不是她站立的一边。他拿起了刀，弯下腰要工作，眼睛却瞥见了她的裙子。他抬起头来，看到了她的脸。两个旁观者要走上前来，她却做了个手势，让他们别动。她并不担心他会用刀伤害她，虽然那两人有些不放心。
他恐惧地望着她，过了一会儿他的嘴唇开始做出说话的动作，虽然没有发出声音。他的呼吸急促吃力，不时停顿，却听见他一个字一个字地说了出来：
“这是什么？”
姑娘泪流满面，把双手放到唇边吻了吻，又伸向他；然后把他搂在胸前，仿佛要把他那衰迈的头放在她的怀抱里。
“你不是看守的女儿吧？”
她叹了口气，“不是。”
“你是谁？”
她对自己的声音不放心，便在他身边长凳上坐了下来。他退缩了一下，但她把手放到了他的手臂上，一阵震颤明显地通过他全身。他温和地放下了鞋刀，坐在那儿瞪大眼望着她。
她刚才匆匆掠到一边的金色长发此时又垂落到她的脖子上。他一点点地伸出手来拿起发鬟看着。这个动作才做了一半他又迷糊了，重新发出一声深沉的叹息，又做起鞋来。
但他做得并不久。她放掉他的胳膊，却把手放到了他的肩上。他怀疑地看了那手两三次，似乎要肯定它确实在那儿，然后放下了工作，把手放到自己脖子上，取下一根脏污的绳，绳上有一块卷好的布。他在膝盖上小心地把它打开，其中有少许头发；只不过两三根金色的长发，是多年前缠在他指头上扯下来的。
他又把她的头发拿在手上，仔细审视。“是同样的，怎么可能！那是什么时候的事？是怎么回事？”
在苦思的表情回到他额上时，他仿佛看到她也有同样的表情，便拉她完全转向了亮光，打量她。
“那天晚上我被叫走时，她的头放在我的肩上一-她怕我走，虽然我并不怕--我被送到北塔时，他们在我的袖子上找到了这个。‘你们可以把它留给我么？它不能帮助我的身体逃掉，虽然能让我的精神飞走。’这是我当时说的话。我记得很清楚。”
他用嘴唇做了多次动作才表示出了这些意思。但是他一旦找到了话语，话语便连贯而来，虽然来得缓慢。
“怎么样--是你吗？”
两个旁观者又吓了一跳，因为他令人害怕地突然转向了她。然而她却任凭他抓住，坦然地坐着，低声说，“我求你们，好先生们，不要过来，不要说话，不要动。”
“听：”他惊叫，“是谁的声音？”
他一面叫，一面已放松了她，然后两手伸到头上，发狂似地扯起头发来。正跟除了做鞋之外他的一切都会过去一样，这阵发作终于过去。他把他的小包卷了起来，打算重新挂到胸口，却仍然望着她，伤心地摇着头。
“不，不，不，你太年轻，太美丽，这是不可能的。看看囚犯是什么样子吧！这样的手她当年从来没看见过，这样的脸她当年从来没有看见过，这样的声音她当年从来没有听到过。不，不。她--还有他--都是很久很久以前的事了--在北塔那漫长的时间之前。你叫什么名字，我温和的天使？”
为了庆贺他变得柔和语调和态度，女儿跪倒在他面前，哀告的双手抚慰着父亲的胸口。
“啊，先生，以后我会告诉你我的名字，我的母亲是谁，我的父亲是谁，我为什么不知道他们那痛苦不堪的经历。但我现在不能告诉你，不能在这儿告诉你。我现在可以在这儿告诉你的是我请求你抚摸我，为我祝福，亲我，亲我啊，亲爱的，我亲爱的！”
他那一头凄凉的白发跟她那一头闪光的金发混到了一起，金发温暖了白发，也照亮了它，仿佛是自由的光芒照射在他的身上。
“如果你从我的声音里听出了你曾听到过的甜蜜的音乐--我不知道你会不会，但我希望会--就为它哭泣吧，为它哭泣吧！如果你在抚摸我的头发时能回想起在你自由的青年时代曾靠在你胸前的头的话，就为它哭泣吧，为它哭泣吧！若是我向你表示我们还会有一个家，我会对你一片孝心，全心全意地服侍你，这话能令你想起一个败落多年的家，因而使你的心憔悴，你就为它哭吧，哭吧！”
她更紧地搂住他的脖子，像摇孩子似的在胸前摇着他。
“如果我告诉你，我最最亲爱的人，你的痛苦已经过去，我是到这儿来带你脱离苦海的，我们要到英国去，去享受和平与安宁，因而让你想到你白白葬送的大好年华，想到我们的生地--对你这样冷酷无情的法兰西，你就哭吧！哭吧！如果我告诉你我的名字，谈起我还活着的父亲和已经死去的母亲，告诉你我应当跪在我光明磊落的父亲面前求他饶恕，因为我不曾营救过他，不曾为他通宵流泪、睡不着觉，而那是因为我可怜的母亲爱我，不肯让我知道她的痛苦。若是这样你就哭吧！哭吧！为她而哭！也为我哭！两位好先生，谢谢上帝！我感到他神圣的眼泪落在我脸上，他的呜咽抽搐在我心上！啊，你看！为我们感谢上帝吧！感谢上帝！”
他已倒在了她的怀里，他的脸落到了她的胸膛上：一个异常动人，也异常可怕的场面（因为那奇冤和惨祸）。两个在场人都不禁双手掩面。
阁楼的静谧久久不曾受到干扰，抽泣的胸膛和颤抖的身躯平静了下来。正如一切风暴之后总有静谧。那是人世的象征，被称作生命的那场风暴必然会静下来，进入休息和寂寥。两人走上前去把父女俩从地上扶了起来--老人已逐渐歪倒在地上，精疲力竭，昏睡过去。姑娘是扶着他倒下去的，让他的头落在自己的手臂上；她的金发垂了下来，挡住了他的光线。
“如果我们能把一切安排好，”她说，罗瑞先生已好几次抽动鼻孔，这时才对她弯下身来。她向他举起手说，“我们立即离开巴黎吧！不用惊醒他就能从门口把他带走--”
“可是你得考虑，他经得起长途跋涉么？”罗瑞先生问。
“这个城市对他太可怕，让他长途跋涉也比留在这儿强。”
“这倒是真的，”德伐日说，此时他正跪在地上旁观，听着他们说话。“更重要的是，有一切理由认为，曼内特先生最好是离开法国。你看，我是不是去雇一辆驿车？”
“这是业务工作，”罗瑞先生说，转瞬之间恢复了他一板一眼的工作态度。“既是业务工作，最好就由我来做。”
“那就谢谢你了，”曼内特小姐催促道，“就让我跟他留在这儿。你看，他已经平静下来。把他交给我好了，不用担心。有什么可担心的呢！如果你关上门，保证我们不受干扰，我毫不怀疑他在你回来的时候会跟你离开时一样平静。我保证尽一切努力照顾好他。你一回来我们马上就带他走。”
对这做法罗瑞先生跟德伐日都不怎么赞成。他们都很希望有一个人能留下来陪着，但是又要雇马车，又要办旅行手续；而天色又已经晚了，时间很急迫。最后他们只好把要办的事匆匆分了个工就赶着办事去了。
暮色笼罩下来，女儿把头放在硬地上，靠在父亲身旁，观察着他，两人静静地躺着。夜色越来越浓，一道光从墙壁的缝隙里透了进来。
罗瑞先生和德伐日先生已办好了旅行所需的一应事项，除了旅行外衣、围巾，还带来了夹肉面包、酒和热咖啡。德伐日先生把食品和带来的灯放到鞋匠长凳上（阁楼里除了一张草荐床之外别无他物），他跟罗瑞先生弄醒了囚徒，扶他站起身来。
人类的全部智慧怕也无法从那张脸上那惊恐茫然的表情解释他心里的神秘。他是否明白已经发生的事？他是否回忆起了他们告诉他的东西？他是否知道自己已经获得了自由？没有任何聪明的头脑能够回答。他们试着和他交谈，但是他仍然很迷糊，回答来得很缓慢。见到他那惶惑迷乱的样子，他们都感到害怕，都同意不再去惊扰他。他露出了一种从没出现过疯狂迷乱的表情，只用双手死死抱住脑袋。但-听见他女儿的声音就面露喜色，并把头向她转过去。
他们给他东西吃，他就吃；给他东西喝，他就喝；给他东西穿，他就穿；给他东西围，他就围，一副长期习惯于担惊受怕、逆来顺受的样子。他的女几揽住他的胳膊，他反应很快，立即用双手抓住她的手不放。
他们开始下楼，德伐日先生提着灯走在前面，罗瑞先生断后。他们才踏上长长的主楼梯没几步，老人便停下了脚，盯着房顶和四壁细看。
“你记得这地方么，爸爸？你记得是从这儿上去的么？”
“你说什么？”
但是不等她重复她的问题，他却喃喃地作出了回答，仿佛她已经再次问过了。
“记得？不，不记得，太久了。”
他们发现他显然已不记得从监牢被带到这屋里的事了。他们听见他低声含糊地念叨着“北塔一Ｏ五”。他向四面细看，显然是在寻找长期囚禁他的城堡坚壁。才下到天井里，他便本能地改变了步态，好像预计着前面便是吊桥。在他看到没有吊桥，倒是有马车在大街上等着他时，他便放掉女儿的手，抱紧了头。
门口没有人群；窗户很多，窗前却阒无一人，甚至街面上也没有行人。一种不自然的寂静和空旷笼罩着。那儿只看到一个人，那就是德伐日太太一-她倚在门框上织着毛线，什么都没看见。
囚徒进了马车，他的女儿也跟着上去了，罗瑞先生刚踩上踏板，却被他的问题挡住了一-老人在痛苦地追问他的皮匠工具和没做完的鞋。德伐日太太立即告诉丈夫她去取，然后便打着毛线走出灯光，进了天井。她很快便拿来了东西，递进马车--又立即靠在门框上打起毛线来，什么都没看见。
德伐日坐上驭手座位，说，“去关卡！”双手“叭”的一声挥动鞭子，一行人就在头顶昏暗摇曳的路灯下蹄声得得地上路。
马车在摇曳的路灯下走着。灯光好时街道便明亮，灯光差时街道便幽暗。他们驰过了火光点点的店铺、衣着鲜艳的人群、灯火辉煌的咖啡厅和戏院大门，往一道城门走去。提着风灯的卫兵站在岗哨小屋边。“证件，客人！”“那就看这儿，军官先生，”德伐日说，走下车把卫兵拉到一旁，“这是车里那位白头发先生的证件。文件和他都交我负责，是在一一”他放低了声音，几盏军用风灯闪烁了一下，穿制服的手臂举起一盏风灯，伸进马车，跟手臂相连的眼睛用颇不寻常的眼色望了望白发的头。“行了，走吧！”穿制服的人说。“再见！”德伐日回答。这样，他们从摇曳在头顶越来越暗淡的不长的光林里走了出去，来到浩瀚无涯的星光之林下面。
天弯里悬满并不摇曳的永恒的光点，天穹下夜的阴影广阔而幽渺。有的光点距离这小小的地球如此辽远，学者甚至告诉我们它们发出的光是否足以显示出自己尚成问题。它们只是宇宙的微尘，而在宇宙中一切都能容忍，一切都干了出来。在黎明之前整个寒冷而不安的旅途中，点点星光再一次对着贾维斯.罗瑞先生的耳朵悄悄提出了老问题--罗瑞先生面对已被埋葬又被掘出的老人坐着，猜测着老人已失去了哪一些精微的能力，哪一些能力还可以恢复：
“我希望你愿意重返人世？”
得到的还是老答案：
“我不知道。”
Book 2 Chapter 1 Five Years Later
TELLSON'S Bank by Temple Bar was an old-fashioned place, even in the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty. It was very small, very dark, very ugly, very incommodious. It was an old-fashioned place, moreover, in the moral attribute that the partners in the House were proud of its smallness, proud of its darkness, proud of its ugliness, proud of its incommodiousness. They were even boastful of its eminence in those particulars, and were fired by an empress conviction that, if it were less objectionable, it would be less   respectable. This was no passive belief, but an active weapon which they flashed at more convenient places of business. Tellson's (they said) wanted no elbow-room, Tellson's wanted no light, Tellson's wanted no embellishment. Noakes and Co.'s might, or Snooks Brothers' might; but Tellson's, thank Heaven!--- 
Any one of these partners would have disinherited his son on the question of rebuilding Tellson's. In this respect the House was much on a par with the Country; which did very often disinherit its sons for suggesting improvements in laws and customs that had long been highly objectionable, but were only the more respectable.
Thus it had come to pass, that Tellson's was the triumphant perfection of inconvenience. After bursting open a door of idiotic obstinacy with a weak rattle in its throat, you fell into Tellson's down two steps, and came to your senses in a miser-able little shop, with two little counters, where the oldest of men made your cheque shake as if the wind rustled it, while they examined the signature by the dingiest of windows, which were always under a shower-bath of mud from Fleet-street, and which were made the dingier by their own iron bars proper, and the heavy shadow of Temple Bar. If your business necessitated your seeing `the House,' you were put into a species of Condemned Hold at the back, where you meditated on a misspent life, until the House came with its hands in its pockets, and you could hardly blink at it in the dismal twilight. Your money came out of' or went into, wormy old wooden drawers, particles of which flew up your nose and down your throat when they were opened and shut. Your bank-notes had a musty odour, as if they were fast decomposing into rags again. Your plate was stowed away among the neighbouring cesspools, and evil communications corrupted its good polish in a day or two. Your deeds got into extemporised strong-rooms made of kitchens and sculleries, and fretted all the fat out of their parchments into the banking house air. Your lighter boxes of family papers went up-stairs into a Barmecide room, that always had a great dining-table in it and never had a dinner, and where, even in the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty, the first letters written to you by your old love, or by your little children, were but newly released from the horror of being ogled through the windows, by the heads exposed on Temple Bar with an insensate brutality and ferocity worthy of Abyssinia or Ashantee. 
But indeed, at that time, putting to death was a recipe much in vogue with all trades and professions, and not least of all with Tellson's. Death is Nature's remedy for all things, and why not Legislation's? Accordingly, the forger was put to death; the utterer of a bad note was put to Death; the unlawful opener of a letter was put to Death; the purloiner of forty shillings and sixpence was put to Death; the holder of a horse at Tellson's door, who made off with it, was put to Death; the coiner of a bad shilling was put to Death; the sounders of three-fourths of the notes in the whole gamut of Grime, were put to Death. Not that itdid the least good in the way of prevention--it might almost have been worth remarking that the fact was exactly the reverse--but, it cleared off (as to this world) the trouble of each particular case, and left nothing else connected with it to be looked after. Thus, Tellson's, in its day, like greater places of business, its contemporaries, had taken so many lives, that, if the heads laid low before it had been ranged on Temple Bar instead of being privately disposed of' they would probably have excluded what little light the ground floor had, in a rather significant manner.
Cramped in all kinds of dim cupboards and hutches at Tellson's, the oldest of men carried on the business gravely.
When they took a young man into Tellson's London house, they hid him somewhere till he was old. They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full Tellson flavour and blue-mould upon him. Then only was he permitted to be seen, spectacularly poring over large books, and casting his breeches and gaiters into the general weight of the establishment. 
Outside Tellson's--never by any means in it, unless called in--was an odd-job-man, an occasional porter and messenger, who served as the live sign of the house. He was never absent during business hours, unless upon an errand, and then he was represented by his son: a grisly urchin of twelve, who was his express image. People understood that Tellson's, in a stately way, tolerated the odd-job-man. The house had always tolerated some person in that capacity, and time and tide had drifted this person to the post. His surname was Cruncher, and on the youthful occasion of his renouncing by proxy the works of darkness,in the easterly parish church of Houndsditch, he had received the added appellation of Jerry.
The scene was Mr. Cruncher's private lodging in Hanging-sword-alley, Whitefriars: the time, half-past seven of the clock on a windy March morning, Anno Domini seventeen hundred and eighty. (Mr. Cruncher himself always spoke of the year of our Lord as Anna Dominoes: apparently under the impression that the Christian era dated from the invention of a popular game, by a lady who had bestowed her name upon it.)
Mr. Cruncher's apartments were not in a savoury neighbourhood, and were but two in number, even if a closet with a single pane of glass in it might be counted as one. But they were very decently kept. Early as it was, on the windy March morning, the room in which he lay a-bed was already scrubbed throughout; and between the cups and saucers arranged for breakfast, and the lumbering deal table, a very clean white cloth was spread.
Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchwork counterpane, like a Harlequin at home. At first, he slept heavily, but, by degrees, began to roll and surge in bed, until he rose above the surface, with his spiky hair looking as if it must tear the sheets to ribbons. At which juncture, he exclaimed, in a voice of dire exasperation:
`Bust me, if she ain't at it agin!'
A woman of orderly and industrious appearance rose from her knees in a corner, with sufficient haste and trepidation to show that she was the person referred to.
`What!' said Mr. Cruncher, looking out of bed for a boot.
`You're at it agin, are you?
After hailing the morn with this second salutation, he threw a boot at the woman as a third. It was a very muddy boot, and may introduce the odd circumstance connected with Mr. Cruncher's domestic economy, that, whereas he often came home afterbanking hours with clean boots, he often got up next morning to find the same boots   covered with clay.
`What,' said Mr. Cruncher, varying his apostrophe after missing his mark--'what are you, up to, Aggerawayter?'
`I was only saying my prayers.
`Saying your prayers! You're a nice woman! What do you mean by flopping yourself down and praying agin me?'
`I was not praying against you; I was praying for you.'
`You weren't. And if you were, I won't be took the liberty with. Here! your mother's a nice woman, young Jerry, going a praying agin your father's prosperity. You've got a dutiful mother, you have, my son. You've got a religious mother, you have, my boy: going and flopping herself down, and praying that the bread-and-butter may be snatched out of the mouth of her only child.'
Master cruncher (who was in his shirt) took this very ill, and, turning to his mother, strongly deprecated any praying away of his personal board.
`And what do you suppose, you conceited female,' said Mr. Cruncher, with unconscious inconsistency, `that the worth of your prayers may be? Name the price that you put your prayers at!'
`They only come from the heart, Jerry. They are worth no more than that.'
`Worth no more than that,' repeated Mr. Cruncher. `They ain't worth much, then. Whether or no, I won't be prayed agin, I tell you. I can't afford it. I'm not a going to be made unlucky by your sneaking. If you must go flopping yourself down, flop in favour of your husband and child, and not in opposition to 'em. If I had had any but a unnat'ral wife, and this poor boy had had any but a unnat'ral mother, I might have made some money last week instead of being counter-prayed and countermined and religiously circumwented into the worst of luck. B-u-u-ust me ` said Mr. Cruncher, who all this time had been putting on his clothes, `if I ain't, what with piety and one blowed thing and another, been choused this last week into as bad luck as ever a poor devil of a honest tradesman met with! Young Jerry, dress yourself, my boy, and while I clean my boots keep a eye upon your mother now and then, and if you see any signs of more flopping, give me a call. For, I tell you,' here he addressed his wife once more, `I won't be gone agin, in this manner. I am as rickety as a hackneycoach, I'm as sleepy as laudanum, my lines is strained to that degree that I shouldn't know, if it wasn't for the pain in 'em, which was me and which somebody else, yet I'm none the better for it in pocket; and it's my suspicion that you've been at it from morning to night to prevent me from being the better for it in pocket, and I won't put up with it, Aggerawayter, and what do you say now!'
Growling, in addition, such phrases as `Ah! yes! You're religious, too. You wouldn't put yourself in opposition to the interests of your husband and child, would you? Not you!' and throwing off other sarcastic sparks from the whirling grindstone of his indignation, Mr. Cruncher betook himself to his boot-cleaning and his general preparation for business. In the meantime, his son, whose head was garnished with tenderer spikes, and whose young eyes stood close by one another, as his father's did, kept the required watch upon his mother. He greatly disturbed that poor woman at intervals, by darting out of his sleepingcloset, where he made his toilet, with a suppressed cry of `You are going to flop, mother.--Halloa, father!' and, after raising this fictitious alarm, darting in again with an undutiful grin.
Mr. Cruncher's temper was not at all improved when he came to his breakfast. He resented Mrs. Cruncher's saying grace with particular animosity.
`Now, Aggerawayter! What are you up to? At it agin?'
His wife explained that she had merely `asked a blessing.'
`Don't do it!' said Mr. Cruncher, looking about, as if he rather expected to see the loaf disappear under the efficacy of his wife's petitions. `I ain't a going to be blest out of house and home. I won't have my wittles blest off my table. Keep still!'
Exceedingly red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at a party which had taken anything but a convivial turn, Jerry Cruncher worried his breakfast rather than ate it, growling over it like any four-footed inmate of a menagerie. Towards nine o'clock he smoothed his ruffled aspect, and, presenting as respectful and business-like an exterior as he could overlay his natural self with, issued forth to the occupation of the day.
It could scarcely be called a trade, in spite of his favourite description of himself as `a honest tradesman.' His stock consisted of a wooden stool, made out of a broken-backed chair cut down, which stool, young Jerry, walking at his father's side, carried every morning to beneath the banking-house window that was nearest Temple Bar: where, with the addition of the first handful of straw that could be gleaned from any passing vehicle to keep the cold and wet from the odd-job-man's feet, it formed the encampment for the day. On this post of his, Mr. Cruncher was as well known to Fleet-street and the Temple, as the Bar itself,--and was almost as ill-looking.
Encamped at a quarter before nine, in good time to touch his three-cornered hat to the oldest of men as they passed in to Tellson's, Jerry took up his station on this windy March morning, with young Jerry standing by him, when not engaged in making forays through the Bar, to inflict bodily and mental injuries of an acute description on passing boys who were small enough for his amiable purpose. Father and son, extremely like each other, looking silently on at the morning traffic in Fleet-street, with their two heads as near to one another as the two eyes of each were, bore a considerable resemblance to a pair of monkeys. The resemblance was not lessened by the accidental circumstance, that the mature Jerry bit and spat out straw, while the twinkling eyes of the youthful Jerry were as restlessly watchful of him as of everything else in Fleet-street.
The head of one of the regular indoor messengers attached to Tellson's establishment was put through the door, and the word was given.
`Porter wanted!'
`Hooray, father! Here's an early job to begin with!' 
Having thus given his parent God speed, young Jerry seated himself on the stool, entered on his reversionary interest in the straw his father had been chewing, and cogitated.
`Always rusty! His fingers is al-ways rusty!' muttered young Jerry. `Where does my father get all that iron rust from? He don't get no iron rust here!'
伦敦法学会大门旁的台尔森银行即使在一千七百八十年也已是个老式的地方。它很窄小，很阴暗，很丑陋，很不方便。而且它之所以是个老式的地方，是因为从道德属性上讲，银行的股东们都以它的窄小、阴暗、丑陋为骄傲，以它的不方便为骄傲。他们甚至夸耀它的这些突出特点，并因一种特殊的信仰而热血沸腾：它若不是那么可厌就不会那么可敬。这并非是一种消极的信仰，而是一种可以在比较方便的业务环境中挥舞的积极武器。他们说台尔森银行用不着宽敞，用不着光线，用不着花里胡哨，诺克公司可能需要，斯努克兄弟公司可能需要，可是台尔森公司，谢谢上帝！--
若是有哪位董事的孩子打算改建台尔森银行，他就会被剥夺了继承权。在这个问题上，台尔森银行倒是跟国家如出一辙。国家总是剥夺提出修改法律和习俗的儿子们的继承权，因为法律和风俗正是因为它们长期令人深恶痛绝而尤其可敬的。
其结果便是台尔森银行的不方便反倒是它一种完美的成就。它的大门白痴式地顽固，在被你硬推开时，它的喉咙会发出一声微弱的咕哝，让你一个趔趄直落两步台阶掉进银行，等到你定过神来，就已进入了一个可怜的店堂。那儿有两个小柜台，柜台边衰老不堪的办事员在最阴暗的窗户前核对签字时，会弄得你的支票簌簌发抖，仿佛有风在吹着。那窗户永远有从舰队街上飞来的泥水为它洗淋浴，又因它自己的铁栅栏和法学会的重重蔽障而更加阴暗。如果你因业务需要必须会见“银行当局”，你便会被送进后面一个像“死囚牢”的地方，让你在那儿因误入歧途而悔恨沉思，直到“当局”双手抄在口袋里踱了进来，而在那吓人的幽暗里你连惊异得眨眨眼也难于办到。你的钱是从虫蛀的木质抽屉里取出来的，也是送到那儿去的。开抽屉关抽屉时木料的粉末就飞进你的鼻子，钻进你的喉咙。你的钞票带着霉臭味，好像很快就要分解成碎纸。你的金银器具被塞进一个藏垢纳污之地，一两天之内它们的光泽就被周围的环境腐蚀掉。你的文件被塞进临时凑合使用的保险库里，那是用厨房的洗碗槽改装的。羊皮纸里的脂肪全被榨了出来，混进银行的空气里。你装有家庭文件的较轻的箱子则被送到楼上一间巴米赛德型的大厅里，那里永远有一张巨大的餐桌，却从来没摆过筵席。在那儿，即使到了一千七百八十年，你的情人给你写的初恋的情书和你的幼年的孩子给你写的最初的信件刚才免于受到一排首级窥看的恐怖不久。那一排首级挂在法学会大门口示众。这种做法之麻木、野蛮和凶狠可以跟阿比西尼亚和阿善提媲美。
可是事实上死刑在各行各业都是一种时髦的窍门。台尔森银行自然不甘落后。死亡既是大自然解决一切问题的良方，为什么不可以在立法上采用？因此伪造文件者处死；使用伪币者处死；私拆信件者处死；盗窃四先令六便士者处死；在台尔森银行门前为人管马却偷了马跑掉者处死；伪造先令者处死。“犯罪”这个乐器的全部音阶，有四分之三的音符谁若是触响了都会被处死。这样做对于预防犯罪并非全无好处一-几乎值得一提的倒是：事实恰好相反--可它却砍掉了每一桩具体案件带给这世界的麻烦，抹掉了许多拖泥带水的事情。这祥，台尔森银行便在它存在的日子里，跟它同时代的更大的企业一祥夺去了许多人的性命。若是在它前面落地的人头不是悄悄地处理掉，而是排在法学院大门口，它们便可能在相当程度上遮去了银行底层原已不多的光线。
蜷缩在台尔森银行各式各样昏暗的柜橱和半截门上认真地工作着的是些衰迈不堪的人。年轻人一进入台尔森银行便被送到某个地方秘藏起来，一直藏到变成个老头儿。他们把他像奶酪一样存放在阴暗的角落里，等它长出蓝霉，散发出地地道道的台尔森香味来，再让他被人看见。那时他已在神气十足地研读着巨大的帐本，并把他的马裤和套鞋熔铸进那个机构，以增加它的分量。
台尔森银行外面有一个干零活的，偶尔应应门，跑跑腿，除非有人叫，从不进门。这人起着银行活招牌的作用。上班时间他从不缺席，除非是跑腿去了。可他走了也还有他的儿子代理：那是个十二岁的丑陋的顽童，长得跟那人一模一样。大家知道台尔森银行颇有气派地容忍了这个干零活的。银行一向需要容忍一个人来干这种活，而时势和潮流送到这个岗位上的就是他。这人姓克朗彻，早年在东部的杭兹迪奇教区经教父母代为宣布唾弃魔鬼的行为时接受了杰瑞这个名字。
地点：克朗彻先生在白袍僧区悬剑胡同的私人寓所。时间：安诺多米尼一干七百八十年三月一个刮风的早晨七点（克朗彻先生总把“安诺多米尼”说成“安娜．多米诺”，显然以为基督教纪元是从一个叫安娜的女士发明了多米诺骨牌，而且用自己的名字为它命名而开始的）。
克朗彻先生寓所的环境并不温馨，一共只有两个编号，另外一号还是一个小屋，只有一块玻璃作窗户。但这两间屋却都收拾得清清爽爽的。那个多风的三月清晨虽然时间还早，他睡觉的屋子却已擦洗得干干净净。一张非常清洁的白台布已经铺在一张粗糙的松木餐桌上，上面摆好了早餐的杯盘。
克朗彻先生盖了一床白衲衣图案的花哨被子，像是呆在家里的丑角。开头他睡得很沉，渐渐便开始翻来翻去，最后他翻到被面上，露出了他那一头麦穗样揸开的头发，仿佛会把被子划成破布条似的。此时他非常恼怒地叫了一声：
“他妈的，她又干起来了！”
一个干净整齐，后来很勤快的妇女从一个角落里站了起来（她刚才跪在那里），动作很快，却带着惶恐，表明挨骂的正是她。
“怎么，”克朗彻先生在床上找着靴子，“你又在干了，是么？”
他用这种致敬的方式问了早安之后，便把靴子向那女人掷去作为第三次问候。那靴上满是泥，可以说明克朗彻先生家庭经济的奇特情况：他每天从银行下班回来靴子总是干干净净的，可第二天早上起床时那靴子就已涂满了泥。
“你又在玩什么花样，”克朗彻先生没打中目标，便改变了问候方式。“又找麻烦是不是？”
“我只不过在做祈祷。”
“做祈祷！多么可爱的女人！咚一声跪下地来咒我，你这是什么意思”
“我没有咒你，我是为你祈祷。”
“没有。你要是为我祈祷，我会那么凶么？过来！你的妈妈是个好女人，小杰瑞，她祈祷你的爸爸失败，不让他发迹。你那妈很尽职，儿子。你那妈很信上帝，孩子。咚地一声跪下地来就祈祷她唯一的儿子嘴里的奶油面包叫人抢走。”
克朗彻少爷（他此时穿着衬衫）一听这话难免生气，转身便向妈妈表示强烈抗议，不愿别人抢走他的食物。
“你以为你那祈祷值几个钱？”克朗彻先生说，没有意识到自己态度已前后不一。“你这个自以为得意的女人，你说你那祈祷能值几个钱？”
“我是从内心里祈祷，杰瑞。只值这一点，再也没有多的了。”
“再也没有多的，”克朗彻先生重复道。“那么，它就不值几个钱。总而言之，我不准许谁祈祷我倒霉，我告诉你。我受不了。我不能让你叽叽咕咕祈祷得我倒了霉。你想跪可以跪，你得为你的男人和娃娃祈祷点好的，可别祈祷他们倒霉。要是我老婆不那么不近人情，这可怜的孩子他娘不那么不近人情，我上周就可以赚到钱了，就不至于挨人咒骂，受人破坏，得不到上帝保佑，倒下大霉了。他妈的！”克朗彻先生一面穿衣服一面说。“我上个礼拜不走运，遇到了一件又一件的倒霉事，一个规规矩矩的可怜生意人所遇到的最倒霉的事！小杰瑞，穿衣服，孩子，我擦靴子的时候，你拿眼睛盯着点你娘，她只要想跪下来你就叫我。因为，我告诉你，”他掉头又对他妻子说，“我像现在这样是不会出门的。我已经是像一部快要散架的出租马车，困得像鸦片瘾发了。我的腰眼累坏了，若不是因为它疼，我简直连哪里是我，哪里是别人都分不清楚了。可是兜里还是没有增加几文。所以我怀疑你从早到晚都在祈祷不让我的腰包鼓起来，我是不会饶你的，他奶奶的，你现在还有什么可说的！”
克朗彻先生嘟嘟哝哝说着话：“啊，不错，你也信上帝，你不会干出对你男人和孩子不利的事，你不会的！”说时从他那飞速旋转的憎恶的磨盘上飞溅出尖刻讥讽的火花，同时擦着靴子做上班的准备。这时他的儿子则按照要求监视着他的母亲。这孩子头上也长着尖刺一样的头发，只是软一些，一对年轻的眼睛靠得很近，像他爸爸。他不时窜出他睡觉的小屋（他在那儿梳洗），压低了嗓子叫道：“你又要跪下了，妈妈-一爸爸，你看！”一番瞎紧张之后他又带着忤逆不孝的傻笑窜进屋里去了。他就这样不断严重地干扰着他的母亲。
克朗彻先生到吃早饭时脾气仍然毫无好转，他对克朗彻太太做祈祷怀着一种特别的厌恶。
“好了，他奶奶的！你又玩什么花样了？又在干什么？”
他的妻子回答说，她只不过在“乞求保佑”。
“可别求！”克朗彻先生四面望望说，仿佛希望面包因为他妻子的请求而消失。“我可不愿给保佑得没了房子没了家，饭桌上没了吃的。闭嘴!”
他双眼通红，脾气很大，仿佛彻夜不眠参加了晚会回来，而那晚会又无丝毫乐趣。他不是在吃早饭，而是在拿早饭发脾气，像动物园里的居民一样对它嗥叫。快到九点他才放下他耸起的鬣毛，在他那本色的自我外面摆出一副受人尊敬的公事公办的样子，出去开始他一天的工作。
他虽然喜欢把自己叫作“诚实的生意人”，其实他的工作几乎难以叫作“生意”。他的全部资本就是一张木头凳子。那还是用一张破椅子砍掉椅背做成的。小杰瑞每天早晨便带着这凳子跟他爸爸去到银行大楼，在最靠近法学会大门一边的窗户下放下，再从路过的车辆上扯下一把干草，让他打零工的爸爸的脚不受寒气和潮湿侵袭。这就完成了全天的“安营扎寨”任务。克朗彻先生干这个活儿在舰队街和法学院一带的名气很大，也跟这一带的建筑一样十分丑陋。
他在八点三刻“安营扎寨”完毕，正好来得及向走进台尔森银行的年纪最大的老头子们碰碰他的三角帽。在这个刮风的三月清晨杰瑞上了岗位。小杰瑞若是没有进入法学院大门去骚扰，去向路过的孩子们进行尖锐的身体或心理伤害（若是那孩子个子不大，正好适于他这类友好活动的话），他就站在父亲旁边。父子二人极为相像，都一言不发看着清晨的车辆在舰队街上来往。两个脑袋就像他们那两对眼睛一样紧靠在一起，很像是一对猴子。有时那成年的杰瑞还咬咬干草，再吐出来，小杰瑞那双亮晶晶的眼睛跟注视舰队街上别的东西一样骨碌碌地转着、望着他。这时，两人就更相像了。
台尔森银行内部一个正式信使把脑袋从门里伸出来，说：
“要送信！”
“呜啦，爸爸！一大早就有生意了！”
小杰瑞像这样祝贺了爸爸，便在凳子上坐了下来，对他爸爸刚才嚼过的干草产生了研究兴趣，并沉思起来。
“永远有锈！他的指头永远有锈！”小杰瑞喃喃地说。“我爸爸那铁锈是从什么地方来的呢？这儿并没有铁锈呀！”
Book 2 Chapter 2 A Sight
`YOU know the Old Bailey well, no doubt?' said one of the oldest of clerks to Jerry the messenger.
`Ye-es, sir,' returned Jerry, in something of a dogged manner. `I do know the Bailey.'
`Just so. And you know Mr. Lorry.'
`I know Mr. Lorry, sir, much better than I know the Bailey. Much better,' said Jerry, not unlike a reluctant witness at the establishment in question, `than I, as a honest tradesman, wish to know the Bailey.'
`Very well. Find the door where the witnesses go in, and show the door-keeper this note for Mr. Lorry. He will then let you in.'
`Into the court, sir?'
`Into the court.'
Mr. Cruncher's eyes seemed to get a little closer to one another, and to interchange the inquiry, `What do you think of this?'
`Am I to wait in the court, sir?' he asked, as the result of that conference.
`I am going to tell you. The door-keeper will pass the note to Mr. Lorry, and do you make any gesture that will attract Mr. Lorry's attention, and show him where you stand. Then what you have to do, is, to remain there until he wants you.'
`Is that all, sir?'
`That's all. He wishes to have a messenger at hand. This is to tell him you are there.'
As the ancient clerk deliberately folded and superscribed the note, Mr. Cruncher, after surveying him in silence until he came to the blotting-paper stage, remarked:
`I suppose they'll be trying Forgeries this morning?'
`Treason!'
`That's quartering,' said Jerry. `Barbarous!'
`It is the law,' remarked the ancient clerk, turning his surprised spectacles upon him. `It is the law.
`It `shard in the law to spile a man, I think. It `shard enough to kill him, but it's wery hard to spile him, sir.'
`Not at all,' returned the ancient clerk. `Speak well of the law. Take care of your chest and voice, my good friend, and leave the law to take care of itself. I give you that advice.'
`It's the damp, sir, what settles on my chest and voice,' said Jerry. `I leave you to judge what a damp way of earning a living mine is.'
`Well, well,' said the old clerk; `we all have our various ways of gaining a livelihood. Some of us have damp ways, and some of us have dry ways. Here is the letter. Go along.'
Jerry took the letter, and, remarking to himself with less internal deference than he made an outward show of, `You are a lean old one, too,' made his bow, informed his son, in passing, of [`is destination, and went his way.
They hanged at Tyburn, in those days, so the street outside Newgate had not obtained one infamous notoriety that has since attached to it. But, the gaol was a vile place, in which most kinds of debauchery and villainy were practised, and where dire diseases were bred, that came into court with the prisoners, and sometimes rushed straight from the dock at my Lord Chief Justice himself, and pulled him off the bench. It had more than once happened, that the Judge in the black cap pronounced his own doom as certainly as the prisoner's, and even died before him. For the rest, the Old Bailey was famous as a kind of deadly inn-yard, from which pale travellers set out continually, in carts and coaches, on a violent passage into the other world: traversing some two miles and a half of public street and road, and shaming few good citizens, if any. So powerful is use, andso desirable to be good use in the beginning. It was famous, too, for the pillory, a wise old institution, that inflicted a punishment of which no one could foresee the extent; also, for the whipping-post, another dear old institution, very humanising and softening to behold in action; also, for extensive transactions in blood-money, another fragment of ancestral wisdom, systematically leading to the most frightful mercenary crimes that could be committed under Heaven. Altogether, the Old Bailey, at that date, was a choice illustration of the precept, that `Whatever is is right;' an aphorism that would be as final as it is lazy, did it not include the troublesome consequence, that nothing that ever was, was wrong.
Making his way through the tainted crowd, dispersed up and down this hideous scene of action, with the skill of a man accustomed to make his way quietly, the messenger found out the door he sought, and handed in his letter through a trap in it. For people then paid to see the play at the Old Bailey, just as they paid to see the play in Bedlam--only the former entertainment was much the dearer. Therefore, all the Old Bailey doors were well guarded--except, indeed, the social doors by which the criminals got there, and those were always left wide open.
After some delay and demur, the door grudgingly turned on its hinges a very little way, and allowed Mr. Jerry Cruncher to squeeze himself into court.
`What's on?' he asked, in a whisper, of the man he found himself next to.
`Nothing yet.'
`What's coming on,?'
`The Treason case.
`The quartering one, eh?'
`Ah!' returned the man, with a relish; `he'll be drawn on a hurdle to be half hanged, and then he'll be taken down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then his head will be chopped off, and he'll be cut into quarters. That the sentence.'
`If he's found Guilty, you mean to say?' Jerry added, by way of proviso.
`Oh! they'll find him guilty,' said the other. `Don't you be afraid of that.'
Mr. Cruncher's attention was here diverted to the doorkeeper, whom he saw making his way to Mr. Lorry, with the note in his hand. Mr. Lorry sat at a table, among the gentlemen in wigs: not far from a wigged gentleman, the prisoner's counsel, who had a great bundle of papers before him: and nearly opposite another wigged gentleman with his hands in his pockets, whose whole attention, when Mr. Cruncher looked at him then or afterwards, seemed to be concentrated on the ceiling of the court. After some gruff coughing and rubbing of his chin and signing with his hand, Jerry attracted the notice of Mr. Lorry, who had stood up to look for him, and who quietly nodded and sat down again.
`What's. he got to do with the case?' asked the man he had spoken with.
`Blest if I know,' said Jerry.
`What have you got to do with it, then, if a person may inquire?'
`Blest if I know that either,' said Jerry.
The entrance of the Judge, and a consequent great stir and settling down in the court, stopped the dialogue. Presently, the dock became the central point of interest. Two gaolers, who had been standing there, went out, and the prisoner was brought in, andput to the bar.
Everybody present, except the one wigged gentleman who looked at the ceiling, stared at him. All the human breath in the place, rolled at him, like a sea, or a wind, or a fire. Eager faces strained round pillars and corners, to get a sight of him; spectators in back rows stood up, not to miss a hair of him; people on the floor of the court, laid their hands on the shoulders of the people before them, to help themselves, at anybody's cost, to a view of him--stood a-tiptoe, got upon ledges, stood upon next to nothing, to see every inch of him. Conspicuous among these latter, like an animated bit of the spiked wall of Newgate, Jerry stood: aiming at the prisoner the beery breath of a whet he had taken as he came along, and discharging it to mingle with the waves of other beer, and gin, and tea, and coffee, and what not, that flowed at him, and already broke upon the greatwindows behind him in an impure mist and rain.
The object of all this staring and blaring, was a young man of about five-and-twenty, well-grown and well-looking, with a sunburnt cheek and a dark eye. His condition was that of a young gentleman. He was plainly dressed in black, or very dark grey, and his hair, which was long and dark, was gathered in a ribbon at the back of his neck; more to be out of his way than for ornament. As an emotion of the mind will express itself through any covering of the body, so the paleness which his situation engendered came through the brown upon his cheek, showing the soul to be stronger than the sun. He was otherwise quite self-possessed, bowed to the Judge, and stood quiet.
The sort of interest with which this man was stared and breathed at, was not a sort that elevated humanity. Had he stood in peril of a less horrible sentence--had there been a chance of any one of its savage details being spared--by just so much would he have lost in his fascination. The form that was to be doomed to be so shamefully mangled, was the sight; the immortal creature that was to be so butchered and torn asunder, yielded the sensation. Whatever gloss the various spectators put upon the interest, according to their several arts and powers of self-deceit, the interest was, at the root of it, Ogreish.
Silence in the court! Charles Darnay had yesterday pleaded Not Guilty to an indictment denouncing him (with infinite jingle and jangle) for that he was a false traitor to our serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, prince, our Lord the King, by reason of his having, on divers occasions, and by divers means and ways, assisted Lewis, the French King, in his wars against our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth; that was to say, by coming and going, between the dominions of our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, and those of the said French Lewis, and wickedly, falsely, traitorously, and otherwiseevil-adverbiously, revealing to the said French Lewis what forces our said serene, illustrious, excellent, and so forth, had in preparation to send to Canada and North America. This much, Jerry, with his head becoming more and more spiky as the law terms bristled it, made out with huge satisfaction, and so arrived circuitously at the under-standing that the aforesaid, and over and over again aforesaid, Charles Darnay, stood there before him upon his trial; that the jury were swearing in; and that Mr. Attorney-General was making ready to speak.
The accused, who was (and who knew he was) being mentally hanged, beheaded, and quartered, by everybody there, neither flinched from the situation, nor assumed any theatrical air in it. He was quiet and attentive; watched the opening proceedingswith a grave interest; and stood with his hands resting on the slab of wood before him, so composedly, that they had not displaced a leaf of the herbs with which it was strewn. The court was all bestrewn with herbs and sprinkled with vinegar, as a precaution against gaol air and gaol fever.
Over the prisoner's head there was a mirror, to throw the light down upon him. Crowds of the wicked and the wretched had been reflected in it, and had passed from its surface and this earth's together. Haunted in a most ghastly manner that abominable place would have been, if the glass could ever have rendered back its reflections, as the ocean is one day to give up its dead. Some passing thought of the infamy and disgrace for which it had been reserved, may have struck the prisoner's mind. Be that as it may, a change in his position making him conscious of a bar of light across his face, he looked up; and when he saw the glass his face flushed, and his right hand pushed the herbs away.
It happened, that the action turned his face to that side of the court which was on his left. About on a level with his eyes, there sat, in that corner of the Judge's bench, two persons upon whom his look immediately rested; so immediately, and so much to the changing of his aspect, that all the eyes that were turned upon him, turned to them.
The spectators saw in the two figures, a young lady of little more than twenty, and a gentleman who was evidently her father; a man of a very remarkable appearance in respect of the absolute whiteness of his hair, and a certain indescribable intensity offace: not of an active kind, but pondering and self-communing. When this expression was upon him, he looked as if he were old; but when it was stirred and broken up--as It was now, in a moment, on his speaking to his daughter--he became a handsome man, not past the prime of life.
His daughter had one of her hands drawn through his arm, as she sat by him, and the other pressed upon it. She had drawn close to him, in her dread of the scene, and in her pity for the prisoner. Her forehead had been strikingly expressive of an engrossing terror and compassion that saw nothing but the peril of the accused. This had been so very noticeable, so very powerfully and naturally shown, that starers who had had no pity for him were touched by her; and the whisper went about, `Who are they?'
Jerry, the messenger, who had made his own observations, in his own manner, and who had been sucking the rust off his fingers in his absorption, stretched his neck to hear who they were. The crowd about him had pressed and passed the inquiry on to the nearest attendant, and from him it had been more slowly pressed and passed back; at last it got to Jerry:
`Witnesses.'
`For which side?'
`Against.'
`Against what side?'
`The prisoner's.'
The Judge, whose eyes had gone in the general direction, recalled them, leaned back in his seat, and looked steadily at the man whose life was in his hand, as Mr. Attorney-General rose to spin the rope, grind the axe, and hammer the nails into the scaffold.  
“你对老贝勒很熟，是吗？”一个衰老的行员对跑腿的杰瑞说。
“没--错，先生，”杰瑞带几分抵触地回答说，“我对它的确很熟。”
“那好。你也认识罗瑞先生？”
“我对罗瑞先生比对老贝勒要熟悉得多，先生，”杰瑞说，那口气并非不像迫不得已到老贝勒去出庭作证。“我作为一个诚实的生意人宁可熟悉罗瑞先生，而不愿熟悉老贝勒。”
“很好。你去找到证人出入的门，把这个写给罗瑞先生的条子给门房看看，他就会让你进去的。”
“进法庭去么，先生？”
“要进去。”
克朗彻的两只眼睛似乎靠得更近了，而且在互相探问，“你对此有何高见？”
“要我在法庭里等候么，先生？”作为双眼彼此探问的结果，他问。
“我来告诉你吧。门房会把条子递给罗瑞先生，那时你就向罗瑞先生打个手势，引起他的注意，让他看到你守候的地方。然后你就就地等待，听候差遣。”
“就这样么，先生？”
“就这样。他希望身边有个人送信。这信就是通知他有你在那儿。”
老行员仔细折好字条，写上收件人姓名。克朗彻先生一声不响地观察着他，在他吸干墨水时说：
“我估计今天上午要审伪证案吧？”
“叛国案！”
“那可是要破腹分尸的呀，”杰瑞说。“野蛮着呢！”
“这是法律，”衰老的行员把他吃惊的眼镜转向他。“这是法律！”
“我认为法律把人分尸也太厉害了点。杀了他就够厉害的，分尸太过分了，先生。”
“一点也不，”老行员说。“对法律要说好话。好好保护你的胸口和嗓子，好朋友，别去管法律的闲事，我奉劝你。”
“我这胸口和嗓子都是叫湿气害的，先生，”杰瑞说。“我挣钱过日子要受多少湿气，你想想看。”
“好了，好了，”衰老的行员说，“咱们谁都挣钱过日子，可办法各有不同。有人受潮，有人枯燥。信在这儿，去吧。”
杰瑞接过信，外表毕恭毕敬，心里却不服，说，“你也是个干瘦的老头儿呢。”他鞠了一躬，顺便把去向告诉了儿子，才上了路。
那时绞刑还在泰本执行，因此新门监狱大门外那条街还不像后来那么声名狼籍，但监狱却是个恶劣的地方，各种堕落荒唐与流氓行为都在那里出现，各种可怕的疾病也都在那里孳生，而且随着囚徒进入法庭，有时甚至从被告席径直传染给大法官，把他从宝座上拉下来。戴黑色礼帽的法官对囚犯宣判死刑时，也宣判了自己的毁灭，甚至毁灭得比囚犯还早的事出现过不止一次。此外，老贝勒还以“死亡逆旅”闻名。面无人色的旅客不断从那儿出发，坐着大车或马车经过一条充满暴烈事件的路去到另一个世界。在穿过大约两英里半的大街和公路时，并没有几个公民（即使有的话）为此感到惭傀。习惯是强有力的，习惯成自然在开始时也很有用处。这监狱还以枷刑闻名。那是一种古老而聪明的制度，那种惩罚伤害之深没有人可以预见。它也以鞭刑柱闻名，那也是一种可爱而古老的制度，看了之后是会令人大发慈悲，心肠变软的。它也以大量的“血钱”交易闻名，那也是我们祖宗聪明的一种表现，它能系统全面地引向天下最骇人听闻的雇佣犯罪。总而言之，那时的老贝勒是“存在便是合理”这句名言的最佳例证。这个警句若是没有包含“过去不存在的也都不合理”这个令人尴尬的推论的话，倒可以算作是结论性的，虽然并不管用。
肮脏的人群满布在这种恐怖活动的现场。送信人以习惯于一声不响穿过人群的技巧穿过了人群，找到了他要找的门，从一道小活门递进了信。那时人们花钱看老贝勒的表演正像花钱看贝德兰的表演一样，不过老贝勒要贵得多。因此老贝勒的门全都严加把守--只有罪犯进出的交通口例外，那倒是大敞开的。
在一阵耽误和踌躇之后，那门很不情愿地开了一条缝，让杰瑞.克朗彻挤进了法庭。
“在干啥？”他悄声问身边的人。
“还没开始。”
“要审什么案？”
“叛国案。”
“要分尸的，是么？”
“啊！”那人兴致勃勃地回答，“先要在架于上绞个半死，再放下来让他眼看着一刀一刀割，再掏出内脏，当着他的面烧掉。最后才砍掉头，卸作四块。这种刑罚就是这样。”
“你是说，若是认定他有罪的话？”杰瑞说道，仿佛加上一份“但书”。
啊！他们会认定他犯罪的，”对方说，“别担心。”
克朗彻先生的注意力此刻被门卫分散了。他看见门卫拿着信向罗瑞先生逛去。罗瑞先生跟戴假发的先生们一起坐在桌前，距离囚犯的辩护人不远。那辩护人戴着假发，面前有一大捆文件。差不多跟他们正对面还坐着另一个戴假发的先生，双手插在口袋里。克朗彻先生当时和后来看他时，他的注意力似乎都集中在法庭的天花板上。杰瑞大声咳嗽了一下，又揉了揉下巴，做了个手势，引起了罗瑞先生的注意一一罗瑞先生已站起身在找他，见了他便点点头又坐下了。
“他跟这案子有什么关系？”刚才和他谈话的人问。
“我要是知道就好了，”杰瑞说。
“若是有人调查起来，你跟这案子有什么关系么？”
“我要是知道就好了，”杰瑞说。
法官进场，引起了一番忙乱，然后静了下来，这就阻止了他俩的对话。被告席马上成了注意力的中心。一直站在那儿的两个狱史走出去，带来了囚犯，送进了被告席。
除了那个戴假发望天花板的人之外，每个人的注意力都集中到了被告身上。那儿的全部人类的呼吸都向他滚去，像海涛，像凤，像火焰。急切的面孔努力绕过柱头，转过犄角，都想看到他。后排的观众站起了身，连他的一根头发也不肯放过；站着的人手扶着前面的人的肩头往前看，不管是否影响了别人，只想看个明白--他们或踮起脚尖、或踩在墙裙上、或踩在简直踩不住的东西上，要想看到囚徒身上的各个部位。杰瑞站在站立的人群中很显眼，好像是新门监狱带铁蒺藜的墙壁的一个活的部分，他那有啤酒味儿的鼻息向囚犯吹去（他在路上才喝了一盅），也把那气味跟别人的气味-一啤酒味、杜松子酒味、茶味、咖啡味等等--混合到了一起，形成了一股浪潮。那浪潮已融合为一股浑浊的雾和雨向他冲刷过来，也已经向他身后的大窗户冲刷过去。
这一切注视与喧哗的目标是一个大约二十五岁的青年男子，身材匀称，气色良好，有一张被阳光晒黑的面孔和一对深色的眼睛，看样子是一个年轻的绅士。他穿着朴素的黑色（或许是深灰色）的衣服，长长的深色头发用带于系好挂在脑后；主要是避免麻烦而不是为了装饰。心里的情绪总是要通过身体表面透露出来的，因此他的处境所产生的苍白便透过黄褐的面颊透露了出来，表现出他的灵魂比阳光更为有力。除此之外他很冷静。他向法官行过了礼，便一声不响地站着。
人们注视此人、向他喷着雾气时所表现出的兴趣并非是能使人类崇高的那一类兴趣。若是他所面对的判决不是那么恐怖，若是那刑罚野蛮的细节有可能减少一部分，他的魅力也就会相应减少。此人的好看之处正在于他要被那么卑鄙地一刀刀地脔切；一个活生生的人要被屠杀，被撕成几块，轰动情绪就是从这儿产生的。不同的观众尽管可以用不同的辞藻和自欺本领为这种兴趣辩解，可它归根到底是丑恶凶残的。
法庭里鸦雀无声！查尔斯.达尔内昨天对公诉提出了无罪申辩。那公诉状里有数不清的响亮言辞，说他是一个丧心病狂的叛徒，出卖了我们沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的君主、国王、主子。因为他在不同的时机，采用了不同的方式方法，帮助了法国国王路易进攻我们上述的沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的国王。这就是说，他在我们上述的沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的国王的国土和上述的法国国王路易的国土上穿梭往来，从而十恶不赦地、背信弃义地、大逆不道地，诸如此类地向上述法国国王路易透露了我们上述的沉静的、辉煌的、杰出的、如此等等的国王已经部署齐备打算派遣到加拿大和北美洲的兵力。法律文件里芒铩森然，杰瑞的脑袋上也渐渐毛发直竖，揸开了铁蒺藜，他经过种种曲折之后才大为满足地获得了结论，懂得了上述那个一再被重复提起的查尔斯.达尔内此时正站在他面前受审，陪审团正在宣誓；检察长先生已准备好发言。
被告此时已被在场的每一个人在想象中绞了个半死、砍掉了脑袋、卸成了几块。这一点被告也明白。可他却没有在这种形势前表现出畏怯，也没有摆出戏剧性的英雄气概。他一言不发，神情专注，带着沉静的兴趣望着开幕式进行，一双手摆在面前的木栏杆上。木栏杆上满是草药，他的手却很泰然，连一片叶子也不曾碰动-一为了预防狱臭和监狱热流行，法庭里已摆满了草药，洒满了醋。
囚徒头上有一面镜子，是用来向他投射光线的。不知多少邪恶的人和不幸的人曾反映在镜子里，又从它的表面和地球的表面消失。若是这面镜子能像海洋会托出溺死者一样把它反映过的影象重现，那可憎的地方一定会是鬼影幢幢，令人毛骨竦然的。也许囚犯心里曾掠过保留这面镜子正是为让囚犯们感到难堪和羞辱的念头吧，总之他挪了挪位置，却意识到一道光线射到脸上，抬头一看，见到了镜子时脸上泛出了红晕，右手一伸，碰掉了草药。
原来这个动作使他把头转向了他左边的法庭。在法官座位的角落上坐着两个人，位置大体跟他的目光齐平。他的目光立即落到两人身上。那目光闪落之快，他的脸色变化之大，使得转向他的目光全都又转向了那两个人。
观众看到的两个人一个是刚过二十的小姐，另一个显然是她的父亲。后者以他满头的白发十分引人注目。他脸上带着一种难以描述的紧张表情：并非活跃性的紧张，而是沉思的内心自省的紧张。这种表情在他脸上时，他便显得憔悴苍老，可是那表情一消失--现在它就暂时消失了，因为他跟女儿说话一-他又变成了一个漂亮的男人，还没有超过他的最佳年华。
他的女儿坐在他身边，一只手挽着他的胳膊，另一只手搭在胳膊上面。她因害怕这场面，也因怜悯那囚徒，身子挪得更靠近他了。因为只看到被告的危险，她的额头鲜明地表现出了专注的恐怖与同情。这种表情太引人注目，太强有力，流露得太自然，那些对囚犯全无同情的看客也不禁受到感染。一片窃窃私语随之而起，“这两人是谁呀？”
送信人杰瑞以自己的方式作了观察，又在专心观察时吮过了手上的铁锈，此时便伸长了脖子去看那两人是谁。他身边的人彼此靠拢，依次向距离最近的出庭人传递询问；答案又更缓慢地传递回来，最后到达了杰瑞的耳里。
“是证人。”
“哪一边的？”
“反对的。”
“反对哪一边的？”
“反对被告一边的。”
法官收回了适才散射的目光，向椅背上一靠，目不转睛地望着那青年--那人的性命就摸在他手心里。此时，检察长先生站起身来，绞起了绞索，磨起了斧头，把钉子钉进了断头墩。
Book 2 Chapter 3 A Disappointment
R. ATTORNEY-GENERAL had to inform the jury, that the prisoner before them, though young in years, was old in the treasonable practices which claimed the forfeit of his life. That this correspondence with the public enemy was not a correspondence of to-day, or of yesterday, or even of last year, or of the year before. That, it was certain the prisoner had, for longer than that, been in the habit of passing and repassing between France and England, on secret business of which he could give no honest account. That, if it were in the nature of traitorous ways to thrive (which happily it never was), the real wickedness and guilt of his business might have remained undiscovered. That Providence, however, had put it into the heart of a person who was beyond fear and beyond reproach, to ferret out the nature of the prisoner's schemes, and, struck with horror, to disclose them to his Majesty's Chief Secretary of State and most honourable Privy Council. That, this patriot would be produced before them. That, his position and attitude were, on the whole, sublime. That, he had been the prisoner's friend, but, at once in an auspicious and an evil hour detecting his infamy, had resolved to immolate the traitor he could no longer cherish in his bosom, on the sacred altar of his country. That, if statues were decreed in Britain, as in ancient Greece and Rome, to public benefactors, this shining citizen would assuredly have had one. That, as they were not so decreed, he probably would not have one. That, Virtue, as had been observed by the poets (in many passages which he well knew the jury would have, word for word, at the tips of their tongues; whereat the jury's countenances displayed a guilty consciousness that they knew nothing about the passages), was in a manner contagious; more especially the bright virtue known as patriotism, or love ofcountry. That, the lofty example of this immaculate and unimpeachable witness for the Crown, to refer to whom however unworthily was an honour, had communicated itself to the prisoner's servant, and had engendered in him a holy determination to examine his master's table-drawers and pockets, and secrete his papers. That, he (Mr. Attorney-General) was prepared to hear some disparagement attempted of this admirable servant; but that, in a general way, he preferred him to his (Mr. Attorney-General's) brothers and sisters, and honoured him more than his (Mr. Attorney-General's) father and mother. That, he called with confidence on the jury to come and do likewise. That, the evidence of these two witnesses, coupled with thedocuments of their discovering that would be produced, would show the prisoner to have been furnished with lists of his Majesty's forces, and of their disposition and preparation, both by sea and land, and would leave no doubt that he had habitually conveyed such information to a hostile power. That, these lists could not be proved to be in the prisoner'shandwriting; but that it was all the same; that, indeed, it was rather the better for the prosecution, as showing the prisoner to be artful in his precautions. That, the proof would go back five years, and would show the prisoner already engaged in these pernicious missions, within a few weeks before the date of the very first action fought between the British troops and the Americans. That, for these reasons, the jury, being a loyal jury (as he knew they were), and being a responsible jury (as they knew they were), must positively find the prisoner Guilty, and make an end of him, whether they liked it or not. That, they never could lay their heads upon their pillows; that, they never could tolerate the idea of their wives laying their heads upon their pillows; that, they never could endure the notion of their children laying their heads upon their pillows; in short, that there never more could be, for them or theirs, any laying of heads upon pillows at all, unless the prisoner's head was taken off. That head Mr. Attorney-General concluded by demanding of them, in the name of everything he could think of with a round turn in it, and on the faith of his solemn asseveration that he already considered the prisoner as good as dead and gone.
When the Attorney-General ceased, a buzz arose in the court as if a cloud of great blue-flies were swarming about the prisoner, in anticipation of what he was soon to become. When toned down again, the unimpeachable patriot appeared in thewitness-box. 
Mr. Solicitor-General then, following his leader's lead, examined the patriot: John Barsad, gentleman, by name. The story of his pure soul was exactly what Mr. Attorney-General had described it to be-perhaps, if it had a fault, a little too exactly. Having released his noble bosom of its burden, he would have modestly withdrawn himself, but that the wigged gentleman with the papers before him, sitting not far from Mr. Lorry, begged to ask him a few questions. The wigged gentleman sitting opposite, still looking at the ceiling of the court.
Had he ever been a spy himself? No, he scorned the base insinuation. What did he live upon? His property. Where was his property? He didn't precisely remember where it was. What was it? No business of anybody's. Had he inherited it? Yes, he had. From whom? Distant relation. Very distant? Rather. Ever been in prison? Certainly not. Never in a debtors' prison? Didn't see what that had to do with it. Never in a debtors' prison?--Come, once again. Never? Yes. How many times? Two or three times. Not five or six? Perhaps. Of what profession? Gentleman. Ever been kicked? Might have been. Frequently? No. Everkicked down-stairs? Decidedly not; once received a kick on the top of a staircase, and fell down-stairs of his own accord. Kicked on that occasion for cheating at dice? Something to that effect was said by the intoxicated liar who committed theassault, but it was not true. Swear it was not true? Positively. Ever live by cheating at play? Never. Ever live by play? Not more than other gentlemen do. Ever borrow money of the prisoner? Yes. Ever pay him? No. Was not this intimacy with the prisoner, in reality a very slight one, forced upon the prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets? No. Sure he saw the prisoner with these lists? Certain. Knew no more about the lists? No. Had not procured them himself, for instance? No. Expect to get anything by this evidence? No. Not in regular government pay and employment, to lay traps? Oh dear no. Or to do anything? Oh dear no. Swear that? Over and over again. No motives but motives of sheer patriotism? None whatever.
The virtuous servant, Roger Cly, swore his way through the case at a great rate. He had taken service with the prisoner, in good faith and simplicity, four years ago. He had asked the prisoner, aboard the Calais packet, if he wanted a handy fellow, and the prisoner had engaged him. He had not asked the prisoner to take the handy fellow as an act of  charity--never thought of such a thing. He began to have suspicions of the prisoner, and to keep an eye upon him, soon afterwards. In arranging his clothes, while travelling, he had seen similar lists to these in the prisoner's pockets, over and over again. He had taken these lists from the drawer of the prisoner's desk. He had not put them there first. He had seen the prisoner show these identical lists to French gentlemen at Calais, and similar lists to French gentlemen, both at Calais and Boulogne. He loved his country, and couldn't bear it, and had given information. He had never been suspected of stealing a silver tea-pot; he had been maligned respecting a mustard-pot, but it turned out to be only a plated one. He had known the last witness seven or eight years; that was merely a coincidence. He didn't call it a particularly curious coincidence; most coincidences were curious. Neither did he call it a curious coincidence that true patriotism was his only motive too. He was a true Briton, and hoped there were many like him.
The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr. Jarvis Lorry.
`Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson's bank?'
`I am.'
`On a certain Friday night in November one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, did business occasion you to travel between London and Dover by the mail?'
`It did.'
`Were there any other passengers in the mail?'
`Two.'
`Did they alight on the road in the course of the night?'
`They did.'
`Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one of those two passengers?
`I cannot undertake to say that he was.'
`Does he resemble either of these two passengers?'
`Both were so wrapped up, and the night was so dark, and we were all so reserved, that I cannot undertake to say even that.'
`Mr. Lorry, look again upon the prisoner. Supposing him wrapped up as those two passengers were, is there anything in his bulk and stature to render it unlikely that he was one of them?'
`No.'
`You will not swear, Mr. Lorry, that he was not one of them?'
`No.'
`So at least you say he may have been one of them?'
`Yes. Except that I remember them both to have been--like myself--timorous of highwaymen, and the prisoner has not a timorous air.'
`Did you ever see a counterfeit of timidity, Mr. Lorry?'
`I certainly have seen that.'
`Mr. Lorry, look once more upon the prisoner. Have you seen him, to your certain Knowledge, before?'
`I have.'
`When?'
`I was returning from France a few days afterwards, and, at Calais, the prisoner came on board the packet-ship in which I returned, and made the voyage with me.'
`At what hour did he come on board?'
`At a little after midnight.'
`In the dead of the night. Was he the only passenger who came on board at that untimely hour?'
`He happened to be the only one.'
`Never mind about "happening," Mr. Lorry. He was the only passenger who came on board in the dead of the night?'
`He was.'
`Were you travelling alone, Mr. Lorry, or with any companion?'
`With two companions. A gentleman and lady. They are here.'
`They' are here. Had you any conversation with the prisoner?'
`Hardly any. The weather was stormy, and the passage long and rough, and I lay on a sofa, almost from shore to shore.'
`Miss Manette!'
The young lady, to whom all eyes had been turned before, and were now turned again, stood up where she had sat. Her father rose with her, and kept her hand drawn through his arm.
`Miss Manette, look upon the prisoner.'
To be confronted with such pity, and such earnest youth and beauty, was far more trying to the accused than to be confronted with all the crowd. Standing, as it were, apart with her on the edge of his grave, not all the staring curiosity that looked on, could, for the moment, nerve him to remain quite still. His hurried right hand parcelled out the herbs before him into imaginary beds of flowers in a garden: and his efforts to control and steady his breathing shook the lips from which the colour rushed to his heart. The buzz of the great flies was loud again.
`Miss Manette, have you seen the prisoner before?'
`Yes, sir.'
`Where?'
`On board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on the same occasion.'
`You are the young lady just now referred to?'
`O! most unhappily, I am.'
The plaintive tone of her compassion merged into the less musical voice of the Judge, as he said something fiercely: `Answer the questions put to you, and make no remark upon them.'
`Miss Manette, had you any conversation with the prisoner on that passage across the Channel?'
`Yes, sir.'
`Recall it.'
In the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: `When the gentleman came on board'
`Do you mean the prisoner?' inquired the Judge, knitting his brows.
`Yes, my Lord.'
`Then say the prisoner.'
`When the prisoner came on board, he noticed that my father,' turning her eyes lovingly to him as he stood beside her, was much fatigued and in a very weak state of health. My father was so reduced that I was afraid to take him out of the air, and I had made a bed for him on the deck near the cabin steps, and I sat on the deck at his side to take care of him. There were no other passengers that night, but we four. The prisoner was so good as to beg permission to advise me how I could shelter my father from the wind and weather, better than I had done. I had not known how to do it well, not understanding how the wind would set when we were out of the harbour. He did it for me. He expressed great gentleness and kindness for my father's state, and I am sure he felt it. That was the manner of our beginning to speak together.'
`Let me interrupt you for a moment. Had he come on board alone?'
`No.'
`How many were with him?'
`Two French gentlemen.'
`Had they conferred together?'
`They had conferred together until the last moment, when it was necessary for the French gentlemen to be landed in their boat.'
`Had any papers been handed about among them, similar to these lists?'
`Some papers had been handed about among them, but I don't know what papers.'
`Like these in shape and size?'
`Possibly, but indeed I don't know, although they stood whispering very near to me: because they stood at the top of the cabin steps to have the light of the lamp that was hanging there; it was a dull lamp, and they spoke very low, and I did not hear what they said, and saw only that they looked at papers.'
`Now, to the prisoner's conversation, Miss Manette.'
`The prisoner was as open in his confidence with me-which arose out of my helpless situation-as he was kind, and good, and useful to my father. I hope,' bursting into tears, `I may not repay him by doing him harm to-day.'
Buzzing from the blue-flies.
`Miss Manette, if the prisoner does not perfectly understand that you give the evidence which it is your duty to give--which you must give--and which you cannot escape from giving--with great unwillingness, he is the only person present in that condition. Please to go on.
`He told me that he was travelling on business of a delicate and difficult nature, which might get people into trouble, and that he was therefore travelling under an assumed name. He said that this business had, within a few days, taken him to France, and might, at intervals, take him backwards and forwards between France and England for a long time to come.'
`Did he say anything about America, Miss Manette? Be particular.'
`He tried to explain to me how that quarrel had arisen, and he said that, so far as he could judge, it was a wrong and foolish one on England's part. He added, in a jesting way, that perhaps George Washington might gain almost as great a name in history as George the Third. But there was no harm in his way of saying this: it was said laughingly, and to beguile the time.' 
Any strongly marked expression of face on the part of a chief actor in a scene of great interest to whom many eyes are directed, will be unconsciously imitated by the spectators. Her forehead was painfully anxious and intent as she gave this evidence, and, in the pauses when she stopped for the Judge to write it down, watched its effect upon the counsel for and against. Among the lookers-on there was the same expression in all quarters of the court; insomuch, that a great majority of the foreheads there, might have been mirrors reflecting the witness, when the Judge looked up from his notes to glare at that tremendous heresy about George Washington.
Mr. Attorney-General now signified to my Lord, that he deemed it necessary, as a matter of precaution and form, to call the young lady's father, Doctor Manette. Who was called accordingly.
`Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner. Have you ever seen him before?'
`Once. When he called at my lodgings in London. Some three years, or three years and a half ago.'
`Can you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet, or speak to his conversation with your daughter?'
`Sir, I can do neither.'
`Is there any particular and special reason for your being unable to do either?'
He answered, in a low voice, `There is.'
`Has it been your misfortune to undergo a long imprisonment, without trial, or even accusation, in your native country, Doctor Manette?'
He answered, in a tone that went to every heart, `A long imprisonment.'
`Were you newly, released on the occasion in question?'
`They tell me so. `Have you no remembrance of the occasion?'
`None. My mind is a blank, from some time--I cannot even say what time--when I employed myself, in my captivity, in making shoes, to the time when I found myself living in London with my dear daughter here. She had become familiar to me, when a gracious God restored my faculties; but, I am quite unable even to say how she had become familiar. I have no remembrance of the process.'
Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the father and daughter sat down together.
A singular circumstance then arose in the case. The object in hand being to show that the prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotter untracked, in the Dover mail on that Friday night in November five years ago, and got out of the mail in the night, as a blind, at a place where he did not remain, but from which he travelled back some dozen miles or more, to a garrison and dockyard, and there collected information; a witness was called to identify him as having been at the precise time required, in the coffee-room of an hotel in that garrison-and-dockyard town, waiting for another person. The prisoner's counsel wascross-examining this witness with no result, except that he had never seen the prisoner on any other occasion, when the wigged gentleman who had all this time been looking at the ceiling of the court, wrote a word or two on a little piece of paper, screwed it up, and tossed it to him. Opening this piece of paper in the next pause, the counsel looked with great attention and curiosity at the prisoner.
`You say again you are quite sure that it was the prisoner?' The witness was quite sure. `Did you ever see anybody very like the prisoner?' Not so like (the witness said) as that he could be mistaken. `Look well upon that gentleman, my learned friend there,' pointing to him who had tossed the paper over, `and then look well upon the prisoner. How say you? Are they very like each other?'
Allowing for my learned friend's appearance being careless and slovenly if not debauched, they were sufficiently like each other to surprise, not only the witness, but everybody present, when they were thus brought into comparison. My Lord being prayed to bid my learned friend lay aside his wig, and giving no very gracious consent, the likeness became much more remarkable. My Lord inquired of Mr. Stryver (the prisoner's counsel), whether they were next to try Mr. Carton (name of my learned friend) for treason? But, Mr. Stryver replied to my Lord, no; but he would ask the witness to tell him whether what happenedonce, might happen twice; whether he would have been so confident if he had seen this illustration of his rashness sooner, whether he would be so confident, having seen it; and more. The upshot of which was, to smash this witness like a crockery vessel, and shiver his part of the case to useless lumber.
Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust off his fingers in his following of the evidence. He had now to attend while Mr. Stryver fitted the prisoner's case on the jury, like a compact suit of clothes; showing them how the patriot, Barsad, was a hired spy and traitor, an unblushing trafficker in blood, and one of the greatest scoundrels upon earth since accursed Judas--which he certainly did look rather like. How the virtuous servant, Cly, was his friend and partner, and was worthy to be; how the watchful eyes of those forgers and false swearers had rested on the prisoner as a victim, because some family affairs in France, he being of French extraction, did require his making those passages across the Channel--though what those affairs were, a consideration for others who were near and dear to him, forbad him, even for his life, to disclose. How the evidencethat had been warped and wrested from the young lady, whose anguish in giving it they had witnessed, came to nothing, involving the mere little innocent gallantries and politenesses likely to pass between any young gentleman and young lady so thrown together;--with the exception of that reference to George Washington, which was altogether too extravagant and impossible to be regarded in any other light than as a monstrous joke. How it would be a weakness in the government to break down in this attempt to practise for popularity on the lowest national antipathies and fears, and therefore Mr. Attorney-General had made the most of it; how, nevertheless, it rested upon nothing, save that vile and infamous character of evidence too often disfiguring such cases, and of which the State Trials of this country were full. But, there my Lord interposed (with as grave a face as if it had not been true), saying that he could not sit upon that Bench and suffer those allusions.
Mr. Stryver then called his few witnesses, and Mr. Cruncher had next to attend while Mr. Attorney-General turned the whole suit of clothes Mr. Stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out; showing how Barsad and Cly were even a hundred times better than he had thought them, and the prisoner a hundred times worse. Lastly, came my Lord himself turning the suit of clothes, now inside out, now outside in, but on the whole decidedly trimming and shaping them into grave-clothes for the prisoner.
And now, the jury turned to consider, and the great flies swarmed again.
Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the court, changed neither his place nor his attitude, even in this excitement. While his learned friend, Mr. Stryver, massing his papers before him, whispered with those who sat near, and from time to time glanced anxiously at the jury; while all the spectators moved more or less, and grouped themselves anew; while even my Lord himself arose from his seat, and slowly paced up and down his platform, not unattended by a suspicion in the minds of the audience that his state was feverish; this one man sat leaning back, with his torn gown half off him, his untidy wig put on just as it had happened to light on his head after its removal, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ceiling as they had been all day. Something especially reckless in his demeanour, not only gave him a disreputable look, but so diminished the strong resemblance he undoubtedly bore to the prisoner (which his momentary earnestness, when they were compared together, had strengthened), that many of the lookers-on, taking note of him now, said to one another they would hardly have thought the two were so alike. Mr. Cruncher made the observation to his next neighbour, and added, `I'd hold half a guinea that he don't get no law-work to do. Don't look like the sort of one to get any, do he?'
Yet, this Mr. Carton took in more of the details of the scene than he appeared to take in; for now, when Miss Manette's head dropped upon her father's breast, he was the first to see it, and to say audibly: `Officer! look to that young lady. Help, the gentleman to take her out. Don't you see she will fall!'
There was much commiseration for her as she was removed, and much sympathy with her father. It had evidently been a great distress to him, to have the days of his imprisonment recalled. He had shown strong internal agitation when he was questioned, and that pondering or brooding look which made him old, had been upon him, like a heavy cloud, ever since. As he passed out, the jury, who had turned back and paused a moment, spoke, through their foreman.
They were not agreed, and wished to retire. My Lord (perhaps with George Washington on his mind) showed some surprise that they were not agreed, but signified his pleasure that they should retire under watch and ward, and retired himself. The trial had lasted all day, and the lamps in the court were now being lighted. It began to be rumoured that the jury would be out a long while. The spectators dropped off to get refreshment, and the prisoner withdrew to the back of the dock, and sat down.
Mr. Larry, who had gone out when the young lady and her father went out, now reappeared, and beckoned to Jerry: who, in the slackened interest, could easily get near him.
`Jerry, if you wish to take something to eat, you can. But, keep in the way. You will be sure to hear when the jury come in. Don't be a moment behind them, for I want you to take the verdict back to the bank. You are the quickest messenger I know, and will get to Temple Bar long before I can.'
Jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and he knuckled in acknowledgment of this communication and a shilling.
Mr. Carton came up at the moment, and touched Mr. Lorry on the arm.
`How is the young lady?'
`She is greatly distressed; but her father is comforting her, and she feels the better for being out of court.'
`I'll tell the prisoner so. It won't do for a respectable bank gentleman like you, to be seen speaking to him publicly, you know.'
Mr. Lorry reddened as if he were conscious of having debated the point in his mind, and Mr. Carton made his way to the outside of the bar. The way out of court lay in that direction, and Jerry followed him, all eyes, ears, and spikes.
`Mr. Darnay!'
The prisoner came forward directly.
`You will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, Miss Manette. She will do very well. You have seen the worst of heragitation.'
`I am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. Could you tell her so for me, with my fervent acknowledgments?'
`Yes, I could. I will, if you ask it.'
Mr. Carton's manner was so careless as to be almost insolent. He stood, half turned from the prisoner, lounging with his elbow against the bar.
`I do ask it. Accept my cordial thanks.'
`What,' said Carton, still only half turned towards him, `do you expect, Mr. Darnay?'
`The worst.'
`It's the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think their withdrawing is in your favour.
Loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, Jerry heard no more: but left them--so like each other in feature, so unlike each other in manner--standing side by side, both reflected in the glass above them. 
An hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal crowded passages below, even though assisted off with mutton pies and ale. The hoarse messenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking that refection, had dropped into a doze, when a loud murmur and a rapid tide of people setting up the stairs that led to the court, carried him along with them.
`Jerry! Jerry!' Mr. Lorry was already calling at the door when he got there.
`Here, sir! It's a fight to get back again. Here I am, sir!'
Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through the throng. `Quick! Have you got it?'
`Yes, sir!'
Hastily written on the paper was the word `ACQUITTED'.
`If you had sent the message, "Recalled to Life," again, muttered Jerry, as he turned, `I should have known what you meant, thistime.'
He had no opportunity of saying, or so much as thinking, anything else, until he was clear of the Old Bailey; for, the crowd came pouring out with a vehemence that nearly took him off his legs, and a loud buzz swept into the street as if the baffled blue-flies were dispersing in search of other carrion. 
检察长先生不得不告诉陪审团说，他们面前这个囚犯虽然年事尚轻，可他从事他将用性命抵偿的卖国勾当早已是个老手。这个大众公敌里通外国并不是自今日始，也不是自昨日始，甚至不是自去年或前年始。早在很久以前该犯已在法国和英国之间频繁往来，而对其间所从事的活动从来无法交代。若是卖国行为也能兴旺（所幸此事决无可能），该犯行为的真正邪恶与罪孽便不致受到揭露。所幸上帝昭示了一个人，使他不惧艰险，不畏非难，了解到该犯阴谋的性质，为此感到骇然，便向国王陛下的国务总监和最光辉的枢密院进行了揭发。这位爱国志士即将出庭作证。此人的立场和态度确属崇高伟大。他原是囚犯的朋友，却在那吉祥也不吉祥的时刻发现了罪犯的无耻勾当，于是下决心将他难以继续敬爱下去的奸贼送上了祖国神圣的祭坛。检察官说，若是英国也像古希腊和古罗马一样，存在为有功于大众之人竖立雕像的制度，一座雕像肯定已为这位光辉的公民竖立。可由于此类规定暂付阙如，这雕像他看来已难以获得了。正如诗人所云，美德可能以一定的方式传染（检察长深知此类章节颇多，陪审团诸公可以一字不差地从舌尖流出。可此时陪审团却露出内疚之状，表明他们并不知道这类段落），而为人们称作爱国主义，亦即对邦国之爱的光辉品德传染性尤强。因此这位证人，这位一尘不染、无懈可击、忠于王室的崇高典范，这位无论在什么卑微琐屑的情况下谈到都会令人肃然起敬的人物跟囚犯的仆人取得了联系，启发他下定了崇高的决心去检查他主人的桌子抽屉和衣服口袋，并藏起了他的文件。检察长说，他知道有人对这位可敬的仆人可能有所责难，但是一般说来他却看重那仆人甚于自己的兄弟姐妹，尊重那仆人甚于自己的生身父母。他满怀信心地号召陪审团也持跟他相同的态度。他说这两个证人的证词和他们已发现而且即将出示的文件即将表明该犯持有记载国王陛下兵力及其海陆军部署与准备的文件，而且将毋庸置疑地证明他经常将此类情报递交给一个敌对的强国。虽然这些文件尚无法确证为该犯笔迹，却也无伤大局，因为它更足以说明该犯之老谋深算，早已预留地步，因之尤应受到制裁。他说证据将从五年前提起，该项证据将表明该犯早在英国部队与北美公民第一次开火之前数周已在从事此类罪恶活动。综上所述，深信忠于王室、忠于职责的陪审团诸公自会积极肯定该犯罪无可逭，应予处死，无论他们对杀人持何种态度。检察官说，若不砍掉该犯的头，陪审团诸公便会寝不安枕，也不能容忍他们的夫人们晏然高卧，也不能容忍他们的孩子们晏然高卧。法庭里便扬起一片嗡嗡的声音，仿佛有一大群绿头苍蝇正围着囚犯乱飞，等着看他马上变成就要变成的东西。这阵喧哗过去，那无懈可击的爱国志士已经登上了证人席。
副检察长先生于是跟随他上司的榜样询问了爱国志士：此人是约翰.巴萨先生。他那纯洁的灵魂的故事跟检察长先生所描写的完全一样，若是有缺点的话，也许是描写得太精确了一点。在他卸下他那高贵的心胸中的重负之后，他原可以谦抑地退场的，可是坐在罗瑞先生身边不远、面前放了一大摞文件的戴假发的先生却要求对他提出几个问题。此时坐在他对面的另一个戴假发的先生仍然在望着法庭的天花板。
他自己做过密探么？没有，他对这种卑鄙的暗示嗤之以鼻。他靠什么过活？靠他的财产。他的财产在哪儿？他记不清楚。是什么财产？那不关任何人的事。是继承来的么？是的，继承来的。从谁继承来的？一个远亲。很远么？有些远。坐过牢么？肯定没有。从没有因债务坐过牢么？不知道此事与案件有何关系。从没有因债务坐过牢么？一一来，再回答一次。从没坐过牢么？坐过。多少次？两三次。不是五六次么？也许是。什么职业？绅士。被人踢过么？可能。常挨踢么？不。被踢下过楼梯么？肯定没有。有一回在楼梯顶上挨过踢，是自己滚下楼梯的。是因为掷骰子做假么？踢我的醉汉说过这类的话，但那话不可靠。能发誓不是真的么？肯定能。曾经靠赌博作弊为生么？从来没有。曾经靠赌博为生么？不比别的绅士们厉害。向这位囚犯借过钱么？借过。还过么？没有。，跟这囚犯之间那点疏远的友谊是在马车上、旅馆里和邮船上硬攀上的么？不是。他肯定见到囚犯带着这些文件么？肯定。对文件再也不知道别的了么？不知道。比如，自己没设法去弄到么？没有。预计从这次做证你能得到好处么？没有这种想法。不是受雇于政府、接受正规津贴、陷害他人么？啊，天啦，不。或者是别的什么？啊,天啦，不。能发誓么？可以一再发誓。除了纯粹的爱国主义之外别无动机么？并无其他任何动机。
道德高尚的仆人罗杰.克莱很快就完成了宣誓仪式。他四年前开始朴实、单纯地为该囚犯工作。在加莱邮船上他问囚犯是否需要一个勤杂工，囚犯就雇用了他。并不是要求囚犯怜悯而雇用的--想也没想过这样的事。他开始对囚犯产生了怀疑，然后就监视他。他在旅行中整理囚犯衣物时曾在口袋里多次见过类似的文件。曾经从囚犯抽屉里取出过这些文件。不是事先放进去的。他，在加莱见过囚犯把这几份文件给法国人看过。在加莱和波伦那又曾见他把同样的文件给法国人看过。他热爱祖国，不禁义愤填膺，于是告发了他。从没有涉嫌盗窃过一个银茶壶。曾经因为一个芥末壶遭过冤枉，那壶其实是镀银的。他认识刚才那个证人已经七八年，完全出于巧合。他并没说是特别出奇的巧合。大部分的巧合都有些出奇。真正的爱国主义也是他唯一的动机。他并不把这叫作出奇的巧合。他是个真正的不列颠人，但愿许多人都能像他一样。
绿头苍蝇又发出嗡嗡声。检察长先生传唤贾维斯.罗瑞先生。
“贾维斯.罗瑞先生，你是台尔森银行的职员么？”
“是。”
“一干七百七十五年十一月的一个星期五晚上你是否曾坐邮车出差，从伦教去过多佛？”
“去过。”
“车厢里还有别的乘客么？”
“有两个。”
“他们是在夜里中途下车的么？”
“是的。”
“罗瑞先生，你看看囚犯，是不是那两个旅客之一？”
“我不能负责说他是。”
“他像不像两个旅客之一？”
“两个人都裹得严严实实，夜又很黑，而我们大家又都很封闭，我连像不像也不能负责肯定。”
“罗瑞先生，你再看看囚犯。假如他也像那两个旅客一样把自己裹起来，他的个头和身高像不像那两人？，”
“不像。”
“你不愿发誓说他不是那两人之一么，罗瑞先生？”
“不愿。”
“因此你至少是说他有可能是两人之一么？”
“是的。只是我记得那两人那时都胆小怕事，害怕强盗，跟我一样。可是这位囚犯却没有胆小怕事的神气。”，
“你看见过假装胆小怕事的么，罗瑞先生？”
“肯定见过。”
“罗瑞先生，你再看看囚犯。你以前肯定见过他么？”
“见过。”
“什么时候？”
“那以后几天我从法国回来，这个囚徒在加莱上了我坐的那条邮船，跟我同船旅行。”，
“他几点钟上的船？”
“半夜过后不久。”
“是夜静更深的时候。在那个不方便的时刻上船的只有他一个人么？”
“碰巧只有他一个。”
“别管碰巧不碰巧，在那夜静更深的时候上船的只有他一个，是么？”
“是的。”
“你是一个人在旅行么，罗瑞先生？有没有人同路？”
“有两个人同路，一位先生和一位小姐。两人现在都在这儿。”
“都在这儿。你跟囚犯说过话么？”
“没大说话。那天有暴风雨，船很颠簸，路又长，我几乎全程都是躺在沙发上过的。”
“曼内特小姐！”
以前众人用眼睛搜寻的小姐，现在又受到了众人注意。她从座位上站了起来，她的父亲也随之站了起来--他不愿她松开挽住他胳膊的手。
“曼内特小姐，看看这个囚犯。”
对被告说来，面对这样真诚的青春与美丽，面对这样的怜恤之情是比面对在场的整个人群还要困难的。他仿佛是站在坟墓的边沿跟她遥遥相对。这时带着好奇心注视着他的全部目光也无法给他保持安静的力量。他那忙碌的右手把手边草药组合到了一起，组成了想象中花圃里的花朵；他想控制住呼吸的努力使他的嘴唇颤抖起来，血液也从嘴唇涌向心里。大苍蝇的嗡嗡声再度扬起。
“曼内特小姐，你以前见过这个囚犯么？”
“见过，先生。”
“在哪儿？”
“在刚才谈起的那艘邮船上，先生，在同一个时候。”
“你就是刚才提到的那位小姐么？”
“啊！很不幸，是的！”
她出于同情而发出的哀伤调子跟法官那不如她悦耳的声音混到了一起。法官带了几分严厉说：“问你什么，回答什么，别发表意见。”
“曼内特小姐，在越过海峡的时候你跟囚犯说过话么？”
“说过，先生。”
“回忆一下。”
她在深沉的寂静中用微弱的声音说：
“那位先生上船时--”
“你是指这个囚犯么？”法官皱着眉头问。
“是的，大人。”
“你就叫他囚犯吧！”
“那囚犯上船时注意到我的父亲很疲劳，很虚弱，”说时她深情地转过头望着站在她身边的父亲，“我的父亲疲惫不堪，我怕他缺少了空气，便在船舱阶梯旁的甲板上给他搭了个铺，自己坐在他身边的甲板上侍候他。那天晚上除了我们四个人之外再也没有别的乘客。那善良的囚犯请求我接受他的主意。他告诉我要如何重新安排才能使我的父亲比刚才少受风雨侵袭--我不知道该怎么做，也不懂得我们出港之后风雨如何，全靠了他的安排。是他帮了我的忙。他对我父亲的病表现了极大的关注与善心，我相信他是出自真情。我俩就像这样交谈了起来。”
“我插一句嘴。他是一个人上船的么？”
“不是。”
“有几个人跟他在一起？”
“两个法国人。”
“他们在一起谈话么？”
“他们一直在一起谈话，直到最后一刻两个法国人要乘小船上岸时才停止。”
“他们之间传递过像这些文件一样的文件么？”
“是传递过一些文件，但我不知道是什么。”
“跟这些文件的大小和形状相同么？”
“可能，不过我确实不知道，虽然他们就在我身边很近的地方低声说话：因为他们站在船舱楼梯的顶上，就着头顶的灯光；灯光很弱，他们的声音很低，我听不清他们的话，只见他们看过一些稿件。”
“好，你谈谈你同囚犯的谈话吧，曼内特小姐。”
“囚犯对我说话无所保留，因为我处境很困难。同样，他对我父亲也很关心，很善意，很有帮助。”她哭出了眼泪。“我希望今天不致用伤害来报答他。”
绿头苍蝇又发出嗡嗡之声。
“曼内特小姐，出庭作证是你的义务，你必须作证，不能逃避。若是囚犯不能完全理解你非常不愿意作证的心情，不理解你的也就只有他一个。请继续下去。”
“他告诉我他在为一件很微妙、很棘手、很可能给别人带来灾祸的事奔走，因此旅行时使用了假名。他说他为这事几天前去了法国，而且可能还要在法国和英国之间断断续续来往很久。”
“他谈到美国的事么，曼内特小姐？说确切一点。”
“他向我解释了那场纠纷的来龙去脉，而且说，照他当时的判断，是英国错了，而且很愚蠢。他还开玩笑说乔治.华盛顿也许会名标青史，跟乔治三世②不相上下。不过他说这话时并无恶意，说时还在笑，为了打发时间而已。”
在众目睽睽之下的动人演出中，主要演员那引人注目的面部表情是会在不知不觉之中受到观众模仿的。那姑娘提出这些证词时前额痛苦地紧锁，很着急，很紧张，暂停说话等待法官记录时也注意观察律师是否赞成她的话。这时法庭各个角落的观众也流露出同样的表情。而在法官从他的记录中抬起头来对有关乔治.华盛顿的离经叛道之论表示憎恶时，证人脸上的表情也立即反映到在场的绝大部分人的额头上。
检察长此时向法宫大人表示，为了预防意外，也为了形式上的需要，他认为应当要求这位小姐的父亲曼内特医生作证。于是曼内特医生被要求出了庭。
“曼内特医生，你看看囚犯。你以前见过他么？”
“见过一次。他到我伦敦的寓所来看过我。那大约是三年或三年半以前。”
“你能认出他就是跟你一起乘过邮船的旅客么？你对他跟你女儿的谈话有什么看法？”
“对两个问题我都无法回答，大人。”
“你无法回答有什么确切的特别的原因么？”
他低声回答说，“有。”
“你在你出生的国家曾经遭到过不幸，未经审判，甚至未经控告就受到了长期监禁，是么，曼内特医生？”
他回答的口气打动了每一颗心，“受过长期监禁。”
“刚才谈到的那个时候你是刚刚放出来么？”
“他们是那样告诉我的。”
“你对当时情况已经没有记忆了么？”
“没有了。从某个时候起--我甚至说不清是什么时候--从我坐牢时让自己学着做鞋起，到我发现自己已在伦敦，跟现在在我身边的我亲爱的女儿住在一起为止，我心里是一片空白。仁慈的上帝让我的官能恢复时，我女儿跟我已很熟悉；可我连她是怎样跟我熟悉起来的也说不清了。那整个过程我都没有记忆。”
检察长坐下，父女俩也坐下。
此时这件案子却出现了一个离奇的变化。此案的目的是要证明五年前那个十一月的星期五囚犯跟某个尚待追查的同案犯一起乘邮车南下，两人晚间一同下了车，到了某处，但未停留（目的是造成假象），却又立即折返十多英里，来到某个要塞和造船厂搜集情报。一个证人出庭确认四犯曾在那个时刻在那个要塞和造船厂所在的城市某旅店的咖啡馆里等待另一个人。囚犯的辩护律师反复盘问了这位证人，却只发现他在其它时候从没有见过囚犯，此外便一无所得。这时那位戴着假发一直望着法庭天花板的先生却在一张小纸条上写了几个字，卷了卷，扔给了律师。律师抓住空隙读完纸条后很仔细很好奇地把囚犯观察了一会儿。
“你再次重申你有把握那人就是这个囚犯么？”
证人表示很有把握。
“你见过样子很像这个囚犯的人么？”
证人说，再像他也不会认错。
“你仔细看看我的有学识的朋友，那边那位先生，”律师指着扔过纸条的人说，“然后再仔细看看囚犯。你觉得怎么样？他们俩是不是非常相像？”
除了我这位有学问的朋友有点不修边幅（如果不算是有失体面的话）之外，他和囚犯确实是一模一祥。把两人一比较，不但叫那证人大吃了一惊，就是在场所有的人也都大吃了一惊。众人要求法宫命令“那有学问的朋友”取下假发。那人不太高兴地同意了。这一来，两人之间的相似更显得惊人了。法官询问斯特莱佛（囚犯的律师）下面是否要求以叛国罪审问卡尔顿（那是我那位有学问的朋友的名字）。斯特莱佛先生回答说不必了，但他要请证人说明：发生过一次的事是否会发生第二次？若是他早一些见到他的鲁莽轻率的证明，他是否还会那么深信不疑？在他已经见到他的鲁莽轻率的证明之后，他是否仍然那么深信不疑？会不会更加深信不疑？盘问的结果是把那证词像瓦罐一样砸了个粉碎，也把证人在本案中所表演的角色驳了个体无完肤。
克朗彻先生听到这儿时，已从他的指头上啃下了可以当一顿饭吃的铁锈。现在他得听斯特莱佛先生把囚犯的案情裁作一套紧身衣穿到陪审团身上了。斯特莱佛先生向陪审团指出，那爱国志士巴萨是个受人雇用的密探和奸细，是个做人血买卖从不脸红的家伙，是个自从受诅咒的犹大以来最无耻的流氓--而他的长相也的确像犹大。他指出，那位道德高尚的仆人克莱是巴萨当之无愧的朋友和搭挡。这两位作伪证发伪誓的家伙看中了囚犯，想把他当作牺牲品，因为他是法国血统，在法国有一些家务要求他在海峡两岸往来奔波。至于是什么家务，因为关系到他某些亲友的利益他宁死也不肯透露。而他们从这位小姐那儿逼出来的、受到歪曲的证词其实毫无意义（诸位已经看到她提供证词时所受到的痛苦），那不过是像这样萍水相逢的青年男女之间小小的殷勤礼貌的活动而已--只有对华盛顿的提法例外，那话很出格，很狂妄，可也只能看作一个过分的玩笑。如果政府竟想借最卑下的民族对立情绪和畏惧心理做文章来进行压制，树立威信（检察长先生对此曾大加渲染），那恐怕只会成为政府的一种弱点。可惜这种做法除了证词那邪恶的不光彩的性质只会歪曲这类案件的形象之外全无根据。它只能使我国的国事审判里充满了这类案件。他才说到这儿，法官已板起面孔，好像这话纯属无稽之谈，他不能坐在法官席上对这类含沙射影的言论充耳不闻。
然后斯特莱佛先生要求他的几个证人出席作了证。再以后克朗彻先生便听见副检察长先生把斯特莱佛先生为陪审团剪裁的衣服整个儿地翻了过来；他表示巴萨和克莱甚至比他估计的还要好一百倍，而囚犯则要坏一百倍。最后，法官大人发言，他把这件衣服时而翻了过来，时而又翻了过去，总而言之，肯定是把它整个儿重新剪裁了一次，做成了一件给囚犯穿的尸衣。
现在，陪审团开始考虑案情，大苍蝇又发出嗡嗡之声。
即使在这样的波澜起伏的情况之下，一直望着法庭天花板的卡尔顿先生仍然没有挪一挪身子，或改一改态度。在他那学识渊博的朋友斯特莱佛整理着面前的文件、跟他身边的人低声交谈，而且不时焦灼地望望陪审团的时候；在所有的观众都多少走动走动、另行组成谈话圈子的时候；甚至在连我们的检察官也离开了座位，在台上缓缓地踱来踱去，未必不使观众怀疑他很紧张的时候，这位先生仍然靠在椅背上没有动。他那拉开的律师长袍一半敞着，零乱的假发还是脱下后随手扣上的样子。他双手抄在口袋里，两眼仍然像那一整天那样死死盯住天花板。他有一种特别马虎的神态，不但看去显得不受人尊重，而且大大降低了他跟囚犯之间毫无疑问的相似程度（刚才大家把他俩做比较时，他暂时的认真态度曾强化了相似的印象），因此许多观众现在都注意到了他，并交换意见说他们刚才怎么会认为他们俩那么相像呢。克朗彻先生对他身边的人就是这样说的。他还说，“我可以用半个金币打赌，这人是得不到法律工作做的。他那副模样就不像，是么？”
然而这位卡尔顿先生所注意到的现场细节却比表面看去要多一些，因为这时曼内特小姐的头耷拉到了她爸爸胸口上，而这事竟被他第一个看到了，并且清清楚楚地说：“长官，注意一下那位小姐。帮助那位先生扶她出去。你还看不出她快要昏倒了么！”
在那姑娘被扶出去的时候，许多人都表示怜惜，也对她的父亲深表同情。重新提起他的牢狱生活显然使老人痛苦不堪。在他受到查问时，他表现了强烈的内心激动，从此以后一团浓重的乌云就笼罩了他，他一直在呆呆地想着，露出一副衰迈憔悴之相。他出场后，陪审团重新坐定，过了一会儿，它的团长开始发言。
陪审团意见不统一，希望退庭。法官大人（心里也许还想着乔治.华盛顿）对他们竟然会意见分歧表示意外，并指出他们退席后要受到监视与保护，然后自己便退了庭。审判已经进行了一天，法庭已经点上了灯。有人传说陪审团要退场很久。观众们纷纷出场去吃点心，囚犯也退到被告席背后坐下。
陪同那位小姐和她爸爸离开法庭的罗瑞先生此时又出现了。他向杰瑞做了个手势。这时众人兴趣已经降低，杰瑞毫不费力就挤到了他的身边。
“杰瑞，如果你打算吃点点心，现在可以去吃。可是别走远了。陪审团回来之后你一定要好找才行。不要比他们晚回，因为我要你立即把判决带回银行。你是我所认识的最快的信使，赶回法学院大门比我要快多了。”
杰瑞的头发下勉强露出了一点额头可以敲敲。他便用指关节敲了敲额头，表示接受了任务，也接受了一个先令。这时卡尔顿先生走了过来，碰了碰罗瑞先生的手臂。
“小姐怎么样？”
“她很难受；她爸爸在安慰她，出了法庭之后她好过了一些。”
“我可以把这话告诉囚犯。像你这样体面的银行人员公开跟他说话是不行的，这你知道。”
罗瑞先生脸红了，好像意识到他确曾有过这样的内心斗争。卡尔顿先生到被告席去了。法庭出口正在那个方向。杰瑞跟在他身后，他的眼睛、耳朵、连满头铁蒺藜苇蒂全都集中到了他的身上。
“达尔内先生！”
囚犯径直走了过来。
“你当然急于听到证人曼内特小姐的情况。她马上就会好的。她最激动的时候就是你见到她的时候。”，
“我让她难受了，我深感抱歉。你能把我这话向她转达么？还有，对她的一片苦心我也衷心感谢。”
“可以。如果你提出要求，我愿意转达。”
卡尔顿先生一副满不在乎的神气，几乎有点无礼。他半个身子背着囚犯站着，手肘懒懒地靠在被告席上。
“那我就提出要求。请接受我衷心的谢意。”
“那么你，”卡尔顿说，仍然半个身子背着他，“你等待的是什么呢？”
“最不幸的后果。”
“这是最明智的希望，也是最可能的后果，不过，我认为陪审团退席会对你有利。”
在法庭附近的路上停留是不允许的，因此杰瑞再也没有听见别的。他离开了这两个长相那么相同、态度却那么不同的人。那肩并肩站着的两个人，都反映在头上的镜子里。
在下面那挤满了小偷和流氓的通道里，尽管有羊肉馅饼和麦酒的帮助，一个半钟头也好不容易才打发过去。那沙喉咙的信使吃完便餐便在长凳上很不舒服地坐下，打起盹来。这时一阵高声的嗡嗡和一股疾走的人潮挤向法庭和楼梯，也把他席卷而去。
“杰瑞！杰瑞！”他赶到时罗瑞先生已经在门口叫他。
“这儿，先生！挤回来简直像打仗呢。我在这儿，先生！”
罗瑞先生在人群中塞给他一张纸条。“快，拿好了么？”
“拿好了，先生！”
纸条上匆匆地写了几个字：“无罪释放。”
“即使你送的消息又是‘死人复活，，”杰瑞转过身自言自语，“我也会懂得你的意思的。”
在他挤出老贝勒之前没有机会再说什么，甚至没有机会再想什么，因为人群早已洪水似地拼命往外挤，几乎把他挤倒在地上。一股人声鼎沸的人流卷过大街，仿佛那些失望的绿头苍蝇又分头，寻找别的尸体去了。
Book 2 Chapter 4 Congratulatory 
FROM the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of the human stew that  had been boiling there all day, was straining off, when Doctor Manette, Lucie Manette, his daughter, Mr. Lorry, the solicitor for the defence, and its counsel, Mr. Stryver, stood gathered round Mr. Charles Darnay--just released--congratulating him on his escape from death.
It would have been difficult by a far brighter light, to recognise in Doctor Manette, intellectual of face and upright of bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. Yet, no one could have looked at him twice, without liking again: even though the opportunityof observation had not extended to the mournful cadence of his low grave voice, and to the abstraction that overclouded him fitfully, without any apparent reason. While one external cause, and that a reference to his long lingering agony, would always--as on the trial--evoke this condition from the depths of his soul, it was also in its nature to arise of itself, and to draw a gloom over him, as incomprehensible to those unacquainted with his story as if they had seen the shadow of the actual Bastille thrown upon him by a summer sun, when the substance was three hundred miles away.
Only his daughter had the power of charming this black brooding from his mind. She was the golden thread that united him to a Past beyond his misery, and to a Present beyond his misery: and the sound of her voice, the light of her face, the touch of her hand, had a strong beneficial influence with him almost always. Not absolutely always, for she could recall some occasions on which her power had failed; but they were few and slight, and she believed them over.
Mr. Darnay had kissed her hand fervently and gratefully, and had turned to Mr. Stryver, whom he warmly thanked. Mr. Stryver, a man of little more than thirty, but looking twenty years older than he was, stout, loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of delicacy, had a pushing way of shouldering himself (morally and physically) into companies and conversations, that argued well for his shouldering his way up in life.
He still had his wig and gown on, and he said, squaring himself at his late client to that degree that he squeezed the innocent Mr. Lorry clean out of the group: `I am glad to have brought you off with honour, Mr. Darnay. It was an infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the less likely to succeed on that account.
`You have laid me under an obligation to you for life-in two senses,' said his late client, taking his hand.
`I have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay; and my best is as good as another man's, I believe.'
It clearly being incumbent on some one to say, `Much better,' Mr. Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but with the interested object of squeezing himself back again.
`You think so?' said Mr. Stryver. `Well! you have been present all day,, and you ought to know. You are a man of business, too.
`And as such,' quoth Mr. Larry, whom the counsel learned in the law had now shouldered back into the group, just as he had previously shouldered him out of it--`as such I will appeal to Doctor Manette, to break up this conference and order us all to our homes. Miss Lucie looks ill, Mr. Darnay has had a terrible day, we are worn out.'
`Speak for yourself, Mr. Lorry,' said Stryver; `I have a night's work to do yet. Speak for yourself.'
`I speak for myself,' answered Mr. Lorry, `and for Mr. Darnay, and for Miss Lucie, and--Miss Lucie, do you not think I may speak for us all?' He asked her the question pointedly, and with a glance at her father.
His face had become frozen, as it were, in a very curious look at Darnay: an intent look, deepening into a frown of dislike and distrust, not even unmixed with fear. With this strange expression on him his thoughts had wandered away.
`My father,' said Lucie, softly laying her hand on his.
He slowly shook the shadow off, and turned to her.
`Shall we go home, my father?'
With a long breath, he answered `Yes.'
The friends of the acquitted prisoner had dispersed, under the impression which he himself had originated--that he would not be released that night. The lights were nearly all extinguished in the passages, the iron gates were being closed with a jar and a rattle, and the dismal place was deserted until to-morrow morning's interest of gallows, pillory, whipping-post, and branding-iron, should re-people it. Walking between her father and Mr. Darnay, Lucie Manette passed into the open air. A hackney-coach was called, and the father and daughter departed in it.
Mr. Stryver had left them in the passages, to shoulder his way back to the robing-room. Another person, who had not joined the group, or interchanged a word with any one of them, but who had been leaning against the wall where its shadow was darkest, had silently strolled out after the rest, and had looked on until the coach drove away. He now stepped up to where Mr. Lorry and Mr. Darnay stood upon the pavement.
`So, Mr. Lorry! Men of business may speak to Mr. Darnay now?'
Nobody had made any acknowledgment of Mr. Carton's part in the day's proceedings; nobody had known of it. He was unrobed, and was none the better for it inr young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, Mr. Darnay!' he said, filling his new goblet.
A slight frown and a laconic `Yes,' were the answer.
`That's a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for by! How does it feel? Is it worth being tried for one's life, to be the object of such sympathy and compassion, Mr. Darnay?'
Again Darnay answered not a word.
`She was mightily pleased to have your message, when I gave it her. Not that she showed she was pleased, but I suppose she was.'
The allusion served as a timely reminder to Darnay that this disagreeable companion had, of his own free |鯫銮what you have to do with the matter. If you'll
U?od thing, and a very respectable thing. And, sir, if business imposes its restraints and its silences and impediments, Mr. Darnay as a young gentleman of generosity knows how to make allowance for that circumstance. Mr. Darnay, good-night, God bless you, sir! I hope you have been this day preserved for a prosperous and happy life.--Chair there!'
Perhaps' a little angry with himself as well as with the barrister, Mr. Lorry hustled into the chair, and was carried off to Tellson's. Carton, who smelt of port wine, and did not appear to be quite sober, laughed then, and turned to Darnay:
`This is a strange chance that throws you and me together. This must be a strange night to you, standing alone here with your counterpart on these street stones?'
`I hardly seem yet,' returned Charles Darnay, `to belong to this world again.'
`I don't wonder at it; it's not so long since you were pretty far advanced on your way to another. You speak faintly.'
`I begin to think I am faint.'
`Then why the devil don't you dine? I dined, myself while those numskulls were deliberating which world you should belong to--this, or some other. Let me show you the nearest tavern to dine well at.'
Drawing his arm through his own, he took him down Ludgate-hill to Fleet-street, and so, up a covered way, into a tavern. Here, they were shown into a little room, where Charles Darnay was soon recruiting his strength with a good plain dinner and good wine: while Carton sat opposite to him at the same table, with his separate bottle of port before him, and his fully half-insolent manner upon him.
`Do you feel, yet, that you belong to this terrestrial scheme again, Mr. Darnay?'
`I am frightfully confused regarding time and' place; but I am so far mended as to feel that.'
`It must be an immense satisfaction!'
He said it bitterly, and filled up his glass again: which was a large one.
`As to me, the greatest desire I have, is to forget that I belong to it. It has no good in it for me--except wine like this--nor I for it. So we are not much alike in that particular. Indeed, I begin to think we are not much alike in any particular, you and I.'
Confused by the emotion of the day, and feeling his being there with this Double of coarse deportment, to be like a dream, Charles Darnay was at a loss how to answer; finally, answered not at all.
`Now your dinner is done,' Carton presently said, `why don't you call a health, Mr. Darnay; why don't you give your toast?'
`What health? What toast?'
`Why, it's on the tip of your tongue. It ought to be, it must be, I'll swear it's there.
`Miss Manette, then!'
`Miss Manette, then!'
Looking his companion full in the face while he drank the toast, Carton flung his glass over his shoulder against the wall, where it shivered to pieces; then, rang the bell, and ordered in another.
`That's a fair young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, Mr. Darnay!' he said, filling his new goblet.
A slight frown and a laconic `Yes,' were the answer.
`That's a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for by! How does it feel? Is it worth being tried for one's life, to be the object of such sympathy and compassion, Mr. Darnay?'
Again Darnay answered not a word.
`She was mightily pleased to have your message, when I gave it her. Not that she showed she was pleased, but I suppose she was.'
The allusion served as a timely reminder to Darnay that this disagreeable companion had, of his own free will, assisted him in the strait of the day. He turned the dialogue to that point, and thanked him for it.
`I neither want any thanks, nor merit any,' was the careless rejoinder. `It was nothing to do, in the first place; and I don't know why I did it, in the second. Mr. Darnay, let' me ask you a question.'
`Willingly, and a small return for your good offices.'
`Do you think I particularly like you?'
`Really, Mr. Carton,' returned the other, oddly disconcerted, `I have not asked myself the question.'
`But ask yourself the question now.'
`You have acted as if you do; but I don't think you do.'
`1 don't think I do,' said Carton. `I begin to have a very good opinion of your understanding.'
`Nevertheless,' pursued Darnay, rising to ring the bell, `there is nothing in that, I hope, to prevent my calling the reckoning, and our parting without ill-blood on either side.'
Carton rejoining, `Nothing in life!' Darnay rang. `Do you call the whole reckoning?' said Carton. On his answering in the affirmative, `Then bring me another pint of this same wine, drawer, and come and wake me at ten.'
The bill being paid, Charles Darnay rose and wished him good-night. Without returning the wish, Carton rose too, with something of a threat of defiance in his manner, and said, `A last word, Mr. Darnay: you think I am drunk?'
`I think you have been drinking, Mr. Carton.'
`Think? You know I have been drinking.'
`Since I must say so, I know it.'
`Then you shall likewise know why. I am a disappointed drudge, sir. I care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me.'
`Much to be regretted. You might have used your talents better.'
`May be so, Mr. Darnay; may be not. Don't let your sober face elate you, however; you don't know what it may come to. Good-night!'
When he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it.
`Do you particularly like the man?' he muttered, at his own image; `why should you   particularly like a man who resembles you? There is nothing in you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you! What a change you have made in yourself! A good reason for taking to a man, that he shows you what you have fallen away from, and what you might have been! Change places with him, and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was, and commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come on, and have it out in plain words! You hate the fellow.'
He resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it all in a few minutes, and fell asleep on his arms, with his hair straggling over the table, and a long winding-sheet in the candle dripping down upon him.
那一锅人头攒动的沸羹已翻腾了一整天，现在正经过灯光暗淡的走道流泄出它最后的残余。此时曼内特医生、他的女儿露西.曼内特、被告的代办人罗瑞先生和被告的辩护律师斯特莱佛先生正围在刚刚被释放的查尔斯.达尔内身边，祝贺他死里逃生。
即使灯光明亮了许多，要在这位面貌聪颖，腰板挺直的曼内特医生身上辨认出当年巴黎阁楼里的那个老鞋匠也已十分困难。但是多看过他一眼的人即或还没有机会从他那低沉阴郁的嗓门听见那凄苦的调子，不曾见到那每每无缘无故便丧魂落魄的黯淡神态，也往往想多看他一眼。能使他从灵魂深处泛起这种情绪的可以是一种外在的因素，即重提那长期纠缠过他的痛苦经历（比加在这次审判中），也可能是由于这种情绪的本质而自行出现，将他笼罩在阴霾之中，这时候，不知道他来龙去脉的人便难免感到迷惑，仿佛看到夏天的太阳把现实中的巴士底监狱的阴影从三百英里之外投射到他的身上。
只有他的女儿具有把这种阴郁的沉思从他心里赶走的魔力。她是一条金色的丝线，把他跟受难以前的历史连结在一起，也把他跟受难以后的现在连结在一起：她说话的声音、她面颊的光辉、她双手的触摸，几乎对他永远有一种有利的影响。不能绝对地说永远，因为她也让他想起某些使她失去魔力的时刻。不过这种时刻不多，后果也不严重，而且她相信它已成为过去。
达尔内先生已经热情地、感激地吻过她的手，也已转身向斯特莱佛先生表示了热烈的谢意。斯特莱佛先生三十刚过，看来却要比实际年龄大上二十岁。他身体健壮、嗓门粗大、红光满面、大大咧咧，全不受礼仪羁绊，有一种勇往直前地往人群里挤，去找人攀谈的派头（肉体上如此，道德上也如此），而其后果也很能为他的这种做法辩护。
他仍然戴着假发，穿着律师袍子，便闯到他的前当事人面前，无缘无故地把罗瑞先生挤到了一边。他说：“我很高兴能大获全胜把你救了出来，达尔内先生。这是一场无耻的审判，无耻至极。可并不因为无耻而减少它胜诉的可能。”
“我对你终身感激不尽--在两种意义上，”前当事人抓住他的手说。
“我已经为你竭尽了全力，达尔内先生；我这个人竭尽了全力是不会比任何人逊色的，我相信。”
这话分明是要别人接着话茬说，“你可比别人强多了。”罗瑞先生便这样说了。也许他这样说并非没有自己的打算。他是打算挤回圈子里来。
“你这样看么？”斯特莱佛先生说，“是呀，你今天全天在场，应该了解情况。你也是个办理业务的人呢。”
“正因为如此，”罗瑞先生说。熟悉法律的律师又把他挤回了圈子，跟前不久把他挤了出去一样--“正因为如此我要向曼内特医生建议停止交谈，命令大家回家。露西小姐气色不好，达尔内先生过了一天可怕的日子，我们大家都精疲力竭了。”
“你只能代表自己说话，罗瑞先生，”斯特莱佛先生说，“我还有一夜的活儿要干呢。代表你自己说话。”
“我代表我自己说话，”罗瑞先生回答，“也代表达尔内先生说话，代表露西小姐说话--露西小姐，你认为我可以代表我们全体说话么？”他这个问题是向她提出的，却也瞄了一眼她的父亲。
她父亲的脸仿佛冻结了，很奇怪地望着达尔内。那是一种专注的眼神，眉头渐渐地皱紧了，露出厌恶和怀疑的神气，甚至还混合有恐惧。他露出这种离奇的表情，思想已经飞到了远处。
“爸爸，”露西把一只手温柔地放在他的手上。
他缓缓地抖掉了身上的阴影，向她转过身去。
“我们回家吧，爸爸？”
他长呼了一口气，说，“好的。”
无罪释放的囚徒的朋友们分了手，他们有一种感觉：他还不会当晚就放出来--但这印象只是他自己造成的。通道里的光几乎全熄灭了。铁门在砰砰地、嘎嘎地关闭。人们正在离开这可怕的地方。对绞刑架、枷号示众、鞭刑柱、烙铁的兴趣要到第二天早上才会吸引人们在这儿重新出现。露西.曼内特走在她父亲和达尔内先生之间，踏进了露天里。他们雇了一部出租马车，父女俩便坐着车走了。
斯特莱佛先生早在走道里就已跟他们分了手，挤回了衣帽间。另外有一个人，从来没有跟这群人会合，也没有跟他们中任何人说过一句话，却一直靠在一堵为最深沉的黑暗笼罩着的墙壁上，等到别人都离开之后才慢慢走出阴影，站在一边望着，直到马车走掉。现在他向罗瑞先生和达尔内先生站着的街道走去。
“那么，罗瑞先生！办理业务的人可以向达尔内先生说说话了么？”
对卡尔顿先生在白天的程序中所扮演的角色至今还没有人表示过感谢，也还没有人知道。他已经脱下了律师长袍，可他那模样并无任何改善。
“你若是知道办理业务的人心里有些什么矛盾，你会觉得很有意思的。有两种力量在斗争，一种是善良天性的冲动，一种是业务工作的面子。”
罗瑞先生脸红了，热情地说，“你以前也说过这话，先生。我们办理业务的人是为公司服务的，作不了自己的主。我们不能不多想公司，少想自己。”
“我知道，我知道，”卡尔顿先生信口说着，“不要生气，罗瑞先生。你跟别人一样善良，这我毫不怀疑，甚至还敢说你比别人更善良。”
“实际上，先生，”罗瑞先生没有理他，只顾说下去，“我的确不知道你跟这件事有什么关系。我比你年龄大了许多，冒昧说一句，我的确不知道这事会变成你的业务。”
“业务！上帝保佑你，我没有业务！”卡尔顿先生说。
“真遗憾你没有业务，先生。”
“我也认为遗憾。”
“若是你有了业务，”罗瑞先生不肯放松，“你也许会好好干的。”
“愿主喜爱你，不！--我不会好好干的，”卡尔顿先生说。
“好吧，先生：”罗瑞先生叫了起来，对方的满不在乎使他很生气，“业务是很好的东西，很体面的东西。而且，如果业务给人带来了制约和不便，迫使人沉默的话，达尔内先生是个慷慨大方的绅士，他知道该怎么大方地处理的。达尔内先生，晚安。上帝保佑你，先生！我希望你今天兴旺与幸福--轿子！”
罗瑞先生也许有点生自己的气，也有点生那律师的气。他匆匆上了轿，回台尔森银行去了。卡尔顿散发着啤酒气，看来已有几分醉意。他哈哈大笑，转身对达尔内说：
“把你跟我抛掷到一起的是一种奇特的机缘。今天晚上你单独和一个相貌酷似你的人一起站在街头的石板上，一定很觉得异样吧？”
“我简直还没觉得回到人世呢，”查尔斯.达尔内回答。
“这我并不感到奇怪；你在黄泉路上已经走了很远呢。连说话也没了力气。”
“我倒开始感到真是一点力气也没有了。”
“那你干吗不吃饭去？那些傻瓜们在研究你应该属于哪个世界时，我已经吃过饭了。让我引你到最近的一家酒店去美美地吃一顿吧！”
他挽起他的胳膊带他通过路盖希尔，来到舰队街，穿过了一段有街棚的路面进入了一家小酒店。他们被引进一间小屋。查尔斯.达尔内在这里吃了一顿简单却味美的晚饭，喝了些甘醇的酒，体力开始恢复。而卡尔顿则带着满脸颇不客气的神情坐在桌子对面，面前摆了自己的一瓶啤酒。
“你现在觉得回到了这个扰攘的人世了么，达尔内先生？”
“我的时间感和地区感都混乱得可怕。不过，我已经恢复了许多，能感到混乱了。”
“你一定感到非常称心如意吧！”
他尖刻地说，又斟满了一杯酒。那杯子挺大。
“对我来说，能叫我最称心如意的便是忘掉我属于这个世界。这个世界对我毫无好处--除了这样的美酒之外。同样，我对它也毫无好处。所以在这个问题上我俩是不大相似的。实际上我开始感到我们在任何方面都不大相像。”
一天的情绪折磨已把查尔斯.达尔内弄得精神恍惚。他感到跟这位行动粗鲁、面貌酷似自己的人在一起像在做梦，因此不知道回答什么好，最后只好索性一言不发。
“你既然吃完了饭，”卡尔顿立即说道，“你为什么不为健康干杯呢，达尔内先生？为什么不祝一祝酒呢？”
“为谁的健康干杯？为谁祝酒？”
“怎么啦，那人不就在你的舌尖上么？应该在的，必然是在的，我发誓它一定在。”
“那就是曼内特小姐了！”
“曼内特小姐！”
卡尔顿正面望着伙伴祝酒，却把自己的酒杯扔到身后的墙上，摔得粉碎，然后按铃叫来了另一个杯子。
“你在黑暗里送进马车的可是个漂亮小姐呢，达尔内先生！”他往新杯里斟着酒，说。
回答是淡淡的皱眉和一声简短的“是的”。
“有这样美丽的小姐同情，有她为你哭泣是很幸运的呢！你感觉怎么样？能得到这样的同情与怜悯，即使受到生死审判也是值得的吧，达尔内先生？”
达尔内仍旧默然。
“我把你的消息带给她时她非常高兴。她虽然没有表示，我却这样估计。”
这一句暗示及时提醒了达尔内：这个讨厌的伙伴那天曾主动帮助他渡过了难关。他立即转向了这个话头，并对他表示感谢。
“我不需要感谢，也不值得感谢，”回答是满不在乎的一句。“首先，那不过是举手之劳，其次，我也不知道为什么这样做。达尔内先生，让我问你一个问题。”
“欢迎，也可以对你的帮助聊表谢意。”
“你以为我特别喜欢你么？”
“的确，卡尔顿先生，”达尔内回答，出奇地感到不安。“我还没有问过自己这个问题呢。”
“那你现在就问问自己吧。”
“从你做的事看来，似乎喜欢，可我并不觉得你喜欢我。”
“我也觉得我并不喜欢你，”卡尔顿说。“我对你的理解力开始有了很高的评价。”
“不过，”达尔内接下去，一面起身按铃，“我希望这不至于妨碍我付帐，也不至于妨碍我们彼此全无恶意地分手。”
卡尔顿回答道，“我才不走呢！”达尔内按铃。“你打算全部付帐么？”卡尔顿问。对方做了肯定的回答。“那就再给我来一品脱同样的酒。伙计，十点钟再叫醒我。”
查尔斯.达尔内付了帐，向他道了晚安。卡尔顿没有回答，却带着几分挑战的神态站起身来，“还有最后一句话，达尔内先生：你以为我醉了么？”
“我认为你一直在喝酒，卡尔顿先生。”
“认为？你知道我是一直在喝酒。”
“既然我非回答不可，我的目答是：知道。”
“那你也必须明白我为什么喝酒。我是个绝望了的苦力，先生。我不关心世上任何人，也没有任何人关心我。”
“非常遗憾。你是可以更好地发挥你的才智的。”
“也许可以，达尔内先生，也许不行。不过，别因为你那张清醒的面孔而得意。你还不知道会出现什么后果呢，晚安！”
这个奇怪的家伙单独留了下来。他拿起一枝蜡烛，走到墙上的镜子而前，细细地打量镜里的自己。
“你特别喜欢这个人么？”他对着自己的影子喃喃地说，“你凭什么要特别喜欢一个长得像你的人？你知道你自己并不爱他啊，滚蛋吧！你让自己发生了多大的变化！好一个理由，居然让你喜欢上了一个人，只不过他让你看到了你追求不到的东西，看到了你可能变成的样子！你若跟他交换地位，你能像他一样受到那双蓝眼睛的青睐么？能像他一样得到那一张激动的脸儿的同情么？算了，说穿了吧，你恨他！”
他向那一品脱酒寻求安慰，几分钟之内把它喝了个精光。然后他便双臂伏在桌上睡着了，他的头发拖在桌上，烛泪点点落在他身上，犹如流成了一道长长的裹尸布。
Book 2 Chapter 5 The Jackal
THOSE were drinking days, and moot men drank hard. So very great is the improvement Time has brought about in such habits, that a moderate statement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow in the course of a night, without any detriment to his reputation as a perfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, a ridiculous exaggeration. The learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any other learned profession in its Bacchanalian Propensities; neither was Mr. Stryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative practice, behind his compeers in this particular, any more than in the drier parts of the legal race.
A favourite at the Old Bailey, and eke at the Sessions, Mr. Stryver had begun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which he mounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favourite, specially, to their longing arms; and shouldering itself towards the visage of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of King's Bench, the florid countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed of wigs, like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from among a rank garden full of flaring companions.
ad once been noted at the Bar, that while Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that faculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is among the most striking and necessary of theadvocate's accomplishments. But a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The more business he got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting at its pith and marrow; and however late at night he sat carousing with Sydney Carton, he always had his points at his fingers' ends in the morning.
Sydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver's great ally. What the two drank together, between Hilary Term and Michaelmas, might have floated a king's ship. Stryver never had a case in hand, anywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling of the court; they went the same Circuit, and even there they prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and Carton was rumoured to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily and unsteadily to his lodgings, like a dissipated cat. At last, it began to get about, among such as were interested in the matter, that although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity.
`Ten o'clock, sir,' said the man at the tavern, whom he had charged to wake him--'ten o'clock, sir.'
`What's the matter?'
`Ten o'clock, sir.'
`What do you mean? Ten o'clock at night?'
`Yes, sir. Your honour told me to call you.'
`Oh! I remember. Very well, very well.'
After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man dexterously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five minutes, he got up, tossed his hat on, and walked out. He turned into the Temple, and, having revived himself by twice pacing the pavements of King's Bench-walk and Paper-buildings, turned into the Stryver chambers.
The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had gone home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his slippers on, and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his greater ease. He had that rather wild, strained, seared marking about the eyes, which may be observed in all free livers of his class, from the portrait of Jeffries downward, and which can be traced, under various disguises of Art, through the portraits of every Drinking Age.
`You are a little late, Memory,' said Stryver.
`About the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later.'
They went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with papers, where there was a blazing fire. A kettle steamed upon the hob, and in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone, with plenty of wine upon it, and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and lemons.
`You have had your bottle, I perceive, Sydney.'
`Two to-night, I think. I have been dining with the day's client; or seeing him dine--it's all one!'
`That was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to bear upon the identification. How did you come by it? When did it strike you?'
`I thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and I thought I should have been much the same sort of fellow, if I had had any luck.'
Mr. Stryver laughed till he shook his precocious paunch.
`You and your luck, Sydney! Get to work, get to work.' Sullenly enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an adjoining room, and came back with a large jug of cold water, a basin, and a towel or two. Steeping the towels in the water, and partially wringing them out, he folded them on his head in a manner hideous to behold, sat down at the table, and said, `Now I am ready!'
`Not much boiling down to be done to-night, Memory,' said Mr. Stryver, gaily, as he looked among his papers.
`How much?'
`Only two sets of them.'
`Give me the worst first.'
`There they are, Sydney. Fire away!'
The lion then composed himself on his back on a sofa on one side of the drinking-table, while the jackal sat at his own Paper bestrewn table proper, on the other side of it, with the bottles and glasses ready to his hand. Both resorted to the drinking-table without stint, but each in a different way; the lion for the most part reclining with his hands in his waistband, looking at the fire, or occasionally flirting with some lighter document; the jackal, with knitted brows and intent face, so deep in his task, that his eyes did not even follow the hand he stretched out for his glass--which often groped about, for a minute or more, before it found the glass for his lips. Two or three times, the matter in hand became so knotty, that the jackal found it imperative on him to get up, and steep his towels anew. From these pilgrimages to the jug and basin, he returned with such eccentricities of dampheadgear as no words can describe; which were made the more ludicrous by his anxious gravity.
At length the jackal had got together a compact repast for the lion, and proceeded to   offer it to him. The lion took it with care and caution, made his selections from it, and his remarks upon it, and the jackal assisted both. When the repast was fully discussed, the lion put his hands in his waistband again, and lay down to meditate. The jackal then invigorated himself with a bumper for his throttle, and a fresh application to his head, and applied himself to the collection of a second meal; this was administered to the lion in the same manner, and was not disposed of until the clocks struck three in the morning.
`And now we have done, Sydney, fill a bumper of punch,' said Mr. Stryver.
The jackal removed the towels from his head, which had been steaming again, shook himself, yawned, shivered, and complied.
`You were very sound, Sydney, in the matter of those crown witnesses to-day. Every question told.'
`I always am sound; am I not?'
`I don't gainsay it. What has roughen'ed your temper? Put some punch to it and smooth it again.
With a deprecatory grunt, the jackal again complied.
`The old Sydney Carton of old Shrewsbury School,' said Stryver, nodding his head over him as he reviewed him in the present and the past, `the old seesaw Sydney. Up one minute and down the next; now in spirits and now in despondency!'
`Ah!' returned the other, sighing: `yes! The same Sydney, with the same luck. Even then, I did exercises for other boys, and seldom did my own.'
`And why not?' `God knows. It was my way, I suppose.'
He sat, with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out before him, looking at the fire.
`Carton,' said his friend, squaring himself at him with a bullying air, as if the fire-grate had been the furnace in which sustained endeavour was forged, and the one delicate thing to be done for the old Sydney Carton of old Shrewsbury School was to shoulder him into it, `your way is, and always was, a lame way. You summon no energy and purpose. Look at me.
`Oh, botheration!' returned Sydney, with a lighter and more good-humoured laugh, `don't *you be moral!'
`How have I done what I have done?' said Stryver; `how do I do what I do?'
`Partly through paying me to help you, I suppose. But it's not worth your while to apostrophise me, or the air, about it; what you want to do, you do. You were always in the front rank, and I was always behind.'
`I had to get into the front rank; I was not born there, was I?'
`I was not present at the ceremony; but my opinion is you were,' said Carton. At this, he laughed again, and they both laughed. 
`Before Shrewsbury, and at Shrewsbury, and ever since Shrewsbury,' pursued Carton, `you have fallen into your rank, and I have fallen into mine. Even when we were fellow students in the Student-Quarter of Paris, picking up French, and French law, and other French crumbs that we didn't get much good of, you were always somewhere, and I was always--nowhere.'
`And whose fault was that?'
`Upon my soul, I am not sure that it was not yours. You were always driving and riving and shouldering and pressing, to that restless degree that I had no chance for my life but in rust and repose. It's a gloomy thing, however, to talk about one's Own past, with the day breaking. Turn me in some other direction before I go.'
`Well then! Pledge me to the pretty witness,' said Stryver, holding up his glass. `Are you turned in a pleasant direction?'
Apparently not, for he became gloomy again.
`Pretty witness,' he muttered, looking down into his glass. `I have had enough of witnesses to-day and to-night; who's your pretty witness?'
`The picturesque doctor's daughter, Miss Manette.'
`She pretty?'
`Is she not?'
`No.'
`Why, man alive, she was the admiration of the whole Court!'
`Rot the admiration of the whole Court! Who made the Old Bailey a judge of beauty? She was a golden-haired doll!'
`Do you know, Sydney,' said Mr. Stryver, looking at him with sharp eyes, and slowly drawing a hand across his florid face: `do you know, I rather thought, at the time, that you sympathised with the golden-haired doll, and were quick to see what=happened to the golden-haired doll?'
`Quick to see what happened! If a girl, doll or no doll, swoons within a yard or two of a man's nose, he can see it without a perspective-glass. I pledge you, but I deny the beauty. And now I'll have no more drink; I'll get to bed.'
When his host followed him out on the staircase with a candle, to light him down the stairs, the day was coldly looking in through its grimy windows. When he got out of the house, the air was cold and sad, the dull sky overcast, the river dark and dim, the whole scene like a lifeless desert. And wreaths of dust were spinning round and round before the morning blast, as if the desert-sand had risen far away, and the first spray of it in its advance had begun to overwhelm the city.
Waste forces within him, and a desert' all around, this man stood still on his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of honourable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. In the fair city of this vision,there were airy galleries from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of life hung ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight. A moment, and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with wasted tears.
Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning him-self to let it cat him away. 
那时是纵饮的时代。大部分人喝酒都很厉害。不过时光已大大地改良了这类风气。在目前，若是朴实地陈述那时一个人一个晚上所能喝下的葡萄酒和混合酒的分量，而且说那丝毫无碍于他正人君子的名声，现在的人是会看作一种荒唐可笑的夸张的。在酒神崇拜的癖好方面，法律这种依靠学识的职业肯定不会比其他依靠学识的职业表现逊色。正在横冲直撞，迅速创建规模更大、收入更丰的业务天地的斯特莱佛先生在这方面跟其他方面一样也是不会比法律界的同行逊色的。
斯特莱佛先生在老贝勒和在法院里都颇为受宠。此时他已开始小心却也大步地跨进他已登上的阶梯的下层。现在法庭和老贝勒必须特别张开他们渴望的双臂，召唤他们的宠儿。人们每天都要看到斯特莱佛先生那张红扑扑的脸从一片假发的园圃中冲出，有如一朵巨大的向日葵横冲直撞挤开满园姓紫嫣红的伙伴奔向太阳，向皇家法庭的大法官那张脸扑去。
有一回法院曾经注意到斯特莱佛先生尽管能说会道、肆无忌惮、冲动胆大，却缺少从一大堆陈述中抓住要害的能力，而这却是律师行当所绝不可少的最为触目的才能。不过他在这方面却取得了惊人的进步。他到手的业务越多，他抓住精髓的能力也似乎越强。不管他晚上跟西德尼.卡尔顿一起狂饮烂醉到多晚，一到早上他总能抓住要害，阐述得头头是道。
西德尼.卡尔顿是最懒惰最没出息的人，却是斯特莱佛最好的盟友。他俩从希拉里期到米迦勒节之间在一起灌下的酒可以浮起一艘豪华巨轮。斯特莱佛无论在什么地方打官司，都少不了有卡尔顿在那儿两手放在口袋里，双眼瞪着天花板。即使在他们一起参加巡回审判时也照常喝到深夜。还有谣言说，有人看见卡尔顿大白天醉得像只放纵的猫，歪歪倒倒地溜回寓所去。最后，对此事感到兴趣的人风闻，虽然西德尼.卡尔顿永远成不了狮子，却是一匹管用得惊人的豺狗，他为斯特莱佛办案子，做工作，扮演的就是那个卑贱的角色。
“十点钟了，先生，”酒店的人说，卡尔顿曾要求他在这时叫醒他-一“十点钟了，先生。”
“什么事？”
“十点钟了，先生。”
“你是什么意思，晚上十点钟么？”
“是的，先生。先生吩咐过我叫醒你的。”
“啊，我想起来了，很好，很好。”
他昏昏沉沉，几次还想睡下，酒店的人却很巧妙地对抗了他--不断地拨火，拨了五分钟。卡尔顿站了起来，一甩帽子戴上，走了出去。他转进了法学会大厦，在高等法院人行道与报业大楼之间的路面上转了两圈，让自己清醒之后转进了斯特莱佛的房间。
斯特莱佛那个从来不在这类会晤中服务的职员已经回了家，开门的是斯特莱佛本人。他穿着拖鞋和宽松的睡衣，为了舒服，敞开了胸口，他的眼睛露出种种颇为放纵、劳累、憔悴的迹象，这种迹象在他的阶层里每一个生活放荡的人身上都可以观察到。自杰佛里斯以下诸人的肖像上都有，也可以从每一个纵酒时代的肖像画里透过种种的艺术掩饰观察出来。
“你来晚了一点，”斯特莱佛说。
“跟平时差不多；也许晚了约莫半个小时。”
他们进入了一间邋遢的小屋，屋里有一排排的书籍和四处堆放的文件，壁炉里炉火燃得白亮，壁炉架上水壶冒着热气。在陈年的文件堆里有一张桌子琳琅满目地摆满了葡萄酒、白兰地酒、甜酒、糖和柠檬。
“我看，你已经喝过了，西德尼。”
“今晚已喝了两瓶，我想。我跟白天那当事人吃了晚饭，或者说看着他吃了晚饭--总之是一回事！”
“你拿自己来作证，西德尼，这可是罕见的招数。你是怎么想出这个主意的？灵感从何而来？”
“我觉得他相当漂亮，又想，我若是运气好，也能跟他一样。”
斯特莱佛先生哈哈大笑，笑得他过早出现的大肚子直抖。
“你跟你那运气，西德尼！干活儿吧，干活儿吧。”
豺狗闷闷不乐地松了松衣服，进了隔壁房间，拿进来一大罐冷水，一个盆子和一两块毛巾。他把毛巾浸在水里，绞个半干，裹在头上，那样子有些吓人，然后在桌旁坐下，说，“好，我准备好了！”
“今天晚上没有多少提炼活儿做，资料库，”斯特莱佛先生翻了翻他的文件，高兴地说。
“有多少？”
“只有两份。”
“先给我最费劲的。”
“这儿，西德尼。干吧！”
于是狮子在酒桌一边背靠沙发凝神坐下，豺狗却在酒桌另一边他自己的堆满文件的桌边坐下，酒瓶和酒杯放在手边。两人的手都不断伸向酒桌，毫不吝惜，但是两人的方式却不相同。狮子往往是两手插在腰带里，躺在沙发上，望着炉火，或是偶然翻翻没多大分量的文件；豺狗却攒紧了眉头，一脸专注地干着活儿，伸手拿杯于也不看一看--往往要晃来晃去找上分把钟才摸到酒杯送到唇边。有两三回工作太棘手，豺狗无奈，只好站起身来，重新浸一浸毛巾。他去水罐和脸盆朝圣回来，头上裹着那潮湿的毛巾，形象之怪诞真是难以描述；可他却一脸正经，焦头烂额，那样子十分滑稽可笑。
最后，豺狗终于给狮子准备好了一份结结实实的点心。狮子小心翼翼地接过手来，再从其中挑挑拣拣，发表意见，然后豺狗又来帮忙。这份点心充分消化之后，狮子又把双手塞进腰带，躺了下来，陷入沉思。于是豺狗又灌下-大杯酒，提了提神，润了润喉，再在头上搭一个冷敷，开始准备第二道点心。这道点心也以同样方式给狮子送上，直到钟敲凌晨三点才算消化完毕。
“事办完了，西德尼，来一大杯五味酒吧，”斯特莱佛先生说。
豺狗从头上取下毛巾，那毛巾又已是热气腾腾），摇了摇头，打了个哈欠，又打了个寒噤，再去倒酒。
“从一切情况看来，你在那几个受王室雇用的见证人面前头脑非常管用呢，西德尼。”
“我的头脑一向管用，难道不是么？”
“这话我不反对。可什么东西惹恼了你了？灌点五味酒，把火灭掉。”
豺狗表示抱歉地哼了哼，照办了。
“你又是什鲁斯伯雷学校的那个西德尼.卡尔顿了，”斯特莱佛对他点点头，对他的现在和过去发表起评论来，“还是那个跷跷板西德尼。一时上，一时下；一时兴高采烈，一时垂头丧气！”
“啊，”对方回答，叹了口气，“是的！还是那个西德尼，还是那种命运。就在那时我也替别的同学做作业，自己的作业却很少做。”
“为什么不做？”
“天知道。也许我就是那德行，我猜想。”
他把双手放在口袋里，双脚伸在面前，坐着，望着炉火。
“卡尔顿，”他的朋友说，说时胸膛一挺，做出一副咄咄逼人的姿态，仿佛壁炉是煅造坚毅顽强性格的熔炉，而能为老什鲁斯伯雷学校的老西德尼.卡尔顿服务的唯一妙法便是把他推进熔炉里去。“你那脾气现在吃不开，以前也一直吃不开。你就是鼓不起干劲，没有目标。你看我。”
“啊，真腻味！”西德尼比刚才更淡泊也更和善地笑了笑。“你别装什么正经了！”
“我己经办到的事是怎么办到的？”斯特莱佛说，“是怎么做成的？”
“我看，有一部分是靠花钱请我帮了忙。可你也犯不着拿那来对着我，或是对着空气大呼小叫呀。你要干什么就干什么去。你总是在前排、我总是在后面不就行了。”
“我必须在前排；我不是天生就在前排的，对不对？”
“你的诞生大典我无缘躬逢其盛，不过，我看你倒天生是坐前排的。”卡尔顿说时哈哈大笑。两人都笑了。
“在什鲁斯伯雷学校之前，在什鲁斯伯雷学校之后，从什鲁斯伯雷学校到如今，”卡尔顿说下去，“你就一直在你那一排，我也一直在我这一排。就连在巴黎的学生区，同学一起唠几句法国话，学点法国法律，捡点并不太实惠的法国破烂，你也总是显山露水，我也总是隐姓埋名。”
“那该怪谁呀？”
“我以灵魂发誓，不能肯定说不该怪你。你永远在推推搡搡、吵吵嚷嚷地挤来挤去，一刻也不停，我这一辈子除了生锈闲散还能有什么机会？不过，在天快亮的时候去谈自己的过去只会令人扫兴。还有别的事就开口，否则我要告辞了。”
“那么，跟我一起为漂亮的证人干一杯吧，”斯特莱佛说，举起酒杯。“你现在心情好了些吧？”
显然并非如此，因为他又阴沉了下来。
“漂亮的证人，”他喃喃地说，低头望着酒杯。“我今天和今晚见到的证人够多的了。你说的漂亮的证人是谁？”
“画儿上美人一样的医生的女儿，曼内特小姐。”
“她漂亮么？”
“不漂亮么？”
“不。”
“我的天呐，满法庭的人都崇拜她呢！”
“让满法庭的人的崇拜见鬼去！是谁让老贝勒变作了选美评判员的？她是个金色头发的布娃娃！”
“你知道不，西德尼，”斯特莱佛目光灼灼地望着他，一只手慢慢抹过涨红了的脸。“你知道不？那时我倒以为你很同情那金发布娃娃呢！那金发布娃娃一出问题，你马上就注意到了。”
“马上注意到出了问题！不管布娃娃不布娃娃，一个姑娘在一个男子汉鼻子面前一两码的地方晕了过去，他是用不着望远镜就能看到的。我可以跟你干杯，但不承认什么漂亮不漂亮。现在我不想再喝酒了，我要睡觉了。”
他的主人秉烛送他来到台阶上、照着他走下去时，白日已从肮脏的窗户上冷冷地望了进来。卡尔顿来到了屋外，屋外的空气寒冷而凄凉，天空阴云爱逮，河水幽黯模糊，整个场景像一片没有生命的荒漠。晨风吹得一圈圈尘埃旋卷翻滚，仿佛荒漠的黄沙已在远处冲天而起，其先驱已开始袭击城市，要把它埋掉。
内心有种种废弃的力量，周围是一片荒漠，这个人跨下一步沉寂的台阶，却站定了。瞬息之间他在眼前的荒野里看到了一座由荣耀的壮志、自我克制以及坚毅顽强组成的海市蜃楼。在那美丽的幻影城市里有虚无缥缈的长廊，长廊里爱之神和美之神遥望着他；有悬满了成熟的生命之果的花园；有在他眼中闪着粼粼波光的希望之湖。可这一切转瞬之间却都消失了。他在层层叠叠的屋宇之巅爬到了一间高处的居室，衣服也不脱便扑倒在一张没有收拾过的床上，枕头上空流的眼泪点点斑斑，还是潮的。
太阳凄凉地、忧伤地升了起来，照在一个极可悲的人身上。那是个很有才华、感情深厚的人，却无法施展自己的才能，用那才华和情感为自己获取幸福。他明知道它的危害，却听之任之，让自己消磨憔悴。
Book 2 Chapter 6 Hundreds of People 
THE quiet lodgings of Doctor Manette were in a quiet street-corner not far from Soho-square. On the afternoon of a certain fine Sunday when the waves of four months had rolled over the trial for treason, and carried it, as to the public interest and memory, far out to sea, Mr. Jarvis Lorry walked along the sunny streets from Clerkenwell where he lived, on his way to dine with the Doctor. After several relapses into business-absorption, Mr. Lorry had become the Doctor's friend, and the quiet street-corner was the sunny part of his life.
On this certain fine Sunday, Mr. Lorry walked towards Soho, early in the afternoon, for three reasons of habit. Firstly, because, on fine Sundays, he often walked out, before dinner, with the Doctor and Lucie; secondly, because, on unfavourable Sundays, he was accustomed to be with them as the family friend, talking, reading, looking out of window, and generally getting through the day; thirdly, because he happened to have his own little shrewd doubts to solve, and knew how the ways of the Doctor's household pointed to that time as a likely time for solving them.
A quainter corner than the corner where the Doctor lived, was not to be found in London. There was no way through it, and the front windows of the Doctor's lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of street that had a congenial air of retirement on it. There were few buildings then, north of the Oxford-road, and forest-trees flourished, and wild flowers grew, and thehawthorn blossomed, in the now vanished fields. As a consequence, country airs circulated in Soho with vigorous freedom, instead of languishing into the parish like stray paupers without a settlement; and there was many a good south wall, not far off, on which the peaches ripened in their season.
The summer light struck into the corner brilliantly in the earlier part of the day; but, when the streets grew hot, the corner was in shadow, though not in shadow so remote but that you could see beyond it into a glare of brightness. It was a cool spot, staid but cheerful, a wonderful place for echoes, and a very harbour from the raging streets.
There ought to have been a tranquil bark in such an anchorage, and there was. The Doctor occupied two floors of a large still house, where several callings purported to be pursued by day, but whereof little was audible any day, and which was shunned by all of them at night. In a building at the back, attainable by a court-yard' where a plane-tree rustled its green leaves, church-organs claimed to be made, and silver to be chased, and likewise gold to be beaten by some mysterious giant who had a golden arm starting out of the wall of the front hall--as if he had beaten himself precious, and menaced a similar conversion of all visitors. Very little of these trades, or of a lonely lodger rumoured to live up-stairs, or of a dim coach-trimming maker asserted to have a counting-house below, was ever heard or seen. Occasionally, a stray workman putting his coat on, traversedthe hall, or a stranger peered about there, or a distant clink was heard across the court-yard, or a thump from the golden giant. These, how-ever, were only the exceptions required to prove the rule that the sparrows in the plane-tree behind the house, andthe echoes in the corner before it, had their own way from Sunday morning unto Saturday night.
Doctor Manette received such patients here as his old reputation, and its revival in the floating whispers of his story, brought him. His scientific knowledge, and his vigilance and skill in conducting ingenious experiments, brought him other-wise into moderate request, and he earned a, much as he wanted.
These things were within Mr. Jarvis Lorry's knowledge, thoughts, and notice, when he rang the door-bell of the tranquil house in the corner, on the fine Sunday afternoon.
`Doctor Manette at home?'
Expected home.
`Miss Lucie at home?'
Expected home.
`Miss Pross at home?'
Possibly at home, but of a certainty impossible for hand-maid to anticipate intentions of Miss Pross, as to admission or denial of the fact.
`As I am at home myself,' said Mr. Lorry, `I'll go up-stairs.'
Although the Doctor's daughter had known nothing of the country of her birth, she appeared to have innately derived from it that ability to make much of little means, which is one of its most useful and most agreeable characteristics. Simple as the furniture was, it was set off by so many little adornments, of no value but for their taste and fancy, that its effect was delightful. The disposition of everything in the rooms, from the largest object to the least; the arrangement of colours, the elegant variety and contrast obtained by thrift in trifles, by delicate hands, clear eyes, and good sense; were at once so pleasant in themselves, and so expressive of their originator, that, as Mr. Lorry stood looking about him, the very chairs and tables seemed to ask him, with something of that peculiar expression which he knew so well by this time, whether he approved?
There were three rooms on a floor, and, the doors by which they communicated being put open that the air might pass freely through them all, Mr. Lorry, smilingly observant of that fanciful resemblance which he detected all around him, walked from one to another. The first was the best room, and in it were Lucie's birds, and flowers, and books, and desk, and work-table, and box of water-colours; the second was the Doctor's consulting-room, used also as the dining-room; the third, changingly speckled by the rustle of the plane-tree in the yard, was the Doctor's bedroom, and there, in a corner, stood the disusedshoemaker's bench and tray of tools, much as it had stood on the fifth floor of the dismal house by the wine-shop, in the suburb of Saint Antoine in Paris.
`I wonder,' said Mr. Lorry, pausing in his looking about, `that he keeps that reminder of his sufferings about him!'
`And why wonder at that?' was the abrupt inquiry that made him start.
It proceeded from Miss Pross, the wild red woman, strong of hand, whose acquaintance he had first made at the Royal George Hotel at Dover, and had since improved.
`I should have thought---`Mr. Lorry began.
`Pooh! You'd have thought!' said Miss Pross; and Mr. Lorry left off.
`How do you do?' inquired that lady then--sharply, and yet as if to express that she bore him no malice.
`I am pretty well, I thank you,' answered Mr. Lorry, with meekness; `how are you?'
`Nothing to boast of,' said Miss Pross.
`Indeed?'
`Ah! indeed!' said Miss Pross. `I am very much put out about my Ladybird.'
`Indeed?'
`For gracious sake say something else besides ``indeed,'' or you'll fidget me to death,' said Miss Pross: whose character (dissociated from stature) was shortness.'
`Really, then?' said Mr. Lorry, as an amendment.
`Really, is bad enough,' returned Miss Pross, `but better. Yes, I am very much put out.'
`May I ask the cause?'
`I don't want dozens of people who are not at all worthy of Ladybird, to come here looking after her,' said Miss Pross.
`Do dozens come for that purpose?'
`Hundreds,' said Miss Pross.
It was characteristic of this lady (as of some other people before her time and since) that whenever her original pro-position was questioned, she exaggerated it.
`Dear me!' said Mr. Lorry, as the safest remark he could think of.
`I have lived with the darling--or the darling has lived with me, and paid me for it; which she certainly should never have done, you may take your affidavit, if I could have afforded to keep either myself or her for nothing--since she was ten years old. And it's really very hard,' said Miss Pross.
Not seeing with precision what was very hard, Mr. Lorry shook his head; using that important part of himself as a sort of fairy cloak that would fit anything.
`All sorts of people who are not in the least degree worthy of the pet, are always turning up,' said Miss Pross. `When you began it---'
`I began it, Miss Pross?'
`Didn't you? Who brought her father to life?'
`Oh! If that was beginning it---'said Mr. Lorry.
`It wasn't ending it, I suppose? I say, when you began it, it was hard enough; not that I have any fault to find with Doctor Manette, except that he is not worthy of such a daughter, which is no imputation on him, for it was not to be expected that anybody should be, under any circumstances. But it really is doubly and trebly hard to have crowds and multitudes of people turning up after him (I could have forgiven him), to take Ladybird's affections away from me.'
Mr. Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by this time to be, beneath the surface of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures--found only among women--who will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives. He knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so rendered and so free from any mercenary taint, he had such an exalted respect for it, that in the retributive arrangements made by his own mind--we all make such arrangements, more or less--he stationed Miss Pross much nearer to the lower Angels than many ladies immeasurably better got up both by Nature and Art, who had balances at Tellson's.
`There never was, nor will be, but one man worthy of Lady-bird,' said Miss Pross; `and that was my brother Solomon, if he hadn't made a mistake in life.'
Here again: Mr. Lorry's inquiries into Miss Pross's personal history had established the fact that her brother Solomon was a heartless scoundrel who had stripped her of everything she possessed, as a stake to speculate with, and had abandoned her in her poverty for evermore, with no touch of compunction. Miss Pross's fidelity of belief in Solomon (deducting a mere trifle for this slight mistake) was quite a serious matter with Mr. Lorry, and had its weight in his good opinion of her.
`As we happen to be alone for the moment, and are both people of business,' he said, when they had got back to the drawing-room and had sat down there in friendly relations, `let me ask you--does the Doctor, in talking with Lucie, never refer to the shoemaking time, yet?'
`Never.'
`And yet keeps that bench and those tools beside him?'
`Ah!' returned Miss Pross, shaking her head. `But I don't say he don't refer to it within himself.'
`Do you believe that he thinks of it much?'
`I do,' said Miss Pross.
`Do you imagine---' Mr. Lorry had begun, when Miss Pross took him up short with:
`Never imagine anything. Have no imagination at all.'
`I stand corrected,; do you suppose--you go so far as to Suppose, sometimes?
`Now and then,' said Miss Pross.
`Do you suppose,' Mr. Lorry went on, with a laughing twinkle in his bright eye, as it looked kindly at her, `that Doctor Manette has any theory of his own, preserved through all those years, relative to the cause of his being so oppressed; perhaps, even to the name of his oppressor?'
`I don't suppose anything about it but what Ladybird tells me.'
`And that is---?'
`That she thinks he has.'
`Now don't be angry at my asking all these questions; because I am a mere dull man of business, and you are a woman of business.'
`Dull?' Miss Pross inquired, with placidity.
Rather wishing his modest adjective away, Mr. Lorry replied, `No, no, no. Surely not. To return to business:- Is it not remarkable that Doctor Manette, unquestionably innocent of any crime as we are all well assured he is, should never touch upon that question? I will not say with me, though he had business relations with me many years ago, and we are now intimate; I will say with the fair daughter to whom he is so devotedly attached, and who is so devotedly attached to him? Believe me, Miss Pross, I don't approach the topic with you, out of curiosity, but out of zealous interest.'
`Well! To the best of my understanding, and bad's the best, you'll tell me,' said Miss Pross, softened by the tone of the apology, `he is afraid of the whole subject.
`Afraid?'
`It's plain enough, I should think, why he may be. It's a dreadful remembrance. Besides that, his loss of himself grew out of it. Not knowing how he lost himself, or how he re-covered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing himself again. That alone wouldn't make the subject pleasant, I should think.'
It was a profounder remark than Mr. Lorry had looked for. `True,' said he, `and fearful to reflect upon. Yet, a doubt lurks in my mind, Miss Pross, whether it is good for Doctor Manette to have that suppression always shut up within him. Indeed, it is this doubt and the uneasiness it sometimes causes me that has led me to our present confidence.'
`Can't be helped,' said Miss Pross, shaking her head. `Touch that string, and he instantly changes for the worse. Better leave it alone. In short, must leave it alone, like or no like. Sometimes, lie gets up in the dead of the night, and will be heard, by us overhead there, walking up and down, walking up and down, in his room. Ladybird has learnt to know then that his mind is walking up and down, walking up and down, in his old prison. She hurries to him, and they go on together, walking up and down, walking up and down, until he is composed. But he never says a word of the true reason of his restlessness, to her, andshe finds it best not to hint at it to him. In silence they go walking up and down together, walking up and down together, till her love and company have brought him to himself.'
Notwithstanding Miss Pross's denial of her own imagination, there was a perception of the pain of being monotonously haunted by one sad idea, in her repetition of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to her possessing such a thing.
The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner for echoes; it had begun to echo so resoundingly to the tread of coming feet, that it seemed as though the very mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it going.
`Here they are!' said Miss Pross, rising to break up the conference; `and now we shall have hundreds of people pretty soon!' 
It was such a curious comer in its acoustical properties, such a peculiar Ear of a place, that as Mr. Lorry stood at the open window, looking for the father and daughter whose steps he heard, he fancied they would never approach. Not only would the echoes die away, as though the steps had gone; but, echoes of other steps that never came would be heard in their stead, and would die away for good when they seemed close at hand. However, father and daughter did at last appear, and Miss Pross was ready at the street door to receive them.
Miss Pross was a pleasant sight, albeit wild, and red, and grim, taking off her darling's bonnet when she came up-stairs, and touching it up with the ends of her handkerchief, and blowing the dust off it, and folding her mantle ready for laying by, and smoothing her rich hair with as much pride as she could possibly have taken in her own hair if she had been the vainest and handsomest of women. Her darling was a pleasant sight too, embracing her and thanking her, and protesting against her taking so much trouble for her--which last she only dared to do playfully, or Miss Pross, sorely hurt, would have retired to her own chamber and cried. The Doctor was a pleasant sight too, looking on at them, and telling Miss Pross how she spoilt Lucie, in accents and with eyes that had as much spoiling in them as Miss Pross had, and would have had more if it were possible. Mr. Lorry was a pleasant sight too, beaming at all this in his little wig, and thanking his bachelor stars for having lighted him in his declining years to a Home. But, no Hundreds of people came to see the sights, and Mr. Lorry looked in vain for the fulfilment of Miss Pross's prediction.
Dinner-time, and still no Hundreds of people. In the arrangements of the little household, Miss Pross took charge of the lower regions, and always acquitted herself marvellously. Her dinners, of a very modest quality, were so well cooked and so well served, and so neat in their contrivances, half English and half French, that nothing could be better. Miss Pross's friendship being of the thoroughly practical kind, she had ravaged Soho and the adjacent provinces, in search of impoverished French, who, tempted by shillings and half-crowns, would impart culinary mysteries to her. From these decayed sons and daughters ofGaul, she had acquired such wonderful arts, that the woman and girl who formed the staff of domestics regarded her as quite a Sorceress, or Cinderella's Godmother: who would send out for a fowl, a rabbit, a vegetable or two from the garden, and change them into any-thing she pleased.
On Sundays, Miss Pross dined at the Doctor's table, but on other days persisted in taking her meals at unknown periods, either in the lower regions, or in her own room on the second floor--a blue chamber, to which no one but her Ladybird ever gained admittance. On this occasion, Miss Pross, responding to Ladybird's pleasant face and pleasant efforts to please  her, unbent exceedingly; so the dinner was very pleasant, too.
It was an oppressive day, and, after dinner, Lucie proposed that the wine should be carried out under the plane-tree, and they should sit there in the air. As everything turned upon her, and revolved about her, they went out under the plane-tree, and she carried the wine down for the special benefit of Mr. Lorry. She had installed herself, some time before, as Mr. Lorry's cup-bearer; and while they sat under the plane-tree, talking, she kept his glass replenished. Mysterious backs and ends of houses peeped at them as they talked, and the plane-tree whispered to them in its own way above their heads.
Still, the Hundreds of people did not present themselves. Mr. Darnay presented himself while they were sitting under the plane-tree, but he was only One.
Doctor Manette received him kindly, and so did Lucie. But, Miss Pross suddenly became afflicted with a twitching in the head and body, and retired into the house. She was not unfrequently the victim of this disorder, and she called it, in familiar conversation, `a fit of the jerks.'
The Doctor was in his best condition, and looked specially young. The resemblance between him and Lucie was very strong at such times, and as they sat side by side, she leaning on his shoulder, and he resting his arm on the back of her chair, it was very agreeable to trace the likeness.
He had been talking all day, on many subjects, and with unusual vivacity. `Pray, Doctor Manette,' said Mr. Darnay, as they sat under the plane-tree--and he said it in the natural pursuit of the topic in hand, which happened to be the old buildings of London-have you seen much of the Tower?'
`Lucie and I have been there; but only casually. We have seen enough of it, to know that it teems with interest; little more.'
`I have been there, as you remember,' said Darnay, with a smile, though reddening a little angrily, `in another character, and not in a character that gives facilities for seeing, much of it. They told me a curious thing when I was there.
`What was that?' Lucie asked.
`In making some alterations, the workmen came upon an old dungeon, which had been, for many years, built up and forgotten. Every stone of its inner wall was covered by inscriptions which had been carved by prisoners--dates, names, complaints, and prayers. Upon a corner stone in an angle of the wall, one prisoner, who seemed to have gone to execution, had cut as his last work, three letters. They were done with some very poor instrument, and hurriedly, with an unsteady hand. At first, they were read as D. I. C.; but, on being more carefully examined, the last letter was found to be G. There was no record or legend of any prisoner with those initials, and many fruitless guesses were made what the name could have been. At length, it was suggested that the letters were not initials, but the complete word, DIG. The floor was examined very carefully under the inscription, and, in the earth beneath a stone, or tile, or some fragment of paving, were found the ashes of a paper, mingled with the ashes of a small leathern case or bag. What the unknown prisoner had written will never be read, but he had written something, and hidden it away to keep it from the gaoler.'
`My father,' exclaimed Lucie, `you are ill!'
He had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. His manner and his look quite terrified them all.
`No, my dear, not ill. There are large drops of rain falling, and they made me start. We had better go in.'
He recovered himself almost instantly. Rain was really falling in large drops, and he showed the back of his hand with rain-drops on it. But, he said not a single word in reference to the discovery that had been told of, and, as they went into the house, the business eye of Mr. Lorry either detected, or fancied it detected, on his face, as it turned towards Charles Darnay, the same singular look that had been upon it when it turned towards him in the passages of the Court House.
He recovered himself so quickly, however, that Mr. Lorry had doubts of his business eye. The arm of the golden giant in the hall was not more steady than he was, when he stopped under it to remark to them that he was not yet proof against slight surprises (if he ever would be), and that the rain had startled him.
Tea-time, and Miss Pross making tea, with another fit of the jerks upon her, and yet no Hundreds of people. Mr. Garton had lounged in, but he made only Two.
The night was so very sultry, that although they sat with doors and windows open, they were overpowered by heat. When the tea-table was done with, they all moved to one of the windows, and looked out into the heavy twilight. Lucie sat by her father; Darnay sat beside her; Carton leaned against a window. The curtains were long and white, and some of the thunder-gusts that whirled into the corner, caught them up to the ceiling, and waved them like spectral wings.
`The rain-drops are still falling, large, heavy, and few,' said Doctor Manette. `It comes slowly.
`It comes surely,' said Carton.
They spoke low, as people watching and waiting mostly do; as people in a dark room, watching and waiting for Lightning, always do.
There was a great hurry in the streets, of people speeding away to get shelter before the storm broke; the wonderful corner for echoes resounded with the echoes of footsteps coming and going, yet not a footstep was there.
`A multitude of people, and yet a solitude!' said Darnay, when they had listened for a while.
`Is it not impressive, Mr. Darnay?' asked Lucie. `Sometimes, I have sat here of an evening, until I have fancied--but even the shade of a foolish fancy makes me shudder to-night, when all is so black and solemn---'
`Let us shudder too. We may know what it is.'
`It will seem nothing to you. Such whims are only impressive as we originate them, I think; they are not to be communicated. I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by-and-by into our lives.'
`There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,' Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way.
The footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became more and more rapid. The corner echoed and re-echoed with the tread of feet; some, as it seemed, under the windows; some, as it seemed, in the room; some coming, some going, some breaking off, some stopping altogether; all in the distant streets, and not one within sight.
`Are all these footsteps destined to come to all of us, Miss Manette, or are we to divide them among us?'
`I don't know, Mr. Darnay; I told you it was a foolish fancy, but you asked for it. When I have yielded myself to it, I have been alone, and then I have imagined them the foot-steps the people who are to come into my life, and my father's.' 
`I take them into mine!' said Carton. `I ask no questions and make no stipulations. There is a great crowd bearing down upon us, Miss Manette, and I see them---by the Lightning.' He added the last words, after there had been a vivid flash which had shown him lounging in the window.
`And I hear them.' he added again, after a peal of thunder.
`Here they come, fast, fierce, and furious.'
It was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped him, for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable storm of thunder and lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there was not a moment's interval in crash, and We, and rain, until after the moon rose at midnight.
The great bell of Saint Paul's was striking One in the cleared air, when Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted. and bearing a lantern, set forth on his return-passage to Clerkenwell. There were solitary patches of road on the way between Soho and Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful of footpads, always retained Jerry for this service: though it was usually performed a good two hours earlier.
`What a night it has been! Almost a night, `Jerry,' said Mr. Lorry, `to bring the dead out of their graves.
`I never see the night myself, master--nor yet I don't expect to--what would do that,' answered Jerry.
`Good-night, Mr. Carton,' said the man of business. `Good-night, Mr. Darnay. Shall we ever see such a night again, together!'
Perhaps. Perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar, bearing down upon them, too.
曼内特医生的幽静的寓所在一个平静的街角，距离索霍广场不远。叛国审判案受到四个月时光的冲刷，公众对它的兴趣和记忆已流入大海。一个晴朗的星期日下午，贾维斯.罗瑞先生从他居住的克拉肯威尔出发，沿着阳光普照的街道走着，要去曼内特医生处吃晚饭。经过业务上的反复交往之后，罗瑞先生已成了医生的朋友，那幽静的街角也成了他生命中一个日丽风和的成分。
这是一个晴朗的星期日下午，罗瑞先生很早便往索霍走去。这里有三个习惯的原因。首先，晴朗的星期日的晚饭前他常要跟医生和露西去散步；其次，在天气不佳的星期日他又习惯于以这家的朋友身份跟他们在一起谈天、读书、看看窗外的景色，把一天打发过去；第三，他头脑精细，常有些小小的疑问，而他又知道按医生家的生活方式，星期日下午正是解决这些问题的时候。
比医生的住处更为独特的街角在伦敦是很难找到的。那儿没有街道穿过，从屋前的窗口望去，可以看到一片小小的风景，具有一种远离尘嚣的雅趣，令人心旷神怡。那时牛津街以北房屋还少，在今天已消失的野地里还有葱笼的树木和野花，山楂开得很烂漫。因此乡野的空气可以轻快有力地周游于索霍，而不至像无家可归的穷汉闯入教区里一样畏缩不前。不远处还有好几堵好看的朝南坝墙，墙上的桃树一到季节便结满了果实。
上午，太阳的光灿烂地照入这个街角，可等到街道渐热的时候，这街角却已笼罩在树荫里。树荫不太深，穿过它还可以看到耀眼的阳光。那地方清凉、安谧、幽静，今人陶醉，是个听回声的奇妙地方，是扰攘的市廛之外的一个避嚣良港。
在这样的港湾中理应有一只平静的小舟，而小舟也确实存在。医生在一幢幽静的大楼里占了两个楼层。据说楼里白天有从事着好几种职业的人在干活，可从来很少听见声音，而晚上人们又都回避这个地方。大楼后面有一个小天井，连接着另一幢大楼。小天井里梧桐摇着绿叶，沙沙地响。据说那幢楼里有一个神秘的巨人在制造教堂用的管风琴，雕铸银器，打制金器，这巨人把一条金胳膊从前厅的墙上伸了出来--仿佛他把自己敲得贵重了，还势必要让他全部的客人也贵重起来。除了上述的几种职业之外，据说还有一个住在楼上的孤独房客和模糊听说的住在楼下的一家马车饰物制造商的帐房，可都很少有人看见或谈起过。有时一个游荡的工人会一面披着衣服一面从大厅穿过。有时一个陌生人会在附近张望。有时从小天井那头也会传来辽远的叮当之声，或是从那金胳膊的巨人那里传来的砰的一声。但这一切都只不过是偶然的例外，正好证明了从星期日早上直到星期六晚上屋后梧桐树上的麻雀和屋前街角的回声都各按自己的方式存在着。
曼内特医生在这儿应诊，他的病家是他往日的声誉和悄悄流传的有关他的故事所唤醒的名声带来的。他的科学知识和他进行创新的手术实验时的机警与技巧也给他带来了一定数量的病家，因此他能得到他所需要的收入。
这个晴朗的星期日下午，在贾维斯.罗瑞揿着这个街角小屋的门铃时，上述种种他都知道、想到，也都注意到。
“曼内特医生在家么？”
正等他回来。
“露西小姐在家么？”
正等她回来。
“普洛丝小姐在家么？”
也许在家。但是女仆却完全无法估计普洛丝小姐的意向，是会客，还是不承认在家。
“我在这儿跟在家里一样，”罗瑞先生说，“我自己上楼去吧！”
医生的女儿尽管对自己出生的国度一无所知，却似乎从那个国家遗传来了少花钱多办事的才能。这原是那个国家最有用处、也最受人欢迎的特点。这屋的家具虽简单，却缀满了小饰物。这些东西花钱不多，却表现了品位和想象力，因而产生了令人愉快的效果。室内诸物的安排从最大件到最小件，它们的色调搭配，高雅的变化和对比（那是通过节约小笔小笔的开支，再加上巧妙的手、敏锐的目光和良好的鉴赏力所取得的）都令人赏心悦目，体现了设计者的雅趣。因此，当罗瑞先生站在屋里四面打量的时候，就连桌子椅子都似乎带着一种他现在已颇为熟悉的特殊表情在征求他的意见：是否满意？
这层楼有三间屋子。屋子之间的门全部敞开，便于空气流通。罗瑞先生一间一间地走过，带着微笑观察着身边不同的事物所表现的同一副巧手慧心。第一间屋子是最漂亮的，屋里是露西的花儿、鸟儿、书籍、书桌和工作台，还有一盒水彩画颜料。第二间是医生的诊所，兼作餐厅。第三间因有天井里的梧桐而树影婆娑，叶声细细，是医生的寝室。寝室一角放着那套没人用的鞋匠长凳和工具箱，和在巴黎圣安托万郊区酒店附近凄惨的建筑物五楼上的情况很相像。
“真想不到，”罗瑞先生暂时停止了观察，“他竟会把这些叫他想起当年苦难的东西留下来！”
“有什么想不到的：”一声突然的反问使他吃了一惊。
d@ Hq?@???窃诙喾鸬那侵瓮趼霉莸谝淮稳鲜兜模?罄从∠笥辛烁慕??br> “我应当想得到--”罗瑞开始解释。
“呸！你应当想得到！”普洛丝小姐说；罗瑞先生闭了嘴。
“你好？”这时这位小姐才跟他打招呼--口气虽尖锐，看来对他并无敌意。，
“很好，谢谢，”罗瑞先生回答，态度温驯，“你好么？”
“没有什么值得吹嘘的，”普洛丝小姐说。
“真的？”
“啊！真的！”普洛丝小姐说。“我为我那小鸟儿着急死了。”
“真的？”
“天啦！你除了‘真的’‘真的’说点别的行不行？叫人腻烦死了，”普洛丝小姐说。她的性格特征就是简短--个子除外。
“那就改成‘的确’怎么样？”罗瑞先生急忙改正。
“改成‘的确’也不怎么样，”普洛丝小姐回答，“不过要好一点。不错，我很着急。”
“我能问问原因么？”
“我不喜欢有几十上百个配不上我的小鸟儿的人到这儿来找她，”普洛丝小姐说。
“真有几十上百的人为了那个目的来找她么？”
“有几百，”普洛丝小姐说。
这位小姐有个特点，别人要是对她的话表示怀疑，她反倒要加以夸大。在她之前和之后许多人也都这样。
“天呐！”罗瑞先生说，那是他所想得出的最安全的话。
“我从小鸟儿十岁时起就跟她一起过日子--或者说她花钱雇了我，跟我一起过日子。她确实是大可不必花钱的，我可以说，如果我能不要报酬就养活自己或养活她的话-一从她十岁开始。可是我的确有困难，”普洛丝小姐说。
罗瑞先生并不太明白她那困难是什么，却也摇摇头。他把他身上的那个重要部分当作仙人的大慰，什么意思都能表示。
“什么样的人都有，一点都配不上我那心肝宝贝，却老是来，”普洛丝小姐说。“你开始这事的时候--”
“是我开始的么，普洛丝小姐？”
“不是么？是谁让她爸爸复活的？”
“啊！那要算是开始的话一一”罗瑞先生说。
“总不是结束吧，我看？你刚开始这事的时候可是叫人够难过的；我并不是挑曼内特医生的毛病，只是觉得他不配有这样一个女儿。我没有责难他的意思，因为任何人在任何情况之下都不应当责难他。可是成群结队的人来找他，要想把小鸟儿的感情从我这儿抢走，的确是令人双倍地难受，三倍地难受，尽管我可以原谅他。”
罗瑞先生知道普洛丝小姐很妒忌。可是他现在也明白，她在她那古怪的外表之下却是一个毫不自私自利的女人--只有女人才可能这样--这种人纯粹为了爱与崇拜心甘情愿去做奴隶，为她们已失去而别人还具有的青春服务，为她们所不曾有过的美丽服务，为命运没有赋予她们的成功服务，为从未照临过她们那阴暗生活的光明希望服务。罗瑞先生深知世道人心，明白世上的一切都比不上发自内心的忠诚服务。那是一种全未受到雇佣思想污染的忠诚的奉献。他对她的这种感情持崇高的尊重的态度，并在心里做了补偿（我们都会这样做的，只是有的人做得多，有的人做得少罢了），把普洛丝小姐放到了近于下层天使的地位，排到在台尔森银行开有户头的太太小姐之上，虽然后者的天然秉赋和后天教养不知道要比她强多少倍。
“配得上我这小鸟儿的男人过去和将来都只有一个，”普洛丝小姐说；“我弟弟所罗门，若是他没有犯下他那一辈子唯一的错误的话。”
又是同样的情况：罗瑞先生对普洛丝小姐历史的调查表明，她的弟弟所罗门是个没有良心的坏蛋。他把她的一切都搜刮去孤注一掷搞了投机，从此便遗弃了她，让她永远过着贫穷的生活，却一点也不懊悔。罗瑞先生十分看重普洛丝对所罗门的忠诚与信任（对他那一点小小的过失除外）。在他对她的好评之中这一点占了很大的分量。
“我们现在既然没有别的人，又都是业务人员，”两人回到客厅友好地坐下之后他说，“我想问问你--医生和露西谈话时从来没提他做鞋的时候么？”
“没有。”
“可他又把那条长凳和工具留在身边？”
“啊：”普洛丝小姐摇摇头说。“我并不认为他心里就没有想到以前那些事。”
“你相信他想得很多么？”
“相信，”普洛丝小姐说。
“你想象--”罗瑞先生还没说完，普洛丝小姐打断了他：
“什么都别想象。一点也不要想象。”
“我改正。可你假定--你有时也假定么？”
“有时也假定的，”普洛丝小姐说。
“你假定一-”罗瑞先生说下去，两眼慈祥地望着她，明亮的目光里含着笑意，，曼内特医生在那些年月里对他受到这样严重的迫害的理由，也许对迫害他的人是谁有自己的看法么？”
“除了我那小鸟儿告诉我的话之外，我不做任何假定。”
“她的话是-一？”
“她认为他有看法。”
“现在，我要问一些问题，你可别生气，因为我只不过是个笨拙的业务人员，你也是个办理业务的女人。”
“笨拙？”普洛丝小姐不动声色地问。，
罗瑞先生颇想收回那个客气的形容词，回答道，“不，不，不。当然不。咱们还是谈谈业务吧。我们都十分肯定曼内特医生没有犯过罪，可他对这事却从不谈起，这难道不奇怪么？我不是说他应该跟我谈起，虽然他跟我有业务关系已经多年，现在又成了好朋友。我是说他应当告诉他漂亮的女儿。他对她一往情深，而谁对她又能不这样一往情深呢？相信我，普洛丝小姐，我跟你谈这事不是出于好奇，而是由于强烈的关心。”
唔！据我的最好的理解，你会说我的最好的理解也是坏的，”普洛丝小姐说，对方道歉的口吻软化了她的心，“他对这整个的问题都感到害怕。”，
“害怕？”
“我认为他之所以害怕的道理很清楚，因为那回忆本身就很可怕。而且，他是因为这件事才失去记忆的。他的记忆是怎么失去的，又是怎么恢复的，他至今也弄不清楚。因此他感到永远也无法保证不再失去记忆。光这个理由就已经使问题不愉快了，我看。”
这个解释比罗瑞先生想找到的答案要深刻一些。“不错，而且一想起就令人害怕。可是我心里还有个疑问，普洛丝小姐，曼内特医生把自己遭到的迫害永远禁闭在心里对他有没有好处？实际上我现在跟你交换意见正是因为这个问题和它在我心里所引起的不安。”
“无可奈何，”普洛丝小姐摇摇头说，“一碰上那根弦他就出问题。最好别去碰它。简单地说，无论你喜欢不喜欢，也不能碰它。有时我们听见他半夜三更爬了起来在屋里（也就是我们头上）走来走去，走来走去。后来小鸟儿体会到了他的心还在他当年的牢房里走着，走着，便匆匆赶到他面前，两人一起走，走呀，走呀，直走到他平静下来。但他对她却从来只字不提那使他不安的原因。她也发现最好别对他提起这个问题。两人就这样走来走去，走来走去，直走到她的爱心和陪护叫他平静下来。”
尽管普洛丝小姐不承认自己有想象，可在她重复那句话“走来走去”时也露出老是受到一个悲惨的念头纠缠时的痛苦，这就证明她也有着想象。
前面说过，那街角是一个听回声的绝妙处所。这时一阵逐渐靠拢的脚步的回声响亮地传了过来，仿佛一提起那疲劳的脚音，脚音便开始走来了。
“回来了！”普洛丝站起来，停止了谈话，“马上就会有数以百计的人来了。”
这是个奇妙的地方，它的耳朵特别灵，有些不寻常的音响效果。罗瑞先生站在敞开的窗前寻找已有脚步声传来的父女俩时，简直以为他们再也不会到达了--不但他俩的脚步声仿佛逐渐远去，而且有并不存在的别人的脚步声取而代之，而后者也并不走近，只在仿佛逼近时又消失了。不过，父女两人终于出现了。普洛丝小姐已在临街的门口迎接。
普洛丝小姐尽管红脸，粗野，而且严厉，她在她的宝贝身边忙碌时却是一片喜气洋洋。她在她上楼时帮她取下帽子，用手巾角掸着灰尘，用口吹着灰尘。她把她的外氅折好，以便收存。她抹着她那一头丰美的秀发时非常骄傲，仿佛即使她自己是个最虚荣最漂亮的女人，为自己的头发得意时也不过如此。她的宝贝也是一片喜气洋洋。她拥抱她，感谢她，也对她为她那么忙来忙去表示抗议--她只能用闹着玩的口气，否则普洛丝小姐是会感到非常委屈，回到房里去哭的。医生也是一片喜气洋洋。他望着两人，告诉普洛丝小姐说，她把露西宠坏了，而他那口气和眼神所表现出的宠爱并不亚于普洛丝小姐，如果可能，说不定还甚过她。罗瑞先生也是一片喜气洋洋。他戴着小假发望着这一切憨笑，对他单身生活的福星们表示感谢，因为他们在他的垂暮之年照亮了他，给了他一个家。但是这一片景象并没有被“数以百计的人”看见，罗瑞先生寻找普洛丝的预言的验证，却没有找到。
晚饭时间到了，“数以百计的人”仍然没有出现。在家务活动之中，普洛丝小姐负责的是下层工作，她总干得很出色。她做的饭菜用料虽然一般，却是烹调得体，设计精美，半英国式半法国式，出类拔萃。普洛丝小姐的友谊是很实际的。她在索霍区和附近地区四处搜寻贫困的法国人，付出一先令或半克朗的金币向她们学来烹调的秘诀。她从这些式微的高卢后裔处学来了那么多精采的技术，就连仆妇女佣中的佼佼者也都把她看作女巫或是灰姑娘的教母：只须从禽场菜圃订购一只鸡、一只兔、一两棵菜，便能随心所欲做出自己想做的美味佳肴。
星期天普洛丝小姐在医生的桌上用膳，别的日子总坚持在没人知道的时候到底层或二楼她的屋里去吃一一那是个蓝色的房间，除了她的小鸟儿之外谁也不许进入。此时此刻，普洛丝小姐因为小鸟儿那快活的脸蛋、也因她在努力使她高兴，表现得十分随和。因此，大家晚饭时都很愉快。
那是个闷热的日子。晚饭后露西建议到露天坐坐，把葡萄酒拿到外面梧桐树下去喝。因为家里一切都围着她转，决定也因她而作，所以他们便来到了梧桐树下。她专为罗瑞先生拿来了葡萄酒，因为她在前不久已经自封为罗瑞先生的捧杯使者。在梧桐树下闲淡时，她总把他那杯子斟得满满的。他们谈话时，邻近的住宅以它们神秘的后背或是山墙偷窥着他们。梧桐也以自己的方式在他们头顶细语。
“数以百计的人”仍然没有出现。他们在梧桐树下闲坐着。达尔内先生倒是来了，可他也只是一个人。
曼内特医生和蔼地接待他，露西也一样。可是普洛丝小姐却感到头和身子一抽一抽地痛，便回屋里去了。她常发这种病，闲谈时把它叫作“抽筋发作”。
医生状况极佳，看去特别年青。在这种时候，他跟露西最相似。两人坐在一起，她偎在他的肩头，他的手臂搭在她的椅背上。细看两人的相似之处是很叫人高兴的。
医生精力异常旺盛。他谈了一整天，谈了许多话题。“请问，曼内特医生，”大家坐在梧桐树下，达尔内先生顺着刚才的话头自然地谈了下去。他们谈的是伦敦的古建筑--“你对伦敦塔熟悉么？”
“露西和我一起去过，但去得偶然。不过，看得也够多的了。我知道它有趣的东西很多。其它就不大知道了。”
“我在那儿蹲过监狱，你还记得，”达尔内说，带着微笑，但因为愤怒，也略有些脸红。“扮演的是另外的角色，不是有资格参观的那种。我在那儿时他们告诉过我一件奇怪的事。”
“什么事？”露西问。
“在改建某个地方时，工人发现了一个地牢，修成之后被人忘掉已经多年。那地牢围墙的每一块石头上都刻着字，是囚徒们刻的。日期、姓名、冤情、祈祷。在墙角的一块地基石上有一个囚徒（他好像被杀掉了）刻下了他最后的作品，是用很蹩脚的工具刻成的三个字母。粗看似乎是０、１、Ｃ，但仔细一辨认，最后的字母却是Ｇ。没有以DIG作为姓名缩写的囚徒的档案，也没有关于这个囚犯的传说。对这名字做过许多无用的猜测。最后，有人设想这些字母并非姓名缩写，而是一个词DIG。有人十分仔细地检查了刻字处的地面，在一块石头、砖块或铺砌石的碎块下面的泥土里发现了一张腐败成灰的纸跟一个腐败成灰的小皮箱或皮口袋。两者已混成一片。那无名的囚徒究竟写了些什么是再也读不到了，但他的确写下了一点东西，而且藏了起来，混过了狱卒的眼睛。”
“爸爸，”露西叫道，“你不舒服了么！”
他已经一手抚着头突然站了起来，那样子把他们全都吓了一跳。
“不，亲爱的，没有什么不舒服。下雨了，雨点很大，吓了我一跳。我们最好还是进去！”
他几乎立即镇定了下来。的确，大点大点的雨已在下着。他让大家看，看他手背上的雨点，但是他对刚才谈起的发现一句话也没说。而在他们回到屋里去时，罗瑞先生那老于业务的眼睛却发现了（或是自以为发现了），在医生把脸转向查尔斯.达尔内时那脸上露出了一种特别的表情，这种表情那天在法庭通道里他把脸转向达尔内时也曾出现过。
医生很快就恢复了正常。罗瑞先生甚至怀疑起自己老于业务的眼睛来。医生在客厅里的黄金巨人身下站住，告诉大家他还是经不起轻微的意外（尽管有时未必如此），那雨点就吓了他一跳。这时就是那黄金巨人的胳膊也并不比他更稳定。
喝午后茶了。普洛丝小姐做着茶，抽筋又发作了。“数以百计的人”仍未出现。这时卡尔顿先生也信步来到，不过加上他也才两个客人。
夜很闷热，他们虽然门窗大开地坐着，仍然热得受不了。茶点结束之后大家又坐到一扇窗户面前去眺望沉沉的暮色。露西坐在爸爸身边，达尔内坐在露西身边，卡尔顿靠在一扇窗前。窗帘是白色的，很长。旋卷入街角的雷电风把一幅幅窗帘掀到了天花板上，扑扇着，像幽灵的翅膀，
“雨还在下，稀稀落落，雨滴却又大又猛，”曼内特医生说，“雷雨来得很慢。”
“却肯定要来，”卡尔顿说。
大家都放低了嗓门--观察着、等待着的人大多如此；在黑暗的屋里观察着、等待着闪电雷霆的人总是如此。
街头一阵忙乱。人们要抢在风暴之前找地方躲雨。这个听回声的好地方震响着跑来跑去的脚步的回声，却没有脚步来到屋前。
“有蜂拥的人群，却又是一片孤独：”大家听了一会儿，达尔内说。
“这不是很动人的么，达尔内先生？”露西说。“我有时要在这儿坐整整一个晚上，直到产生一种幻想--可是今晚一切都这么黑暗庄严，即使是一点点愚蠢的幻想也叫我心惊胆战。”
“我们也一起心惊胆战吧。这样我们就可以明白是怎么回事
“这对你似乎不算回事。在我看来这种幻觉是难以言传的，只有产生于我们自己才会动人。我有时要坐在这儿听一个整夜，最后才明白原来它是将要逐渐走入我们生活的所有脚步的回声。”
“如果是那样，有很多人是会在有一天走进我们生活的，”西德尼.卡尔顿一如既往忧郁地说。
脚步声时断时续，却越来越急，在街角上反复回荡。有的似乎来到了窗下，有的似乎进入了屋子，有的来，有的去，有的缓缓消失，有的戛然而止，却都在远处的街道上，一个人影也看不见。
“这些脚步声是注定了要进入我们共同的生活呢，还是要分别进入我们各自的生活，曼内特小姐？”
“我不知道，达尔内先生。我告诉过你，那只不过是一种愚蠢的幻觉，你却偏要我回答。我被脚步声征服时我是孤独的，于是我便想象它们是要进入我和我父亲生命的人的脚步声。”"我接受他们进入我的生活！”卡尔顿说。“我不提问题，也没有条件。一个巨大的人群正向我们逼来，曼内特小姐，我已看见了他们！--借助于闪电。”一道耀眼的电光闪过，照见他斜倚在窗前，补充出最后这句话。
“而且听见了他们！”一声炸雷劈下，他又补充道。“他们来了，又快、又猛、气势磅礴！”
他描写的是那场暴风骤雨，那声势叫他住了嘴，因为已经听不见说话了。一阵令人难忘的疾雷闪电随着横扫的疾雨袭来。雷声隆隆，电光闪闪，大雨如注，没有间歇，直到夜半才止。然后月亮又升了起来。
圣保罗大教堂的大钟在云收雨散的空中敲了一点，罗瑞先生才在脚穿高统靴、手拿风灯的杰瑞陪同下动身回克拉肯威尔去。从索霍到克拉肯威尔的路上有一些荒凉的路段，罗瑞先生怕遇到翦径的，总预先约好杰瑞护送，虽然通常是在要比现在早两个钟头以前就动身。
“好可怕的夜！几乎让死人从坟墓里跑了出来呢！”
“我自己从来没见过这样的夜晚，大爷，也不想再遇上-一不知道会出什么事！”杰瑞回答。
“晚安，卡尔顿先生，”业务人员说。“再见，达尔内先生。咱俩还会在一起共度这样的夜晚么？”
也许会的，也许。你看那疾走呼号的巨大人群正向他们逼来。
Book 2 Chapter 7 Monseigneur in Town
MONSEIGNEUR, one of the great lords in power at the Court, held his fortnightly reception in his grand hotel in Paris.Monseigneur was in his inner room, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest of Holiests to the crowd of worshippers in the suite of rooms without. Monseigneur was about to take his chocolate. Monseigneur could swallow a great many things with ease, and was by some few sullen minds supposed to be rather rapidly swallowing France; but, his morning's chocolate could not so much as get into the throat of Monseigneur, without the aid of four strong men besides the Cook.
Yes. It took four men, all four a-blaze with gorgeous decoration, and the Chief of them unable to exist with fewer than two gold watches in his pocket, emulative of the noble and chaste fashion set by Monseigneur, to conduct the happy chocolate to Monseigneur's lips. One lacquey carried the chocolate-pot into the sacred presence; a second, milled and frothed the chocolate with the little instrument he bore for that function; a third, presented the favoured napkin; a fourth (he of the two old watches),poured the chocolate out. It was impossible Monseigneur to dispense with one of these attendants on the chocolate and hold his high place under the admiring Heavens. Deep would have been the blot upon his escutcheon if his chocolate had been ignobly waited on by only three men; he must have died of two.
Monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, where the Comedy and the Grand Opera were charmingly represented. Monseigneur was out at a little supper most nights, with fascinating company. So polite and so impressible was Monseigneur, that the Comedy and the Grand Opera had far more influence with him in the tiresome articles of state affairs and state secrets, than the needs of all France. A happy circumstance for France, as the like always is for all countries similarly favoured!--always was for England (by way of example), in the regretted days of the merry Stuart who sold it.
Monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general public business, which was, to let everything go on in its own way; of particular public business, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea that it must all go his way--tend to his own power and pocket. Of his pleasures, general and particular, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea, that the world was made for them. The text of his order (altered from the original by only a pronoun, which is not much) `ran: `The earth and the fulness thereof are mine, saith Monseigneur.'
Yet, Monseigneur had slowly found that vulgar embarrassments crept into his affairs, both private and public; and he had, as to both classes of affairs, allied himself perforce with a Farmer-General. As to finances public, because Monseigneur could not make anything at all of them, and must consequently let them out to somebody who could; as to finances private, because Farmer-Generals were rich, and Monseigneur, after generations of great luxury and expense, was growing poor. Hence Monseigneur had taken his sister from a convent, while there was yet time to ward off the impending veil, the cheapest garmentshe could wear, and had bestowed her as a prize upon a very rich Farmer-General, poor in family. Which Farmer-General, carrying an appropriate cane with a golden apple on the top of it, was now among the company in the outer rooms, much prostrated before by mankind--always excepting superior mankind of the blood of Monseigneur, who, his own wife included, looked down upon him with the loftiest contempt.
A sumptuous man was the Farmer-General. Thirty horses stood in his stables, twenty-four male domestics sat in his halls, six body-women waited on his wife. As one who pre-tended to do nothing but plunder and forage where he could, the Farmer-General--howsoever his matrimonial relations conduced to social morality--was at least the greatest reality among the personages who attended at the hotel of Monseigneur that day.
For, the rooms, though a beautiful scene to look at, and adorned with every device of decoration that the taste and skill of the time could achieve, were, in truth, not a sound business; considered with any reference to the scarecrows in the rags and nightcaps elsewhere (and not so far off, either, but that the watching towers of Notre Dame, almost equidistant from the two extremes, could see them both), they would have been an exceedingly uncomfortable business--if that could have been anybody's business, at the house of Monseigneur. Military officers destitute of military knowledge; naval officers with no idea of a ship; civil officers without a notion of affairs; brazen ecclesiastics, of the worst world worldly, with sensual eyes, loose tongues, and looser lives; all totally unfit for their several callings, all lying horribly in pretending to belong to them, but all nearly or remotely of the order of Monseigneur, and therefore foisted on all public employments from which anything was to be got; these were to be told off by the score and the score. People not immediately connected with Monseigneur or the State, yet equally unconnected with anything that was real, or with lives passed in travelling by any straight road to any true earthly end, were no less abundant. Doctors who made great fortunes out of dainty remedies for imaginary disorders that never existed, smiled upon their courtly patients in the ante-chambers of Monseigneur. Projectors who had discovered every kind of remedyfor the little evils with which the State was touched, except the remedy of setting to work in earnest to root out a single sin, poured their distracting babble into any ears they could lay hold of, at the reception of Monseigneur. Unbelieving Philosophers who were remodelling the world with words, and making card-towers of Babel to scale the skies with, talked with unbelieving Chemists who had an eye on the transmutation of metals, at this wonderful gathering accumulated by Monseigneur. Exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding, which was at that remarkable time-and has been since--to be known by its fruits of indifference to every natural subject of human interest, were in the most exemplary state of exhaustion, at the hotel of Monseigneur. Such homes had these various notabilities left behind them in the fine world of Paris, that the spies among the assembled devotees of Monseigneur--forming a goodly half of the polite company--would have found it hard to discover among the angels of that sphere one solitary wife, who, in her manners and appearance, owned to being a Mother. Indeed, except for the mere act of bringing a troublesome creature into this world--which does not go far towards the realisation of the name of mother--there was no such thing known to the fashion. Peasant women kept the unfashionable babies close, and brought them up, and charming grandmammas of sixty dressed and supped as at twenty.
The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attendance upon Monseigneur. In the outermost room were half a dozen exceptional people who had had, for a few years, some vague misgiving in them that things in general were going rather wrong. As a promising way of setting them right, half of the half-dozen had become members of a fantastic sect of Convulsionists, and were even then considering within themselves whether they should foam, rage, roar, and turn cataleptic on the spot--thereby setting up a highly intelligible finger-post to the Future, for Monseigneur's guidance. Besides these Dervishes, were other three who had rushed into another sect, which mended matters with a jargon about `the Centre of Truth' holding that Man had got out of the Centre of Truth--which did not need much demonstration but had not got out of the Circumference,and that he was to be kept from flying out of the Circumference, and was even to be shoved back into the Centre, by fasting and seeing of spirits. Among these, accordingly, much discoursing with spirits went on--and it did a world of good which never became manifest.
But, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel of Monseigneur were perfectly dressed. If the Day of Judgment had only been ascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would have been eternally correct. Such frizzling and powdering and sticking up of hair, such delicate complexions artificially preserved and mended, such gallant swords to look at, and such delicate honour to the sense of smell, would surely keep anything going, for ever and ever. The exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding wore little pendent trinkets that chinked as they languidly moved; these golden fetters rang like precious little bells; and what with that ringing, and with the rustle of silk and brocade and fine linen, there was a flutter in the air that fanned Saint Antoine and his devouring hunger far away.
Dress was the one unfailing talisman and charm used for keeping all things in their places. Everybody was dressed for a Fancy Ball that was never to leave off. From the Palace of the Tuileries, through Monseigneur and the whole Court, through the Chambers, the Tribunals of Justice, and all society (except the scarecrows), the Fancy Ball descended to the common Executioner: who, in pursuance of the charm, was required to officiate `frizzled, powdered, in a gold-laced coat, pumps, and white silk stockings.' At the gallows and the wheel--the axe was a rarity--Monsieur Paris, as it was the episcopal mode amonghis brother Professors of the provinces, Monsieur Orleans, and the rest, to call him, presided in this dainty dress. And who among the company at Monseigneur's reception in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt, that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold-laced, pumped, and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out!
Monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken his chocolate, caused the doors of the Holiest of Holiests to be thrown open, and issued forth. Then, what submission, what cringing and fawning, what servility, what abject humiliation! As to bowing down in body and spirit, nothing in that way was left for Heaven--which may have been one among other reasons why the worshippers of Monseigneur never troubled it.
Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, a whisper on one happy slave and a wave of the hand on another, Monseigneur affably passed through his rooms to the remote region of the Circumference of Truth. There, Monseigneur turned, and came back again, and so in due course of time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate sprites, and was seen no more.
The show being over, the flutter in the air became quite a little storm, and the precious little bells went ringing down-stairs. There was soon but one person left of all the crowd, and he, with his hat under his arm and his snuff-box in his hand, slowly passed among the mirrors on his way out.
`I devote you,' said this person, stopping at the last door on his way, and turning in the direction of the sanctuary, `to the Devil!'
With that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had shaken the dust from his feet, and quietly walked down stairs.
He was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in manner, and with a face like a fine mask. A
h@ 緶脜@ one set expression on it. The nose: beautifully formed otherwise, was very slightly pinched at the top of each nostril. In those two compressions, or dints, the only little change that the face ever showed, resided. They persisted in changing colour come-times, and they would be occasionally dilated and contracted by something like a faint pulsation; then, they gave a look of treachery, and cruelty, to the whole countenance. Examined with attention, its capacity of helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth, and the lines of the orbits of the eyes, being much too horizontal and thin; still, in the effect the face made, it was a handsome face, and a remarkable one.
Its owner went down stairs into the court-yard, got into his carriage, and drove away. Not many people had talked with him at the reception; he had stood in a little space apart, and Monseigneur might have been warmer in his manner. It appeared, under the circumstances, rather agreeable to him to see the common people dispersed before his horses, and often barely escaping from being run down. His man drove as if he were charging an enemy, and the furious recklessness of the man brought no check into the face, or to the lips, of the master. The complaint had sometimes made itself audible, even in that deaf city and dumb age, that, in the narrow streets without footways, the fierce patrician custom of hard driving endangered and maimed the mere vulgar in a barbarous manner. But, few cared enough for that to think of it a second time, and, in this matter, as in all others, the common wretches were left to get out of their difficulties as they could.
With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashed through streets and swept round corners, with women screaming before it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its way. At last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of its wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices, and the horses reared and plunged.
But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their wounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry, and there were twenty hands at thehorses' bridles.
`What has gone wrong?' said Monsieur, calmly looking out.
A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was down in the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal.
`Pardon, Monsieur the Marquis!' said a ragged and submissive man, `it is a child.'
`Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?'
`Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis--it is a pity--yes.'
The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was, into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall man suddenly got up from the ground, and came ru
j@they had been mere rats come out of their holes.
He took out his purse.
`It is extraordinary to me,' said he, `that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in the way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses? See! Give him that.'
He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell. The tall man called out again with a most unearthly cry, `Dead!'
He was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, for whom the rest made way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon his shoulder, sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain, where some women were stooping over the motionless bundle, and moving gently about it. They were as silent, however, as the men.
`I know all, I know all,' said the last comer. `Be a brave man, my Gaspard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so, than to live. It has died in a moment without pain. Could it have lived an hour as happily?'
`You are a philosopher, you there,' said the Marquis, smiling. `How do they call you?'
`They call me Defarge.'
`Of what trade?'
`Monsieur the Marquis, vendor of wine.'
`Pick up that, philosopher and vendor of wine,' said the Marquis, throwing him another gold coin, `and spend it as you will. The horses there; are they right?
Without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time, Monsieur the Marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just being driven away with the air of a gentleman who had accidentally broken some common thing, and had paid for it, and could afford to pay for it; when his ease was suddenly disturbed by a coin flying into his carriage, and ringing on its floor.
`Hold!' said Monsieur the Marquis. `Hold the horses! Who threw that?'
He looked to the spot where Defarge the vendor of wine had stood, a moment before; but the wretched father was grovelling on his face on the pavement in that spot, and the figure that stood beside him was the figure of a dark stout woman, knitting.
`You dogs!' said the Marquis, but smoothly, and with an unchanged front, except as to the spots on his nose: `I would ride over any of you very willingly, and exterminate you from the earth. If I knew which rascal threw at the carriage, and if that brigand were sufficiently near it, he should be crushed under the wheels.'
So cowed was their condition, and so long and hard their experience of what such a man could do to them, within the law and beyond it, that not a voice, or a hand, or even an eye was raised. Among the men, not one. But the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily, and looked the Marquis in the face. It was not for his dignity to notice it; his contemptuous eyes passed over her, and over all the other rats; and he leaned back in his seat again, and gave the word `Go on!'
He was driven on, and other carriages came whirling by in quick succession; the Minister, the State-Projector, the Farmer-General, the Doctor, the Lawyer, the Ecclesiastic, the Grand Opera, the Comedy, the whole Fancy Ball in a bright continuous flow, came whirling by. The rats had crept out of their holes to look on, and they remained looking on for hours;soldiers and police often passing between them and the spectacle, and making a barrier behind which they slunk, and through which they peeped. The father had long ago taken up his bundle and hidden himself away with it, when the women who had tended the bundle while it lay on the base of the fountain, sat there watching the running of the water and the rolling of the Fancy Ball--when the one woman who had stood conspicuous, knitting, still knitted on with the steadfastness of Fate. The water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran into evening, so much life in the city ran into death according to rule, time and tide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together in their dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran their course.
宫廷里炙手可热的大臣之一的某大人在他巴黎的府第里举行半月一次的招待会。大人在他的内室里，那是他圣殿里的圣殿，是他在外厢诸屋里的大群崇拜者心目中最神圣的地点中最神圣的。大人要吃巧克力了。他可以轻轻松松吞下许多东西，而有些心怀不满的人也认为他是在迅速地吞食着法兰西。但是，早餐的巧克力若是没有四个彪形大汉（厨师还除外）的帮助却连大人的喉咙也进不去。
不错，需要四个人。四个全身挂满华贵装饰的金光闪闪的人。他们的首领口袋里若是没有至少两只金表就无法生活（这是在仿效大人高贵圣洁的榜样），也无法把幸福的巧克力送到大人的唇边。第一个侍从要把巧克力罐捧到神圣的大人面前；第二个侍从要用他带来的专用小工具把巧克力磨成粉打成泡沫；第三个侍从奉上大人喜好的餐巾；第四个（带两只金表的入）再斟上巧克力汁。削减一个侍从便难免伤害大人那受到诸天赞誉的尊严。若只用三个人就服侍他吃下巧克力将是他家族盾徽上的奇耻大辱。若是只有两个人他准会丢了命。
昨天晚上大人在外面吃了一顿便餐，用餐时有迷人的喜剧与大歌舞表演。大人大多数晚上都要跟美艳的友伴们外出使餐。大人彬彬有礼，敏感多情，在处理今人生厌的国家大事和国家机密时，喜剧和大歌剧对他的影响要比整个法国的需要大得多。这种情况是法兰西之福--受到上帝类似恩宠的国家也都如此。例如在出卖了英格兰的快活的斯图亚①当权的令人遗憾的日子里，英格兰也是这样。
对于一般的公众事务大人有一个地道的高贵想法：一切听其自然；对于特别的公众事务他又有另外一个地道的高贵想法：一切要听他指挥--要为他的权力与钱袋效劳。而对于他的玩乐，无论是一般的或特殊的，大人还有一个地道的高贵想法：上帝创造世界原是为了使他快活的。他的命令的措词是：“地和其中所充满的都属于我，大人说。”（只给原文换上了一个代词，小事一桩）
可是，大人却慢慢发现庸俗的窘涩已经渗入了他的公私事务，因此他只好在这两类事务中跟一个赋税承包商结了盟。原来对公家财政大人一窍不通，不得不交给一个懂行的人去办；而谈起私人财政，赋税承包商又有钱，偏偏大人经过几代人的挥霍之后又渐渐露出了窘状。因此，大人便从一个修道院里把他的妹妹接了出来，趁她还来得及扔掉修女面纱和廉价的修女长袍的时候，把她作为奖品嫁给了一个出身寒微却富可敌国的赋税承包商。此时这位承包商手上拿着一根金苹果嵌头的专用手杖正和外厢房的宾客们在一起。大家见了他都毕恭毕敬，只是具有大人血统的优秀人种除外，这些人--包括承包商的夫人在内--都怀着极其傲慢的轻蔑，瞧不起他。
赋税承包商是个奢侈的人。厩内有三十匹良马，厅堂有二十四名男仆，夫人由六个仆妇服侍，总装出凡是能到手的东西都要掠夺搜刮净尽、此外一律不感兴趣的样子，并不把他的婚姻关系所引起的道德责任放在眼里。但他却至少是那天在大人府第随侍的贵人中最了不起的现实。
因为这些房间尽管漂亮豪华，具有当时最高雅最精美的设计和装饰，实际上已是摇摇欲坠。考虑到别的地方那些衣衫褴褛、戴着睡帽的穷汉们的存在（他们离此不远，巴黎圣母院的高塔差不多就在两极的正中，从那里可以眺望到这两处），这些华屋已成了令人极其不安的地方-一若是大人府第里也有人负责研究这个问题的话。对于军事一窍不通的军事官员；对于船舶一无所知的海军大员；对于政事全无概念的政府要员；还有凡心最重的无耻教士，目光淫邪，舌头放荡，生活更放荡。这些人全都在滥竽充数，全都在撒着弥天大谎，摆出对工作胜任愉快的样于。他们都或亲或疏地隶属大人城下，借此混迹于一切公众职务之中，从中捞取好处，这样的人数以百计。在这儿还有一种人为数也不少。他们跟大人或国家并无直接关系，跟任何实际事物也无关系，跟风尘仆仆远涉穷荒绝域的生活也没有关系。用花哨的药物治疗并不存在的臆想的疾病而发了财的医生在大人的前厅里向仪态优雅的病人微笑；为国家的小忧小患设计出形形色色的策略却连任何一桩罪恶也无法认真消除的清客，在大人的招待会上对他们抓得住的耳朵滔滔不绝地发出令人茫然的高论。想用空谈改造世界、想用纸牌建立巴别塔通向天堂的不信神明的哲学家，在大人的精采集会上跟一心要化铝为金的不信神明的炼金术士促膝谈心。受过最优秀的教养的风雅高贵的先生们（在那个出色的时代--以后也如此--最优秀的教养可以从它所培养的人对与人类利害攸关的自然话题不感兴趣鉴别出来）在大人的府第里总是以玩得精疲力竭成为众人的最佳表率。这类家庭给巴黎上流社会留下了各色各样惹人注目的人物。聚集在大人府第里的诸多忠诚人士中的包打听们（她们占了上流社会的一大半）要想在那仙女出没的天地里找出一个在态度和外貌上承认自己是母亲的孤独妻子是很困难的。实际上除了那个能把惹麻烦的生命带到人世的动作之外--那动作远远不能体现母亲这个称号--在时髦圈子里母亲这东西是不存在的。那些不合时宜的孩子都交由农村的妇女们秘密抚养、悄悄带大，而迷人的花甲老妇却打扮得像二十岁的姑娘去参加晚宴。
不切实际是一种麻风病。它扭曲了随侍大人的每一个人。在最外层的屋子里有那么六七个与众不同的人若干年来就模糊地感到不安，认为总的说来形势不妙。作为一种颇有希望匡救时弊的办法，那六七个人有一半加入了一个异想天开的宗派：抽搐派。他们正在圈内考虑是否应当在现场口吐白沫、大发脾气、大喊大闹，作出强有性昏厥的样子，为未来留下很容易理解的谶语，为大人指引迷津。除了这几个德尔维什分子之外，其他三个加入了另一个教派，这个教派想以“真理中心”来挽救世人。他们认为人类虽已离开了真理中心--这用不着多加证实--但还没有脱出“圈子”，因此必须设法制止脱出，甚至送回中心去，其办法是斋戒与通灵。因此，这些人常跟仙灵通话，带来了说不尽的福祉，虽然那福祉尚未显露。
值得安慰的是，大人豪华府第里的人们全都衣冠楚楚，若是末日审判定在盛装的日子到临，那儿的每一个人便可以永恒地正确无误了。他们的头发是那么鬈曲，那么高耸，又扑了那么好看的发粉；他们的皮肤受到那么精心的保养和弥补，看去那么鲜艳娇嫩；他们的佩剑是那么潇洒风流；他们的鼻官受到那么精妙的款待，凡此种种都将亿万斯年地继续下去。受过最优秀教养的精雅的先生们挂着小小的饰物，在他们懒洋洋地行动时叮当作响，一-这类黄金的镣烤真像些宝贵的小铃铛。一方面有黄金佩饰的叮当，一方面有丝绸衣裙的响声，于是空气便掀动起来，把圣安托万和他那吞噬着人们的饥饿吃得远远的。
服饰是百试不爽的灵符和神咒，可以维持一切事物的现有秩序。人人都打扮穿着，参加一场永不休止的化装舞会。从杜伊勒丽宫、大人、宫廷、枢密院、法庭，到整个社会都是一场化装舞会（衣衫褴褛者除外），连普通的刽子手也要参加。刽子手行刑也得按灵符的要求“卷发、扑粉、身穿金边外氅、白色长统丝袜和轻便无袢鞋”。“巴黎先生”就是穿着这一身精美的服装来到绞刑架和车裂架（那时斧头很少使用）主持盛典的。他在各省的弟兄们，包括奥尔良先生等人都按天主教的习俗把他叫作“巴黎先生”。在我主一干七百八十年的大人这场招待会中又有谁能料想到一个以卷发、扑粉、金边大氅、无袢便鞋和长统白丝袜的刽子手为基础的制度会有一天看到自己的星宿消逝呢！
大人吃下了他的巧克力，解除了四个手下人的负担，命令最神圣之中最神圣的大门敞开，然后迈步出场。好一个低眉垂首、阿谀逢迎、胁肩谄笑、卑躬屈膝的场面！那从肉体到精神的-躬到地就是对上苍也没有这样恭顺--这也许正是大人的崇拜者们从不去打扰上天的一个原因吧！
大人对这边作出个承诺，对那边绽出个微笑，对这一个幸福的奴才耳语一句，对那一个奴才摆一摆手，和蔼可亲地穿过了几道房间来到“真理边缘”的遥远地带，又转过身来，过了一会儿又让他的巧克力精灵们把他关闭在内殿里。
接见大典结束，空气的振动转化成了一场小小的风暴，宝贵的小铃铛叮叮咚咚下了楼。转瞬之间全场的人只剩下了一个，此人腋下夹着帽子，手上拿着鼻烟盒，从一排镜子面前走了出去。
“我把你奉献给一一”这人来到最后一道门口站住，对内殿转过身去，“魔鬼！”
说完这话，他像抖掉脚下的灰尘一样抖掉了手指上的鼻烟，然后一声不响地下了楼，
这是个六十岁左右的男人。衣饰豪华，态度傲慢，那张脸像个精致的假面。脸色是透明的苍白，五官轮廓分明，老是板着。那鼻子若不是在两道鼻翼上略微凹下了些，便可以算得上漂亮。而他那脸上仅有的变化却正表现在那凹陷之处（或叫鼻翼小窝）。那地方有时不断改变颜色，有时又因为轻微的脉搏跳动而扩大或缩小，有时又给整个面孔带来一种奸诈、残忍的表情。但若仔细观察，你又会发现这种表情的根子却在嘴边和眼角的皱纹上。那些皱纹都太淡，太细。不过，就那张脸给人的印象而言，它还是漂亮的，引人注目的。
这张脸的主人走下了楼，来到院子里，坐上他的马车走掉了。在招待会上跟他说诉的人不多，他站在略微离开人群的地方，而大人对他的态度却不太热情。此时此刻他颇为得意，因为看到普通老百姓在他的马车前四散奔逃，常常险些被车撞倒。他的手下人赶起车来仿佛是在对敌人冲锋陷阵，而这种鲁莽的做法并没有从主人的眉梢，嘴角引来丝毫制止的意思。即使在那个耳聋的城市和暗哑的时代，人们的抱怨有时其实是能听得见的，说是那种古罗马贵族式的凶狠的赶马习惯在没有人行道的大街上野蛮地威胁着平民百姓的生命或把他们变成残废。可是注意到这类事件并加以考虑的人却很少。因而在这件事上也跟在别的事上一样，普通的穷苦百姓便只有自行努力去克服困难了。
车声叮当，蹄声得得，马车发疯一样奔驰，那放纵骄横、不顾别人死活的样子在今天是很难理解的。它疾驰在大街上，横扫过街角处，妇女在它面前尖叫，男人你拽我扯，把孩子拉到路旁。最后，当它在一道泉水边的街角急转弯时，一个轮子令人恶心地抖了一下，几条喉咙同时发出了一声大叫，几匹马前腿凌空一腾落下，随即后臀一翘停下了。
若不是刚才那点障碍，马车大概是不会停下的；那时的马车常常是把受伤的人扔在后面，自已扬长而去。为什么不可以？可是大吃一惊的侍从已经匆匆下了车--几匹马的辔头已叫二十只胳膊抓住了。
“出了什么事？”大人平静地往外看了看，说。
一个戴睡帽的高个子男人已从马匹脚下抓起了一个包裹样的东西，放在泉水边的石基上，自己匍匐在泥水里对着它野兽一样嗥叫。
“对不起，大人！”一个衣衫褴的恭顺的男人说，“是个孩子。”
“他干吗嚎得那么讨厌？是他的孩于么？”
“请原谅，侯爵大人，很可惜，是的。”
泉水距此略有些距离，因为街道在泉水处展开成了一块十码或十二码见方的广场。高个子男人突然从地上跳起身子，向马车奔来。侯爵大人一时里用手抓着剑柄。
“碾死了！”那男人拼命地狂叫，两条胳膊高高地伸在头上，眼睛瞪着他。“死了！”人群围了过来，望着侯爵大人。那些盯着他看的眼睛除了警惕和急迫之外并无别的表情，并无可以后到的威胁或愤怒。人们也没说什么。自从第一声惊呼之后他们便没再出声，以后也一直这样。那说话的人低声下气的嗓门是平淡的、驯善的，表现了极端的服从。侯爵先生的目光从每一个人身上掠过，仿佛他们是一群刚从洞里窜出来的耗子。
他掏出了钱包。
“我看这事真怪，”他说，“你们这些人连自己和自己的孩子都照顾不了。老是有一两个人挡在路上。我还不知道你们把我的马伤成什么样子了呢！看着！把这个给他。”
他扔出了一个金币，命令他的侍从拾起来。所有的脑袋都像白鹤似地往前伸，所有的眼睛都想看见那金币落下。高个子男人又以一种绝对不是人间的声音大叫道，“死了！”
另一个男人匆匆赶来拉住了他，别的人纷纷让开。那可怜的人一见来人便扑到他的肩上抽泣着、号啕着，指着泉水。那儿有几个妇女躬身站在一动不动的包裹前，缓缓地做着什么，却也跟男人们一样，无声无息。
“我全知道，我全知道，”刚来的人说。“要勇敢，加斯帕德。可怜的小把戏像这样死了倒还好些。转眼工夫就过去了，没受什么痛苦。他活着能像这样快活一个小时么？”
“你倒是个哲学家，你，”侯爵微笑说。“人家怎么叫你？”
“叫我德伐日。”
“你是干什么的？”
“卖酒的，侯爵大人。”
“这钱你拾起来，卖酒的哲学家，”侯爵扔给他另外一个金币。“随便去花。马怎么样，没问题吧？”
侯爵大人对人群不屑多看一眼。他把身子往后一靠，正要以偶然打碎了一个平常的东西，已经赔了钱，而且赔得起钱的大老爷的神态离开时，一个金币却飞进车里，当啷一声落在了车板上，他的轻松感突然敲打破了。
“停车！”侯爵大人说，“带住马！是谁扔的？”
他望了望卖酒的德伐日刚才站着的地方。可是那凄惨的父亲正匍匐在那儿的路面上，他身边的身影已变成个黝黑健壮的女人在织毛线。
“你们这些狗东西，”侯爵说，可是口气平静，除了鼻翼上的两点之外，面不改色，“我非常乐意从你们任何一个人身上碾过去，从人世上把你们消灭掉。我若是知道是哪一个混蛋对马车扔东西，若是那强盗离我的马车不远，我就要让我的轮子把他碾成肉泥！”
人群受惯了欺压恐吓，也有过长期的痛苦经验。他们知道这样一个人能用合法的和非法的手段给他们带来多么大的痛苦，因此没作-声回答。没有一只手动一动，甚至也没有抬一抬眼睛-一男人中一个也没有，只是那织着毛线的妇女仍然抬着头目不转睛地盯着侯爵的面孔。注意到这一点是有伤候爵的尊严的，他那轻蔑的眼睛从她头顶一扫而过，也从别的耗子头上一扫而过，然后他又向椅背上一靠，发出命令，“走！”
马车载着他走了。别的车一辆接着一辆飞驰过来：总管、谋士、赋税承包商、医生、律师、教士、大歌剧演员、喜剧演员，还有整个化装舞会的参加者，一道琳琅满目的人流飞卷而去。耗子们从洞里爬出来偷看，一看几个小时。士兵和警察常在他们和那织纷的行列之间巡视，形成一道屏障，他们只能在后面逡巡、窥视。那父亲早带着他的包裹躲得不见了。刚才曾照顾过躺在泉边的包裹的妇女们在泉边坐了下来，望着泉水汩汩流过，也望着化装舞会隆隆滚过。刚才惹眼地站在那儿织毛线的妇女还在织着，像个命运女神一样屹立不动。井泉的水奔流着，滔滔的河水奔流着，白天流成了黄昏，城里众多的生命按照规律向死亡流去，时势与潮流不为任何人稍稍驻足。耗子们又在它们黑暗的洞里挤在一起睡了，化装舞会在明亮的灯光下用着晚餐，一切都在轨道上运行。
Book 2 Chapter 8 Monseigneur in the Country 
A BEAUTIFUL landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant. Patches of poor rye where corn should have been, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On inanimate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly--dejected disposition to give up, and wither away.
Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged up a steep hill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was occasioned by an external circumstance beyond his control--the setting sun give up, and wither away give up, and wither away.
The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. `It will die out,' said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing at his hands, `directly.'
In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When the heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the red glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis going down together, there was no glow left when the drag was taken off.
But, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a church-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a prison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, the Marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming near home.
The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relay of post+horses, poor fountain, all usual poor appointments. It had its poor people too. All its people were poor, and many of them were sitting at their doors, shredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the fountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and any such small yieldings of the earth that could be eaten. Expressive signs of what made them poor, were not wanting; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax for the lord, tax local and tax general, were to be paid here and to be paid there, according to solemn inscription in the little village, until the wonder was, that there was any village left unswallowed.
Few children were to be seen, and no dogs. As to the men and women, their choice on earth was stated in the prospect--Life on the lowest terms that could sustain it, down in the little village under die mill; or captivity and Death in the dominant prison on the crag.
Heralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of his postilions' whips, which twined snake-like about their heads in the evening air, as if he came attended by the Furies, Monsieur the Marquis drew up in his travelling carriage at the posting-housegate. It was hard by the fountain, and the peasants suspended their operations to look at him. He looked at them, and saw in them, without knowing it, the slow sure filing down of misery-worn face and figure, that was to make the meagerness of Frenchmen an English superstition which should survive the truth through the best part of a hundred years.
Monsieur the Marquis cast his eyes over the submissive faces that drooped before him, as the like of himself had drooped before Monseigneur of the Court--only the difference was, that these faces drooped merely to suffer and not to propitiate--when a grizzled mender of the roads joined the group.
`Bring me hither that fellow!' said the Marquis to the courier.
The fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fellows closed round to look and listen, in the manner of the people at the Paris fountain.
`I passed you on the road?'
`Monseigneur, it is true. I had the honour of being passed on the road.'
`Coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both?' 
`Monseigneur, it is true. 
`What did you look at, so fixedly?' 
`Monseigneur, I looked at the man.'
He stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed under the carriage. All his fellows stooped to look under the carriage.
`Mat man, pig? And why look there?' 
`Pardon, Monseigneur; he swung by the chain of the shoe the drag.'
`Who?' demanded the traveller.
`Monseigneur, the man.'
`May the Devil carry away these idiots! How do you call the man? You know all the men of this part of the country. Who was he?'
`Your clemency, Monseigneur! He was not of this part of the country. Of all the days of my life, I never saw him.'
`Swinging by the chain? To be suffocated?'
`With your gracious permission, that was the wonder of it, Monseigneur. His head hanging over--like this!'
He turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned back, with his face thrown up to the sky, and his head hanging down; then recovered himself, fumbled with his cap, and made a bow.
`what was he like?'
`Monseigneur, he was whiter than the miller. All covered with dust, white as a spectre, tall as a spectre!'
The picture produced an immense sensation in the little crowd; but all eyes, without   comparing notes with other eyes, looked at Monsieur the Marquis. Perhaps, to observe whether he had any spectre on his conscience.
`Truly, you did well,' said the Marquis, felicitously sensible that such vermin were not to ruffle him, `to see a thief accompanying my carriage, and not open that great mouth of yours. Bah! Put him aside, Monsieur Gabelle!'
Monsieur Gabelle was the Postmaster, and some other taxing functionary united; he had come out with great obsequiousness to assist at this examination, and had held the examined by the drapery of his arm in an official manner.
`Bah! Go aside!' said Monsieur Gabelle.
`Lay hands on this stranger if he seeks to lodge in your village to-night, and be sure that his business is honest, Gabelle.'
`Monseigneur, I am flattered to devote myself to your orders.'
`Did he run away, fellow?--here is that Accursed?'
The accursed was already under the carriage with some half-dozen particular friends, pointing out the chain with his blue cap. Some half-dozen other particular friends promptly hauled him out, and presented him breathless to Monsieur the Marquis. 
`Did the man run away, Dolt, when we stopped for the drag?'
`Monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hill-side, head first, as a person plunges into the river.'
`See to it, Gabelle. Go on!'
The half-dozen who were peering at the chain were still among the wheels, like sheep; the wheels turned so suddenly that they were lucky to save their skins and bones; they had very little else to save, or they might not have been so fortunate.
The burst with which the carriage started out of the village and up the rise beyond, was soon checked by the steepness of the hill. Gradually, it subsided to a foot pace, swinging and lumbering upward among the many sweet scents of a summer night. The postilions, with a thousand gossamer gnats circling about them in lieu of the Furies, quietly mended the points to the lashes of their whips; the valet walked by the horses; the courier was audible, trotting on ahead into the dim distance.
At the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial ground, with a Cross and a new large figure of Our Saviour on it; it was a poor figure in wood, done by some inexperienced rustic carver, but he had studied the figure from the life--is own life, maybe--or it was dreadfully spare and thin.
To this distressful emblem of a great distress that had long been growing worse, and was not at its worst, a woman was kneeling. She turned her head as the carriage came up to her, rose quickly, and presented herself at the carriage-door.
`It is you, Monseigneur! Monseigneur, a petition.'
With an exclamation of impatience, but with his Un+changeable face, Monseigneur looked out.
`How, then! What is it? Always petitions!'
`Monseigneur. For the love of the great God! My husband, the forester.'
`What of your husband, the forester? Always the same with you people. He cannot pay something?'
`He has paid all, Monseigneur. He is dead.' 
`Well! He is quiet. Can I restore him to you?'
`Alas, no, Monseigneur! But he lies yonder, under a little heap of poor grass.'
`Well?'
`Monseigneur,, there are so many little heaps of par grass?' 
`Again, well?' 
She looked an old woman, but was young. Her manner was one of passionate grief; by turns she clasped her veinous and knotted hands together with wild energy, and laid one of them on the carriage-door--tenderly, caressingly, as if it had been a human breast, and could be expected to feel the appealing touch.
`Monseigneur, hear me! Monseigneur, hear my petition! My husband died of want; so many die of want; so many more will die of want.'
`Again, well? Can I feed them?'
`Monseigneur, the good God knows; but I don't ask it. My petition is, that a morsel of stone or wood, with my husband's name, may be placed over him to show where he lies. Otherwise, the place will be quickly forgotten, it will never be found when I am dead of the same malady, I shall be laid under some other heap of poor grass. Monseigneur, they are so many, they increase so fast, there is so much want. Monseigneur! Monseigneur!'
The valet had put her away from the door, the carriage had broken into a brisk trot, the postilions had quickened the pace, she was left far behind, and Monseigneur, again escorted by the Furies, was rapidly diminishing the league or two of distance that remained between him and his chateau.
The sweet scents of the summer night rose all around him, and rose, as the rain falls, impartially, on the dusty, ragged, and toil-worn group at the fountain not far away; to whom the mender of roads, with the aid of the blue cap without which he was nothing, still enlarged upon his man like a spectre, as long as they could bear it. By degrees, as they could bear no more, they dropped off one by one, and lights twinkled in little casements; which lights, as the casements darkened, and more stars came out, seemed to have shot up into the sky instead of having been extinguished.
The shadow of a large high-roofed house, and of many overhanging trees, was upon Monsieur the Marquis by that time; and the shadow was exchanged for the light of a flambeau, as his carriage stopped, and the great door of his chateau was opened to him.
`Monsieur Charles, whom I expect: is he arrived from England?'
`Monseigneur, not yet.'
美丽的风景。小麦闪着光，但结粒不多。在应当是小麦的地方长出了一片片可怜的稞麦。一片片可怜的豌豆及蚕豆和一片片最粗糙的蔬菜代替了小麦。不能行动的自然界也跟培植它的人一样有一种普遍的倾向：不乐意生长、垂头丧气、没精打采、宁可枯萎。
侯爵大人坐着他那由两个驭手驾驶的四马旅行车（他其实是可以用较轻便的马车的）往一道陡峻的山坡吃力地爬上去。侯爵大人脸上泛红，但这无损于他的高贵血统，因为那红色并不来自他体内，而是来自无法控制的外部条件--落日。
旅行马车来到了山顶，落日辉煌地照着，把车上的人浸入一滩猩红。“太阳马上就要一一”侯爵大人瞥了他的手一眼，说，“死掉。”
实际上太阳已经很低，这时便突然落了下去。沉重的刹车器在轮子上弄好，马车带着灰尘气味往坡下滑，并掀起一片尘雾。红色的霞光在迅速消失，太阳与侯爵一起下了坡，卸下刹车器时，晚霞也收净了。
但是，在山脚下还留着一片破落的田野，粗犷而赤裸。山下有一个小小的村庄，村子那边一片开阔地连着个缓坡，有一个教堂尖塔、一个风磨、一片有猎林，还有一片峭壁，壁顶有一座用作监狱的碉堡。夜色渐浓，候爵带着快要到家的神色望了望四周逐渐暗淡的景物。
村子只有一条贫穷的街道，街上有贫穷的酒厂、贫穷的硝皮作坊、贫穷的客栈、贫穷的驿马站、贫穷的泉水和贫穷的设施。它的人也贫穷，全都十分贫穷。许多人坐在门口切着不多的几头洋葱之类，准备晚饭。许多人在泉水边洗菜、洗草、洗大地所能生长的这类能吃的小产品。标志着他们贫困的根源的东西并不难见到。小村里的堂皇文告要求向国家交税、向教堂交税、向老爷交税、向地区交税，还要交些一般的税。这里要交，那里要交，小小的村落竟然还没有被吃光，反倒令人惊讶。
看不到几个孩子。狗是没有的。至于男子汉和妇女，他们在世上的路已由景色作了交代一-或是在风磨之下的村子里依靠最低条件苟延残喘，或是关进悬崖顶上居高临下的监牢里去，死在那里。
由流星报马和驭手叭叭的鞭声开着道（那鞭子游蛇一样旋卷在他们头顶的夜色中），侯爵的旅行马车来到了驿站大门，仿佛有复仇女神随侍。驿站就在泉水边不远，农民们停下活儿望着他；他也看看他们，虽然看到，却没有感觉到那些受到细水长流的痛苦磨损的面孔与人形。这类形象在英国人心目中形成了一种迷信：法国人总是瘦削憔悴的。而这种迷信在那类实际情况消失之后差不多一百年还存在着。
侯爵大人目光落到低垂在他面前的一片驯顺的面孔上，那些面孔跟他自己在宫廷的大人面前低首敛眉时的样子颇有些相像--只是有一点不同，这些面孔低了下来是准备受苦而不是为了赎罪。这时一个花白头发的补路工来到了人群前。
“把那家伙给我带来！”侯爵对流星报马说。
那人被带了上来，他手里拿着帽子。别的人也跟在巴黎泉水边的情况一样，围上来看热闹。
“我在路上曾从你身边走过么？”
“是的，大人。我曾有过您在我身边走过的荣幸。”
“是在上坡的时候和在山坡顶上么？”
“大人，没错。”
“你那时死死盯住看的是什么？”
“大人，我看的是那个人。”
他略微躬了躬身子，用他那蓝色的破帽指了指车下。他的伙伴们也都弯下腰看车下。
“什么人，猪猡？为什么看那儿？”
“对不起，大人，他吊在刹车箍的铁链上。”
“谁？”旅行的人问。
“大人，那人。”
“但愿魔鬼把这些白痴都抓了去！那人叫什么名字？这一带的人你都认识的。他是谁？”
“请恕罪，大人！他不是这一带的人。我这一辈子还从来没见．过他。”
“吊在链子上？那不要呛死他么？”
“请恕我直言，怪就怪在这儿，大人。他的脑袋就这么挂着-一像这样！”
他侧过身去对着马车，身子一倒，脸向天上一仰，脑袋倒垂过来。然后他恢复了原状，摸了摸帽子，鞠了一躬。
“那人是什么样子？”
“大人，他比磨坊老板还要白。满身灰尘，白得像个幽灵，高得也像个幽灵！”
这一番描写对这一小群人产生了巨大的震动，但他们并未交换眼色，只望着侯爵大人，也许是想看看是否有幽灵纠缠着他的良心吧！
”好呀，你做得对，”侯爵说，很高兴这些耗子并没有冒犯他的意思，“你看见一个小偷在我车上，却闭着你那大嘴不响声。呸！把他放了，加伯尔先生！”
加伯尔先生是邮务所所长，也办点税务。他早巴结地出面来帮助盘问，而且摆出公家人的样子揪住了被盘问者的破袖子。
“呸！滚开！”加伯尔先生说。
“那个外地人今晚要是在这个村里找地方住，就把他抓起来，查查他有没有正当职业，加伯尔。”
“大人，能为您效劳我深感荣幸。”
“他跑掉了么，伙计？-一那倒霉的人在哪儿？”
那倒霉的人已跟五六个好朋友钻到车下，用他的蓝帽子指着链子。另外五六个好朋友立即把他拽了出来，气喘吁吁地送到侯爵大人面前。
“我们停车弄刹车时那人跑了没有，傻瓜？”
“大人，他头冲下跳下山坡去了，像往河里跳一样。”
“去查查看，加伯尔，快！”
盯着铁链看的五六个人还像羊群一样挤在车轮之间；车猛然一动，他们幸好没弄个皮破骨折。好在他们也只有皮包骨头了，否则也许不会那么走运。
马车驶出村子奔上坡去的冲力马上给陡峻的山坡刹住了。马车逐渐转成慢步，隆隆地摇晃着在夏夜的馨香中向坡上爬去。驭手身边并无复仇女神，却有数不清的蚊蚋飞绕。他只站着修理马鞭的梢头。侍从在马匹旁步行。流星板马的蹄声在远处隐约可闻。
山坡的最陡峭处有个小墓地，那里有一个十字架，架上有一个大的耶稣雕像，还是新的，雕工拙劣，是个缺乏经验的粗人刻的，但他却从生活--也许是他自己的生活一一研究过人体，因为那雕像瘦得可怕。
一个妇女跪在这象征巨大痛苦的凄惨的雕像面前--那痛苦一直在增加，可还没有达到极点。马车来到她身边时她掉过头来，立即站起身子，走到车门前。
“是你呀，大人！大人！我要请愿。”
大人发出一声不耐烦的惊叹，那张不动声色的脸往外望了望。
“晤！什么？总是请愿么！”
“大人，为了对伟大的上帝的爱！我那个看林子的丈夫。”
“你那个看林子的丈夫怎么啦？你们总是那一套。欠了什么东西了吧？”
“他欠的全还清了。他死了。”
“晤，那他就安静。我能把他还给你么？”
“啊！不，大人！可是他就睡在这儿，在一小片可怜的草皮，下面。”
“怎么样？”
“大人，这种可怜的小片草皮很多呢。”
“又来了，怎么？”
她还年轻，可是看去很衰老，态度很激动，很悲伤，瘦骨嶙峋的双手疯狂地交换攥着，然后一只手放在马车门上一一温情地、抚爱地，仿佛那是谁的胸脯，能感受到那动情的抚摸。
“大人，听我说！大人，我要请愿！我的丈夫是穷死的；许多人都是穷死的；还有许多人也要穷死。”
“又来了，晤？我能养活他们么？”
“大人，慈悲的上帝知道。我并不求你养活他们。我只请求在我的丈夫躺着的地方立一块写着他的姓名的石碑或木牌。否则这地方很快就会被忘掉，等我害了同样的病死去之后，它就再也认不出来了。他们会把我埋在另外一片可怜的草皮下面的。大人，这样的坟墓很多，增加得也很快，太穷了。大人！大人！”
侍从已把她从车门边拉开，马匹撒开腿小跑起来。驭手加快了步伐，那妇女被远远扔到了后面。大人又在他的三个复仇女神保护之下疾速地缩短他跟庄园之间那一两里格距离。
夏夜的馨香在他四周升腾，随着雨点落下而更加氤氲活跃了。雨点一视同仁地洒在不远处泉水边那群满身灰尘和衣衫褴褛的劳累的人身上。补路工还在对他们起劲地吹嘘着那幽灵似的人，似乎只要他们肯听就可以老吹下去。他说话时挥动着他那蓝帽子，大概没了那帽子他就夫去了分量。人群受不住雨淋，一个个慢慢走散了。小窗里有了灯光闪烁。小窗越来越暗，灯光逐渐熄灭，天空却出现了更多的灯光，仿佛小窗的灯光已飞到天上，并未消失。
那时一幢高大的建筑物的阴影和片片婆娑的树影己落到侯爵身上。马车停了下来。阴影被一支火炬的光取代，高大的前门对侯爵敞开了。
“我等着查尔斯先生到来，他从英格兰到了么？”
“先生，还没有。”
Book 2 Chapter 10 Two Promises 
MORE months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and Mr. Charles Darnay was established in England as a higher teacher of the French language who was conversant with French literature. In this age, he would have been a Professor; in thatage, he was a Tutor. He read with young men who could find any leisure and interest for the study of a living tongue spoken all over the world, and he cultivated a taste for its stores of knowledge and fancy. He could write of them, besides, in sound English, and render them into sound English. Such masters were not at that time easily found; Princes that had been, and Kings that were to be, were not yet of the Teacher class, and no ruined nobility had dropped out of Tellson's ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. As a tutor, whose attainments made the student's way unusually pleasant and profitable, and as an elegant translator who brought something to his work besides mere dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon became known and encouraged. He was well acquainted, moreover, with the circumstances of his country, and those were of ever-growing interest. So, with great perseverance and untiring industry, he prospered.
In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements of gold, nor to lie on beds of roses: if he had had any such exalted expectation, he would not have prospered. He had expected labour, and he found it, and did it, and made the best of it. In this, his prosperity consisted. 
A certain portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, where he read with undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a contraband trade in European languages, instead of conveying Greek and Latin through the Custom-house. The rest of his time he passed in London.
Now, from the days when it was always summer in Eden, to these days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a man has invariably gone one way--Charles Darnay's way--the way of the love of a woman.
He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of his danger. He had never heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound of her compassionate voice; he had never seen a face so tenderly beautiful, as hers when it was confronted with his own on the edge of the grave that had been dug for him. But, he had not yet spoken to her on the subject; the assassination at the deserted chaateau far away beyond the heaving water and the long, long, dusty roads--the solid stone chaateau which had itself become the mere mist of a dream--had been done a year, and he had never yet, by so much as a single spoken word, disclosed to her the state of his heart.
That he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. It was again a summer day when, lately arrived in London from his college occupation, he turned into the quiet corner in Soho, bent on seeking an opportunity of opening his mind to Doctor Manette. Itwas the close of the summer day, and he knew Lucie to be out with Miss Pross.
He found the Doctor reading in his arm-chair at a window. The energy which had at once supported him under his old sufferings and aggravated their sharpness, had been gradually restored to him. He was now a very energetic man indeed with great firmness of purpose, strength of resolution, and vigour of action. In his recovered energy he was sometimes a little fitful and sudden, as he had at first been in the exercise of his other recovered faculties; but, this had never been frequently observable, and had grown more and more rare.
He studied much, slept little, sustained a great deal of fatigue with ease, and was equably cheerful. To him, now entered Charles Darnay, at sight of whom he laid aside his book and held out his hand.
`Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We have been counting on your return these three or four days past. Mr. Stryver and Sydney Carton were both here yesterday, and both made you out to be more than due.
`I am obliged to them for their interest in the matter,' he answered, a little coldly as to chem, though very warmly as to the Doctor. `Miss Manette---'
`Is well,' said the Doctor, as he stopped short, `and your return will delight us all. She has gone out on some household matters, but will soon be home.'
`Doctor Manette, I knew she was from home. I took the opportunity of her being from home, to beg to speak to you.'
There was a blank silence.
`Yes?' said the Doctor, with evident constraint. `Bring your chair here, and speak on.' 
He complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the speaking on less easy.
`I have had the happiness, Doctor Manette, of being so intimate here,' so he at length began, `for some year and a half, that I hope the topic on which I am about to touch may not---'
He was stayed by the Doctor's putting out his hand to stop him. When he had kept it so a little while, he said, drawing it back:
`Is Lucie the topic?'
`She is.'
`It is hard for me to speak of her at any time. It is very hard for me to hear her spoken of in that tone of yours, Charles Darnay.' 
`It is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love, Doctor Manette!' he said deferentially.
There was another blank silence before her father rejoined: `I believe it. I do you justice; I believe it.'
His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that it originated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that Charles Darnay hesitated.
`Shall I go on, sir?'
Another blank.
`Yes, go on.'
`You anticipate what I would say, though you cannot know how earnestly I say it, how earnestly I feel it, without knowing my secret heart, and the hopes and fears and anxieties with which it has long been laden. Dear Doctor Manette, I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disinterestedly, devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her. You have loved yourself; let your old love speak for me!'
The Doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes bent on the ground. At the last words, he stretched out his hand again, hurriedly, and cried:
`Not that, sir! Let that be! I adjure you, do not recall that!'
His cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in Charles Darnay's ears long after he had ceased. He motioned with the hand he had extended, and it seemed to be an appeal to Darnay to pause. The latter so received it, and remained silent.
`I ask your pardon,' said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, after some moments. `I do not doubt your loving Lucie; you may be satisfied of it.'
He turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him, or raise his eyes. His chin dropped upon his hand, and his white hair overshadowed his face:
`Have you spoken to Lucie?'
`No.'
`Nor written?'
`Never.'
`It would be ungenerous to affect not to know that your self-denial is to be referred to your consideration for her father. Her father thanks you.
He offered his hand; but his eyes did not go with it.
`I know,' said Darnay, respectfully, `how can I fail to know, Doctor Manette, I who have seen you together from day to day, that between you and Miss Manette there is an affection so unusual, so touching, so belonging to the circumstances in which it has been nurtured, that it can have few parallels, even in the tenderness between a father and child. I know, Dr. Manette--how can I fail to know--that, mingled with the affection and duty of a daughter who has become a woman, there is, in her heart, towards you, all the love and reliance of infancy itself. I know that, as in her childhood she had no parent, so she is now devoted to you with all the constancy and fervour of her present years and character, united to the trustfulness and attachment of the early days in which you were lost to her. I know perfectly well that if you had been restored to her from the worldbeyond this life, you could hardly be invested, in her sight, with a more sacred character than that in which you are always with her. I know that when she is clinging to you, the hands of baby, girl, and woman, all in one, are round your neck. I know that in loving you she sees and loves her mother at her own age, sees and loves you at my age, loves her mother broken+hearted, loves you through your dreadful trial and in your blessed restoration. I have known this, night and day, since I have known you in your home.'
Her father sat silent, with his face bent down. His breathing was a little quickened; but he repressed all other signs of agitation.
`Dear Doctor manette always knowing this, always seeing her and you with this hallowed light about you, I have forborne, and forborne, as long as it was in the nature of man to do it. I have felt, and do even now feel, that to bring my love--even mine--between you, is to touch your history with something not quite so good as itself. But I love her. Heaven is my witness that I love her!'
`I believe it,' answered her father, mournfully. `I have thought so before now. I believe it.'
`But, do not believe,' said Darnay, upon whose ear the mournful voice struck with a reproachful sound, `that if my fortune were so cast as that, being one day so happy as to make her my wife, I must at any time put any separation between her and you, I could or would breathe a word of what I now say. Besides that I should know it to be hopeless, I should know it to be a baseness. If I had any such possibility, even at a remote distance of years, harboured in my thoughts, and `hidden in my heart--if it ever had been there--if it ever could be there--I could not now touch this honoured hand.'
He laid his own upon it as he spoke.
`No, dear Doctor Manette. Like you, a voluntary exile from France; like you, driven from it by its distractions, oppressions, and miseries; like you, striving to live away from it by my own exertions, and trusting in a happier future; I look only to sharing your fortunes, sharing your life and home, and being faithful to you to the death. Not to divide with Lucie her privilege as your child, companion, and friend; but to come in aid of it, and bind her closer to you, if such a thing can be.'
His touch still lingered on her father's hand. Answering the touch for a moment, but not coldly, her father rested his hands upon the arms of his chair, and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the conference. A struggle was evidently in his face; a struggle with that occasional look which had a tendency in it to dark doubt and dread.
`You speak so feelingly and so manfully, Charles Darnay, that I thank you with all my heart, and will open all my heart--or nearly so. Have you any reason to believe that Lucie loves you?'
`None. As yet, none.
`Is it the immediate object of this confidence, that you may at once ascertain that, with my knowledge?'
`Not even so. I might not have the hopefulness to do it for weeks; I might (mistaken or not mistaken) have that hopefulness to-morrow. 
`Do you seek any guidance from me?'
`I ask none, sir. But I have thought it possible that you might have it in your power, if you should deem it right, to give mesome.'
`Do you seek any promise from me?' 
`I do seek that. 
`What is it?'
`I well understand that, without you, I could have no hope. I well understand that, even if Miss Manette held me at this moment in her innocent heart--do not think I have the presumption to assume so much--I could retain no place in it against her love forher father.'
If that be so, do you sec what, on the other hand, is involved in it?'
`I understand equally well, that a word from her father in any suitor's favour, would outweigh herself and all the world. For which reason, Doctor Manette,' said Darnay, modestly but firmly, `I would not ask that word, to save my life.'
`I am sure of it. Charles Darnay, mysteries arise out of close love, as well as out of wide division; in the former case, they are subtle and delicate, and difficult to penetrate. My daughter Lucie is, in this one respect, such a mystery to me; I can make no guess at the state of her heart.'
`May I ask, sir, if you think she is---' As he hesitated, her father supplied the rest.
`Is sought by any other suitor?'
`It is what I meant to say.'
Her father considered a little before he answered:
`You have seen Mr. Carton here, yourself. Mr. Stryver is here too, occasionally. If it be at all, it can only be by one of these.'
`Or both,' said Darnay.
`I had not thought of both; I should not think either, likely. You want a promise from me. Tell me what it is.
`It is, that if Miss Manette should bring to you at any time, on her own part, such a confidence as I have ventured to lay before you, you will bear testimony to what I have said, and to your belief in it. I hope you may be able to think so well of me, as tourge no influence against me. I say nothing more of my stake in this; this is what I ask. The condition on which I ask it, and which you have an undoubted right to require, I will observe immediately.' 
`I give the promise,' said the Doctor, `without any condition. I believe your object to be, purely and truthfully, as you have stated it. I believe your intention is to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties between me and my other and far dearer self. If she should ever tell me that you are essential to her perfect happiness, I will give her to you. If there were--Charles Darnay, if there were---'
The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their hands were joined as the Doctor spoke:
`--any fancies, any reasons, any apprehensions, anything whatsoever, new or old, against the man she really loved--the direct responsibility thereof not lying on his head--they should all be obliterated for her sake. She is everything to me; more to me than suffering, more to me than wrong, more to me---Well! This is idle talk.'
So strange was the way in which he faded into silence, and so strange his fixed look when he had ceased to speak, that Darnay felt his own hand turn cold in the hand that slowly released and dropped it.
`You said something to me,' said Doctor Manette, breaking into a smile. `What was it you said to me?'
He was at a loss how to answer, until he remembered having spoken of a condition. Relieved as his mind reverted to that, he answered:
`Your confidence in me ought to be returned with full confidence on my part. My present name, though but slightly changed from my mother's, is not, as you will remember, my Own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England.'
`Stop!' said the Doctor of Beauvais.
`I wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence, and have no secret from you.
`Stop!'
For an instant, the Doctor even had his two hands at his ears; for another instant, even had his two hands laid on Darnay's lips.
`Tell me when I ask you, not now. If your suit should prosper, if Lucie should love you, you shall tell me on your marriage  morning. Do you promise?'
`Willingly.'
`Give me your hand. She will be home directly, and it is better she should not see us together to-night. Go! God bless you!' 
It was dark when Charles Darnay left him, and it was an hour later and darker when Lucie came home; she hurried into the room alone--for Miss Pross had gone straight upstairs--and was surprised to find his reading-chair empty.
`My father!' she called to him. `Father dear!'
Nothing was said in answer, but she heard a low hammering sound in his bedroom. Passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in at his door and came running back frightened, crying to herself, with her blood all chilled, `What shall I do! What shall I do!'
Her uncertainty lasted but a moment; she hurried back, and tapped at his door, and softly called to him. The noise ceased at the sound of her voice, and he presently came out to her, and they walked up and down together for a long time.
She came down from her bed, to look at him in his sleep that night. He slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking tools, and his old unfinished work, were all as usual. 
十二个月来了又去了。查尔斯.达尔内先生在英格兰取得了优秀法语教师的地位。他也熟悉法国文学。要是在今天，他可能做个教授，可是在那时，他只能当个私人教师。他跟有时间也有兴趣的年轻人一起读书，一起研究一种在全世界普遍使用的活语言，并培养他们，使他们能欣赏它的知识与想象的宝库。而且他可以用正 确的英语写研究法语和法国文学的文章  ，也可翻译出正确的英语。那时代他这样的能手并不容易找到，因为许多过去的王子和未来的国王还没有落到教员队伍中来，破落的贵族也还没被从台尔森银行帐簿里划掉名字，去当厨工或木匠。作为私人教师，他知识渊博，言辞蕴籍，使学生学得异常愉快，得益非浅；作为翻译者，他文体高雅，在译文中注入了许多不只是字典上的东西。因此达尔内先生很快就有了名气，而且深受称赞。何况，他对自己的国家的情况也很熟悉，而那也越来越引起人们的兴趣。因此，他靠了自己的坚毅顽强和不懈努力发达起来了。
在伦敦，他从未梦想过走在黄金路面上或睡在玫瑰花坛里。有了这种高雅的理想他是发达不起来的。他希望劳动，也参加了劳动，便竭尽全力地劳动。他的发达靠的是这个。
他把一部分时间花在剑桥，在那儿教本科生读法语。他仿佛是一个受到宽容的走私贩子，不是经过海关检验进口希腊文和拉丁文，而是贩卖欧洲语言的私货。剩下的时间他花在伦敦。
从永远是夏日的伊甸园到大部分是冬日的今天的堕落人世，男人的世界总要走一条一成不变的路一一要追求一个女人的爱。这也是查尔斯.达尔内的路。
他是在危难的时刻爱上了露西.曼内特小姐的。他从没有听见过比她那同情的声音更甜美、更可爱的声音，从没有看见过像她这样温柔美丽的面容，那时她在已为他挖好的坟墓边沿跟他面对着面。但是他还不曾跟她谈过这个问题。发生在波涛汹涌澎湃的大海和尘土飞扬的大路那边的那座荒凉庄园里的谋杀案已经过去了一年，那巍峨的石庄园已成了个依稀的梦，可他至今没有向她说出一个吐露心曲的字。
他很明白自己为什么沉默。又一个夏季的白天，他离开他大学的工作来到伦敦，转到了索霍区这个安静的街角。他想找机会向曼内特医生敞开自己的心扉。那天已快要黄昏，他知道露西已跟普洛丝小姐出门去了。
他发现医生坐在窗前的圈手椅上。在他苦难时支持过他、却也增加了他的痛苦的体力已经逐渐恢复。他现在确实已成了个精力非常充沛的人。他坚毅顽强，行动富于活力。在他恢复活力之后有时也发病、也冲动，跟他才开始训练恢复其它官能时一样，但这种情况当初就不多，现在更是罕见了。
他读书的时间多，睡眠的时间少，很辛苦，却很轻松，而且同样感到快乐。现在查尔斯.达尔内走进了他屋里，他一看见便放下书伸出手来。
“查尔斯.达尔内！很高兴见到你。近三四天来我们都估计你会回来呢。斯特莱佛先生和西德尼.卡尔顿先生昨天都来过，都以为你早该来了！”
“他们对我有兴趣，我很感谢，”他回答道。他对那两人虽有几分冷淡，对医生却是满腔热忱。“曼内特小姐——”
“她很好，”医生插嘴说，“你回来，我们都会很高兴的。她有些家务事要办，出去了，马上就会回来。”
“曼内特医生，我知道她不在家。我正是要利用她不在家的机会请求跟你谈一谈的。”
空白。沉默。
“是么？”医生说，显然有些不安。“把你的椅子拉过来，说吧。”
椅子拉过来了，但他却发现要说下去并不那么容易。
“我跟你们家能有密切的关系，曼内特医生，我很高兴，”他终于开了口，“时间已有了一年半。我希望我要提起的话题不至于一一”
医生伸出手来制止他，他闭上了嘴。过了一会儿，医生又回到了话题，说：
“是要谈露西么？”
“是的。”
“我任何时候谈起她心里都不好过。一听见你用那种调子谈起她就更难受，查尔斯.达尔内。”
“我这是热烈的崇敬、真诚的膜拜和恳切的爱情的声音，曼内特医生！”他恭顺地说。
又是一片空白，沉默。
“我相信你的话。我对你应当公正，我相信你的话。”
他显然很不安，而这不安又显然是由于不愿提起这个话头，因此查尔斯.达尔内犹豫了。
“要我继续说下去么，先生？”
又是空白。
“好了，说吧。”
“你估计到了我要说的话，虽然你不可能懂得我说这话时有多么认真，我的感情有多么认真，因为你不懂得我秘密的心愿和这心愿长期压在我身上的希冀、畏惧和不安。亲爱的曼内特医生，我对你的女儿爱得痴迷、深沉、无私和忠贞，只要世界上还有爱，我就要爱她。你也曾恋爱过的，让你往日的爱情为我说话吧！”
医生扭开了脸坐着，眼睛望着地上。听到最后一句话，他又匆匆伸出手去，叫道：
“别提那事，先生！别提那事，我求你，不要让我想起过去！”
他的叫喊像是确实有了病痛，因此他的话说完后许久仍然回荡在查尔斯.达尔内的耳里。他伸出手做了个手势，仿佛是哀求达尔内别可说下去。达尔内作了这样的理解，便再也没出声。
“请你原谅，”过了一会儿，医生压低了嗓子说，“我并不怀疑你爱露西，我可以让你满意。”
他在椅子上向他转过身来，却没有看他，也没有抬起眼睛。他的下巴落到了手上，白发遮住了面孔。
“你跟露西谈过了么？”
“还没有。”，
“也没有给她写信么？”
“从来没有。”
“你的自我否定是由于考虑到他的父亲，要装作不知道这一点是狭隘的。她的父亲对你表示感谢。”
他伸出手来，眼睛却不配合。
“我知道，”达尔内尊重地说，“我怎么能不知道呢，曼内特医生。我每天都看见你们俩在一起，你跟曼内特小姐之间这种不寻常的、动人的感情是在特殊的环境之下培养出来的。即使是在父女之间，能够跟它相比的感情也不多见。我知道，曼内特医生，我怎么能不知道呢，她心里除了一个逐渐成年的女儿的感情和孝心之外，还有她婴儿时期的全部的爱和依赖。我知道，因为她从小没有父母，现在已把她成年后的全部忠诚、热情和性格奉献给了你，还加上对早年失去的父亲的信赖和依恋。我完全知道，即使你从今生之外的另一个世界回到她身边，你在她的眼里也难以具有比跟她长期相处的你更神圣的品格。我知道，她依偎着你时，那搂着你脖子的手是三合一的：它是婴儿的、姑娘的，也是妇女的。我知道，她在爱你时，看到了跟她同龄的母亲，也在爱着她；看到了跟我同龄时的你，也在爱着我。她爱她心碎的母亲，她爱那经历了可怕的考验和成功的恢复过程的你。我自从在你家跟你相识之后日夜见到的便是这一切。”
她的父亲垂头坐着，只有呼吸略微加快，其它的激动迹象全都受到了抑制。
“亲爱的曼内特医生，这些我一向都知道。我也一向看到你为一个神圣的光圈所笼罩。我忍耐了，我忍耐到了人的天性所能忍耐的最大程度。我一向感到（就是现在也还感到）把我的爱情（甚至是我的爱情）介入你俩之间是要用一种不配触动你的历史的东西去触动它。但是我爱她。上天作证，我是爱她的！”
“我相信，”她的父亲伤心地回答，“我早就想到了，我相信。”
“可是，”达尔内说，医生那伤心的口气在他耳里带着责备的调子，“如果我有这样的幸运能娶了她，可别以为我会在某一天违背我现在的话，把你俩分开。此外，我也明白那是做不到的，也是卑鄙的。如果我心里考虑着这种可能性，即使把它放在遥远的将来，却隐藏在心里，如果我有这样的心思，有这祥的想法，我现在就没有资格触摸这只荣耀的手。”
说着他伸出手来，放到了医生手上。
“不，亲爱的曼内特医生，我跟你一样是自愿流放离开法国的，跟你一样是被法国的疯狂、迫害和苦难赶出来的，跟你一样是努力靠自己的劳动在国外生活，而且相信将来会更幸福的，我只盼望跟你同甘共苦，共享你的生活和家庭。我要对你忠诚，至死不渝。我不会影响到露西做你的女儿、侣伴和朋友的特权的。我要帮助她，使她跟你更亲密，如果还能更亲密的话。”
他的手还挨着她父亲的手。她的父亲并不冷淡地接受他的触摸。过了一会儿，更把双手搭在了他椅子的扶手上。自从谈话以来第一次抬起头来。他脸上显然有一种内心斗争的表情。他在压抑着那偶然露头的阴沉的怀疑和恐惧。
“你的话很有感情，很有男子汉气概，查尔斯.达尔内，我衷心地感谢你。我要向你敞开我整个的心——或是差不多敞开。你有理由相信露西爱你么？”
“没有。到目前为止还没有。”
“你对我这样倾吐你的心臆，直接的目的是想要我立即加以肯定么？”
“并不完全如此。我可能会好多个礼拜都希望渺茫，也可能明天就会希望降临，不管我是否误会了。”
“你是否想要我给你出主意呢？”
“我并不要求，先生。但我觉得如果你认为可以，你是有力量给我出出主意的。”
“你想得到我的承诺么？”
“想。”
“什么承诺？”
“我很明白没有你，我不可能有希望。我很明白即使曼内特小姐现在在她那纯洁的心灵里有了我——不要认为我真的胆敢存这种奢望——我在她心里的地位也不可能影响她对她父亲的爱。”
“若是确实那样，你认为别的还会牵涉到什么问题呢？”
“我同样明白，她父亲为任何求婚者说的一句有利的话都会比她自己和全世界更有分量。因此，曼内特医生，”达尔内谦恭但坚定地说，“我不愿意求你说那祥的话，即使它可以救我的命。”
“我相信。查尔斯.达尔内，神秘是由于爱得深沉或距离太大而产生的。若是前者，那神秘便精细而微妙，很难参透。我的女儿露西对我就是这样一种神秘。因此我无法猜测她的心态。”
“我可以问问吗，先生？你是否认为她一—”他还在犹豫，她的父亲已给他补充出来：
“有别的人求婚？”
“这正是我打算说的话。”
她的父亲想了一会儿，回答说：
“你在这儿亲眼见到过卡尔顿先生。斯特莱佛先生偶然也来。若是有那么回事的话，也只有一个。”
“也许是两个，”达尔内说。
“我不认为会有两个；我倒觉得一个也不像。休想得到我的承诺，那就告诉我，你想要我承诺什么？”
“若是曼内特小姐也跟我今天大胆所做的一样，某一天向你倾吐了内心的情愫，我希望你能证实我今天对你说过的话，也表示你相信我的话。我希望你对我有那样的好感，不至造成不利于我的影响。至于这事对我有多么重要我就不想深谈了。这就是我的要求。我提出这个要求的条件——你无疑有权要求这个条件——我会立即执行。”
“我答应，”医生说，“无条件答应。我相信你的目的跟你的话确实完全一样。我相信你的意图是维护我和我那宝贵得多的另一个自我的关系，而不是削弱这种关系。若是她告诉我，你是她获得完全幸福必不可少的条件，我愿意把她给你。若是还有——查尔斯.达尔内——若是还有——”
年轻人感激地抓住他的手，两人的手紧紧地握在一起。医生说道：
“若是还有任何不利于她真正爱着的男性的幻想、理由或畏惧，而其直接责任并不在他，那么，为了她的缘故，无论是什么问题都应该全部抹掉。她便是我的一切，她对我比我所受过的苦更重要，比我所遭受到的冤屈更重要—一嗨！这全是废话。”
他没了力气，住了嘴，态度很奇怪，又以一种奇怪的眼神呆望着他，松开了握住他的那只手，又放掉了。达尔内觉得那手冰凉。
“你刚才对我说了一件事，”曼内特医生说，绽出一个微笑。“那是什么？”
他不知道怎么回答，后来想起他刚才谈起的条件，这才放了心回答道：
“我应该用充分的信任报答你对我的信任。我现在的姓虽是略微改变过的我母亲的姓，却不是我的真姓，这你是记得的。我打算告诉你我原来的姓和我到英国来的原因。”
“别说了！”波维的医生说。
“我希望更值得你信任，而且对你不存在任何秘密。”
“别说了！”
医生甚至用双手捂了一会儿耳朵，然后又把双手放到达尔内的嘴唇上。
“到我问你的时候再告诉我吧，现在别说。若是你求婚成功，若是露西爱你，你就在结婚日子的早晨再告诉我吧！你答应么？”
“我答应。”
“握手吧。她马上就要回来了，她今天晚上最好别见到我俩在一起。你走吧！上帝保佑你！”
查尔斯.达尔内离去时已是黄昏。一个小时以后天更暗了，露西才回到家里。她一个人匆匆进了房——普洛丝小姐已直接回卧室去了——却发现读书椅上没有人，便吃了一惊。
“爸爸！”她叫他。“亲爱的爸爸！”
没有人回答，她却听见有低低的敲击声从他的卧室传来。她轻轻走过中间的屋子，往他门里望去，却惊惶地跑了回来。她全身的血都凉了，大声叫道，“我该怎么办！我该怎么办：”
她只惶惑了一会儿，随即匆匆跑了回来，去敲他的门，并轻声地呼唤。她一叫，敲击声便停止了，医生立即出门来到她的面前。两人在一起走来走去，走了许久。
那天晚上她下床来看他睡觉。他睡得很沉，他那鞋匠工具箱和没做完的旧活儿已摆回了原先的地方。
Book 2 Chapter 11 A Companion Picture 
`SYDNEY,' said Mr. Stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his jackal; `mix another bowl of punch; I have something to say to you.'
Sydney had been working double tides that night, and the night before, and the night before that, and a good many nights in succession, making a grand clearance among Mr. Stryver's papers before the setting in of the long vacation. The clearance was effected at last; the Stryver arrears were handsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until November should come with its fogs atmospheric and fogs legal, and bring grist to the mill again.
Sydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for so much application. It had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him through the night; a correspondingly extra quantity of wine had preceded the towelling; and he was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled his turban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped it at intervals for the last six hours. 
`Are you mixing that other bowl of punch?' said Stryver the portly, with his hands in his waistband, glancing round from the sofa where he lay on his back,
`I am.'
`Now, look here! I am going to tell you something that will rather surprise you, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as shrewd as you usually do think me. I intend to marry.
`Do you?'     
`Yes. And not for money. What do you say now?'
`I don't feel disposed to say much. Who is she?'
`Guess.'
`Do I know her?'
`Guess.'
`I am not going to guess, at five o'clock in the morning, with my brains frying and sputtering in my, head. If you want me to guess, you must ask me to dinner.
`Well then, I'll tell you,' said Stryver, coming slowly into a sitting posture. `Sydney, I rather despair of making myself intelligible to you, because you are such an insensible dog.' 
`And you,' returned Sydney, busy concocting the punch, `are such a sensitive and poetical spirit.'
`Come!' rejoined Stryver, laughing boastfully, `though I don't prefer any claim to being the soul of Romance (for I hope I, know better), still I am a tenderer sort of fellow than you.
`You are a luckier, if you mean that.'
`I don't mean that. I mean I am a man of more--more---'
`Say gallantry, while you are about it,' suggested Carton.
`Well! I'll say gallantry. My meaning is that I am a man,' said Stryver, inflating himself at his friend as he made the punch, `who cares more to be agreeable, Who takes more pains to be agreeable, who knows better how to be agreeable, in a woman's society, than you do.'
`Go on,' said Sydney Carton.
`No; but before I go on,' said Stryver, shaking his head in his bullying way, `I'll have this out with you. You've been at Dr. Manette's house as much as I have, or more than I have. Why, I have been ashamed of your moroseness there! Your manners have been of that silent and sullen and hang-dog kind, that, upon my life and soul, I have been ashamed of you, Sydney!'
`It should be very beneficial to a man in your practice at the bar, to be ashamed of anything,' returned Sydney; `you ought to be much obliged to me.
`You shall not get off in that Way,' rejoined Stryver, shouldering the rejoinder at him; `no, Sydney, it's my duty to tell you--and I tell you to your face to do you good--that you are a devilish ill-conditioned fellow in that sort of society. You are a disagreeable fellow.'
Sydney drank a bumper of the punch he had made, and laughed.
`Look at me!' said Stryver, squaring himself: `I have less need to make myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in circumstances. Why do I do it?'
`I never saw you do it yet,' muttered Carton.
`I do it because it's politic; I do it on principle. And look at me! I get on.'
`You don't get on with your account of your matrimonial intentions,' answered Carton, with a careless air; `I wish you would keep to that. As to me--will you never understand that I am incorrigible?'
He asked the question with some appearance of scorn.
`You have no business to be incorrigible,' was his friend's answer, delivered in no very soothing tone.
`I have no business to be, at all, that I know of,' said Sydney Carton. `Who is the lady?'
`Now, don't let my announcement of the name make you uncomfortable, Sydney,' said Mr. Stryver, preparing him with ostentatious friendliness for the disclosure he was about to make, `because I know you don't mean half you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. I make this little preface, because,you once mentioned the young lady to me in slighting terms.
`I did?'
`Certainly; and in these chambers.'
Sydney Carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent friend; drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend.
`You made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. The young lady is Miss Manette. If you had been a fellow of any sensitiveness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, Sydney, I might have been a little resentful of your employing such a designation; but you are not. You want that sense altogether; therefore I am no more annoyed when I think of the expression, than I should be annoyed by a man's opinion of a picture of mine, who had no eye for pictures: or of a piece of music of mine, who had no ear for music.'
Sydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers, looking at his friend.
`Now you know all about it, Syd,' said Mr. Stryver. `I don't care about fortune: she is a charming creature, and I have made up my mind to please myself: on the whole, I think I can afford to please myself. She will have in me a man already pretty well off and a rapidly rising man, and a man of some distinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but she is worthy of good fortune. Are you astonished?'
Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, `Why should I be astonished?'
`You approve?'
Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, `Why should I not approve?' `Well!' said his friend Stryver, `you take it more easily than I fancied you would, and are less mercenary on my behalf than I thought you would be; though, to be sure, you know well enough by this time that your ancient chum is a man of a pretty strong will. Yes, Sydney, I have had enough of this style of life, with no other as a change iron' it; I feel that it is a pleasant thing for a man to have a home when he feels inclined to go to it (when he doesn't, he can stay away), and I feel that Miss Manette will tell well in any station, and will always do me credit. So Ihave made up my mind. And now, Sydney, old boy, I want to say a word to you about your prospects. You are in a bad way, you know; you really are in a bad way. You don't know the value of money, you live hard, you'll knock up one of these days, and be ill and poor; you really ought to think about a nurse.
The prosperous patronage with which he said it, made him look twice as big as he was, and four times as offensive.
`Now, let me recommend you,' pursued Stryver, `to look it in the face. I have looked it in the face, in my different way; look it in the face, you, in your different way. Marry. Provide somebody to take care of you. Never mind your having no enjoyment of women's society, nor understanding of it, nor tact for it. Find out somebody. Find out some respectable woman with a little property--somebody in the landlady way, or lodging-letting way--and marry her, against a rainy day. That's the kind of thing for you. Now think of it, Sydney.'
`I'll think of it,' said Sydney.
“西德尼，”就在那天晚上或是次日凌晨，斯特莱佛先生对他的豺狗说，“再调一碗五味酒，我要告诉你一件事。”
那天晚上，前一天晚上，再前一天晚上和那以前的许多晚上西德尼都曾加班加点，要赶在大假日到来之前把斯特莱佛的文件处理完毕。文件终于处理完毕了，斯特莱佛积压的工作全部漂漂亮亮告了个段落，只等着十一月份带着它气象上的云雾和法律上的云雾，也带着送上门的业务到来。
西德尼用了多次冷敷，可精神仍然不好，头脑仍然不清。他是靠使用了大量的湿毛巾才熬过了这一夜的。在用湿毛巾之前，还喝了与之相应的特别多的葡萄酒，直弄得心力交瘁。现在他拉下了那“大头巾”扔进盆子里。六个小时以来他都不时在盆里浸毛巾。
“你在调另外一碗五味酒么？”大肚子的斯特莱佛两手插在腰带里，躺在沙发上，眼睛瞟着他。
“是。”
“现在听着，我要告诉你一件令你颇为惊讶的事，你也许会说我并不如你所想象的那么精明：我想结婚了。”
“你想？”
“是的。而且不是为了钱。现在你有什么意见？”
“我不想发表多少意见。对方是谁？”
“猜猜看。”
“我认识么？”
“猜猜看。”
“现在是早上五点钟，我的脑子像油煎一样噼噼啪啪乱响，我才不猜呢。要我猜，你得请我吃晚饭。”
“那好，那我就告评你，”斯特莱佛慢慢坐起身来说。“西德尼，我对自己相当失望，因为我不能让你理解我，因为你是这样一个迟钝的笨蛋。”
“可你呢，”西德尼一边忙着调五味酒，一边回答，“你却是这样一个敏感而有诗意的精灵。”
“听着！”斯特莱佛回答，夸耀地笑着，“我虽然不愿自命为罗曼斯的灵魂（因为我希望自己头脑更清醒），可总比你要温柔些，多情些。”
“你比我要幸运些，假如你是那意思的话。”
“我不是那意思。我的意思是我要更一—更——”
“更会献殷勤，只要你肯干，”卡尔顿提醒他。
“不错！就说是会献殷勤吧。我的意思是我是个男子汉，”斯特莱佛在他朋友调酒时吹嘘起自己来，“我很愿在女人堆里受人欢迎，而且很愿花功夫，也懂得怎样做。比你要强多了。”
“说下去，”西德尼.卡尔顿说。
“不，在我说下去之前，”斯特莱佛用他那居高临下的态度摇着头说，“我先得对你交代一句。你跟我一样常去曼内特医生家，也许比我去得还多，可你在那儿总那么忧郁，我真替你难为情。你总像个一言不发、没精打采的受气包，我以我的生命与灵魂发誓，我为你感到害躁，西德尼！”
“你也会感到害澡，这对像你这样的法庭工作人员倒是件大好事，”西德尼回答道，“你倒应该感谢我呢！”
“可你也不能就这样溜掉，”斯特莱佛回答，话锋仍转向西德尼，“不，西德尼，我有义务告诉你——为了帮助你，我要当而告诉你，你跟那样的人来往的时候简直丢脸透了。你这人很不受欢迎呢！”
西德尼喝下一大杯自己调的五味酒，笑了。
“你看看我！”斯特莱佛挺挺胸膛，说，“我的条件使我更加独立，不像你那样需要受人欢迎。可我干吗还需要受人欢迎呢？”
“我倒还没见过你受谁欢迎呢，”卡尔顿喃喃地说。
“我那样做是出于策略，出于原则。你看我，蒸蒸日上。”
“你并不会因为谈起你的婚姻打算而蒸蒸日上的，”卡尔顿满不在乎地回答。“我希望你继续受人欢迎。至于我么——你难道永远也不明白我是无可救药的？”
他带着嘲讽的神气问道。
“你没有必要无可救药，”他的朋友回答，并没有带多少安慰的口气。
“我没有必要，这我明白，”西德尼.卡尔顿说，“你那位小姐是谁？”
“我宣布了名字你可别感到难为情，西德尼，”斯特莱佛先生说，他想让对方拿出友好的态度欢迎他就要宣布的心事。“因为我知道你对自己说的话连一半也不当真，而且即使全部当真也并不重要，所以我就先来个小小的开场白。你有一次曾在我面前说过藐视这位小姐的话。”
“真的？”
“肯定，而且就在这屋里。”
西德尼.卡尔顿望了望五味酒，望了望他那得意扬扬的朋友。他喝光了五味酒，又望了望他那得意扬扬的朋友。
“那姑娘就是曼内特小姐，你曾说过她是个金发的布娃娃。如果你在这方面是个敏感细腻的人，西德尼，我对你那种说法是会生气的。可你是个粗线条，完全缺少那种体会，因此我并不在乎，正如我不会在乎一个不懂画的人对我的画发表的意见，或是一个不懂音乐的人对我的曲子发表意见一样。”
西德尼.卡尔顿迅速地喝着酒——望着他的朋友大口大口地喝着。
“现在你全知道了，西德尼，”斯特莱佛先生说，“我不在乎财产，她是个迷人的姑娘，我已下定了决心要让自己快乐。总之，我认为我有条件让自己快乐。她嫁给我就是嫁给一个殷实富裕的人、一个迅速上升的人、一个颇有声望的人：这对她是一种好运，而她又是配得上好运的。你大吃一惊了么？”
卡尔顿仍然喝着五味酒，回答道，“我为什么要大吃一惊？”
“你赞成么？”
卡尔顿仍然喝着五味酒，回答道，“我为什么要不赞成？”
“好！”他的朋友斯特莱佛说，“你比我估计的来得轻松，对我也不像我估计的那么唯利是图，尽管体现在无疑已很懂得你这个老哥儿们是个意志坚强的人。是的，西德尼，我对现在这种生活方式已经受够了——想换个法儿活都不行。我感到，要是想回家就有家可回是件挺快活的事（不想回去尽可以在外面呆着），而且我感到曼内特小姐在任何情况下都挺有用处，能绘我增添光彩。因此我才下定了决心。现在，西德尼，老伙计，我要对你和你的前途说几句。你知道你的处境不佳，的确不佳。你不懂得钱的重要。你日子过得辛苦，不久就会遍体鳞伤，然后就是贫病交迫。你的确应当考虑找个保姆了。”
他说话时那副居高临下的神气使他看上去大了两倍，也使他可厌的程度大了四倍。
“现在，让我给你出个主意，”斯特莱佛接着说，“你得面对现实。我这人就面对现实，只是方式不同而已。你有你的方式，你得面对现实。结婚吧！找个人来照顾你。你不喜欢跟女人交际，不懂得女人，也不会应付女人，别把那当回事。找一个对象。找一个有点财产的正经女人——一个女老板，或是女房主什么的—一跟她结婚，来个未雨绸缪。你只能这样。想想吧，西德尼。”
“我想想看，”西德尼说。
Book 2 Chapter 12 The Fellow of Delicacy
MR. STRYVER having made up his mind to that magnanimous bestowal of good fortune on the Doctor's daughter, resolved to make her happiness known to her before he left town for the Long Vacation. After some mental debating of the point, he came to the conclusion that it would be as well to get all the preliminaries done with, and they could then arrange at their leisure whether he should give her his hand a week or two before Michaelmas Term, or in the little Christmas vacation between it and Hilary.
As to the strength of his case, he had not a doubt about it, but clearly saw his way to' the verdict. Argued with the jury on substantial worldly grounds--the only grounds ever worth taking into account--it was a plain case, and had not a weak spot in it. He called himself for the plaintiff, there was no getting over his evidence, the counsel for the defendant threw up his brief, and the jury did not even turn to consider. After trying it, Stryver, C. J., was satisfied that no plainer case could be.
Accordingly, Mr. Stryver inaugurated the Long Vacation with a formal proposal to take Miss Manette to Vauxhall Gardens; that failing, to Ranelagh; that unaccountably failing too, it behoved him to present himself in Soho, and there declare his noble mind.
Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Steer shouldered his way from the Temple, while the bloom of the Long Vacation's infancy was still upon it. Anybody who had seen him projecting himself into Soho while he was yet on Saint Dunstan's side of Temple Bar, bursting in his full-blown way along the pavement, to the jostlement of all weaker people, might have seen how safe and strong he was.
His way taking him past Tellson's, and he both banking at Tellson's and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the Manettes, it entered Mr. Stryver's mind to enter the bank, and reveal to Mr. Lorry the brightness of the Soho horizon. So, he pushed open the door with the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled down the two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, and shouldered himself into the musty back closet where Mr. Lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars to his window as if that were ruled for figures too, and everything under the clouds were a sum.
`Halloa!' said Mr. Stryver. `How do you do? I hope you are well!'
It was Stryver's grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big for any place, or space. He was so much too big for Tellson's, that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed them against the wall. The House itself, magnificently reading the paper quite in the far-off perspective, lowered displeased, as if the Stryver head had been butted into its responsible waistcoat.
The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he would recommend under the circumstances, `How do you do, Mr. Stryver? How do you do, sir?' and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in his manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at Tellson's who shook hands with a customer when the House pervaded the air. He shook in a self-abnegating way, as one who shook for Tellson and Co.
`Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?' asked Mr. Lorry, in his business character.
`Why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I have come for a private word.'
`Oh indeed!' said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye strayed to the House afar off.
`I am going,' said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to be not half desk enough for him: `I am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry.'
Oh dear me!' cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously.
`Oh dear me, sir?' repeated Stryver, drawing back. 
`Oh dear you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?'
`My meaning,' answered the man of business, `is, of course, friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and--in short, my meaning is everything you could desire. But--really, you know, Mr. Stryver ---' Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, `you know there really is so much too much of you!' 
`Well!' said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand, opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, `if I understand you, Mr. Lorry, I'll be hanged!'
Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards that end, and bit the feather of a pen.
`D--n it all, sir!' said Stryver, staring at him, `am I not eligible?'
`Oh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, you're eligible!' said Mr. Lorry. `If you say eligible, you are eligible.'
`Am I not prosperous?' asked Stryver.
`Oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous,' said Mr. Lorry.
`And advancing?'
`If you come to advancing, you know,' said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be able to make another admission, `nobody can doubt that.'
`Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?' demanded Stryver, perceptibly crestfallen.
`Well! I Were you going there now?' asked Mr. Lorry. `Straight!' said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk. `Then I think I wouldn't, if I was you.'
`Why?' said Stryver. `Now, I'll put you in a corner,' forensically shaking a forefinger at him. `You are a man of business and bound to have a reason. State your reason. 
Why wouldn't you go?'
`Because,' said Mr. Lorry, `I wouldn't go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed.'
`D--n ME!' cried Stryver, `but this beats everything.'
Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry Stryver.
`Here's a man of business--a man of years--a man of experience--in a Bank,' said Stryver; `and having summed up three leading reasons for complete success, he says there's no reason at all! Says it with his head on!' Mr. Stryver remarked upon tile peculiarity as if it would have been infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off.
`When I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak of causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. The young lady, my good sir,' said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver arm, `the young lady. The young lady goes before all.' 
`Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry,' said Stryver, squaring his elbows, `that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in question is a mincing Fool?'
`Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver,' said Mr. Lorry, reddening, `that I will hear no disrespectful word Of that young lady from any lips; and that if I knew any man--which I hope I do not--whose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at this desk, not even Tellson's should prevent my giving him a piece of my mind.'
The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. Stryver's blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry; Mr. Lorry's veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, were in no better state now it was his turn.
`That is what I mean to tell you, sir,' said Mr. Lorry. `Pray let there be no mistake about it.'
Mr. Stryver sucked tile end of a ruler for a little while and then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which' probably gave him the toothache. He broke the awkward silence by saying:
`This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You deliberately advise me not to go up to Soho and offer myself--myself, Stryver of the King's Bench bar?'
`Do you ask me for my advice, Mr. Stryver?'
`Yes, I do.'
`Very good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it correctly.'
`And all I can say of it is,' laughed Stryver with a vexed laugh, `that this--ha, ha!--beats everything past, present, and to come.'
`Now understand me,' pursued Mr. Lorry. `As a man of business, I am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man of business, I know nothing of it. But, as an old fellow, who has carried Miss Manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I have spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. Now, you think I may not be right?'
`Not I!' said Stryver, whistling. `I can't undertake to find third parties in common sense; I can only find it for myself I suppose sense in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. It's new to me, but you are right, I dare say.'
`What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myself And understand me, sir,' said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again, `I will not--not even at Tellson's--have it characterised for me by any gentleman breathing.'
`There! I beg your pardon!' said Stryver.
`Granted. Thank you. Well, Mr. Stryver, I was about to say--it might be painful to you to find yourself mistaken, it might be painful to Doctor Manette to have the task of being explicit with you, it might be very painful to Miss Manette to have the task of being explicit with you. You know the terms upon which I have the honour and happiness to stand with the family. If you please, committing you in no way, representing you in no way, I will undertake to correct my advice by the exercise of a little new observation and judgment expressly brought to bear upon it. If you should then be dissatisfied with it, you can but test itssoundness for yourself; if, on the other hand, you should be satisfied with it, and it should be what it now is, it may spare all sides what is best spared. What do you say?'
`How long would you keep me in town?'
`Oh! It is only a question of a few hours. I could go to Soho in the evening, and come to your chambers afterwards.'
`Then I say yes,' said Stryver: `I won't go up there now, I am not so hot upon it as that comes to; I say yes, and I shall expect you to look in to-night. Good-morning.'
Then Mr. Stryver turned and burst out of the Bank, causing such a concussion of air on his passage through, that to stand up against it bowing behind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength of the two ancient clerks.
Those venerable and feeble persons were always seen by the public in the act of bowing, and were popularly believed, when they had bowed a customer out, still to keep on bowing in the empty office until they bowed another customer in.
The barrister was keen enough to divine that the banker would not have gone so far in his expression of opinion on any less solid ground than moral certainty. Unprepared as he was for the large pill he had to swallow, he got it down. `And now,' said Mr. Stryver, shaking his forensic forefinger at the Temple in general, when it was down, `my way out of this, is, to put you all in the wrong.' 
It was a bit of the art of an Old Bailey tactician, in which he found great relief. `You shall not put me in the wrong, young lady,' said Mr. Stryver; `I'll do that for you.'
Accordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night as late as ten o'clock, Mr. Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for the purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his mind than the subject of the morning. He even showed surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry, and was altogether in an absent and preoccupied state.
`Well!' said that good-natured emissary, after a full half-hour of bootless attempts to bring him round to the question. `I have been to Soho.'
`To Soho?' repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. `Oh, to be sure! What am I thinking of!'
`And I have no doubt,' said Mr. Lorry, `that I was right in the conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice.'
`I assure you,' returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, `that I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father's account. I know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let us say no more about it.'
`I don't understand you,' said Mr Lorry.
`I dare say not,' rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing and final way; no matter, no matter.'
`But it does matter,' Mr. Lorry urged.
`No it doesn't; I assure you it doesn't. Having supposed that there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. Young women have committed similar follies often before, and have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am glad that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view--it is hardly necessary to say I could have gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on reflection, that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always he disappointed. 
Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you, I regret it on account of others, but I am satisfied on my own account. And I am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better than I do; you were right, it never would have done.
Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at Mr. Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head. 'Make the best of it, my dear sir,' said Stryver; `say no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good-night!' Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was. Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his Ceiling. 
斯特莱佛先生决心把幸运慷慨地施舍给医生的女儿之后，便决定在离开城市去度大假之前把她的喜事告诉她。他在头脑里对此事进行了一番辩论，得出的结论是最好先处理完准备事宜，然后从容安排是否在米迦勒学期前一两周，或其后至希拉里节学期之间的圣诞节小假内向她求婚。
对于自己在本案中的实力他丝毫不怀疑。他对此案判决的路子也看得清清楚楚。他按照讲求实惠的人世常理——那是唯一值得考虑的根据——跟陪审团作了辩论。这案子很清楚，无懈可击。他传唤自己作原告，他的证据不容辩驳。被告方面的律师只能放弃辩论，陪审团连考虑都不用考虑。经过审判斯特莱佛大法官感到满意，案情最清楚不过。
据此，斯特莱佛先生决定以正式邀请曼内特小姐到伏克斯霍游乐园去玩开始他的大假。若是她不肯，便去兰勒拉花展；若是再莫名其妙地遭到拒绝，他只好亲自到索霍区去，在那儿宣布他那高贵的意图了。
于是斯特莱佛先生便从法学会横冲直撞地上了路，到索霍区去了—一大假的鲜花正在那儿含苞欲放。任何人只要看到他从伦敦法学会的圣敦斯坦沿着大道把体弱的人们挤开、气势汹汹地前迸的样子，便不难明白他是多么强大、多么可靠。
他必须路过台尔森银行。他在银行有存款，又知道罗瑞先生是曼内特一家的好朋友，因此忽然想到银行去一趟，把索霍地平线上的曙光向他透露。于是，他推开了门（那门喉咙里轻微地咕噜了一声），一个趔趄落下两步阶梯，走过了两位老出纳员，横冲直撞地挤进了罗瑞先生那长了霉的后间密室。罗瑞先生坐在庞大的帐本面前，帐本的格子里写满了数字。他窗户上垂直的钢条似乎也是用来写数字的格子，而在云天之下的每一件事物则是填在格子里的数字。
“哈罗！”斯特莱佛说。“你好吗？但愿你身体健康？”
斯特莱佛先生的一大特点便是在任何地方、任何空间里都显得太大。他在台尔森银行也是显得太大，连远处角落里的老行员们也都抬起了头，露出抗议的神态，仿佛被他挤到墙边去了。在屋子深处神气十足地看着文件的“银行当局”此时不高兴地皱了皱眉头，仿佛斯特莱佛的脑袋一头撞到了他那责任重大的背心上了。
谨慎的罗瑞先生用自以为最宜于这种情况的标准口吻说道，“你好，斯特莱佛先生？”然后跟他握了手。他的握手有点特别，只要“银行当局”弥漫在空气里，台尔森银行的职员跟顾客握手都有这个特点：带着一种自我谦抑的神气，因为他是代表台尔森公司握手的。
“有事要我为你效劳吗，斯特莱佛先生？”罗瑞先生以业务人员，的身份提问。
“没有事，我这是对你的私人访问，罗瑞先生。我有私人的话要对你说。”
“啊，原来如此！”罗瑞先生说，说时把耳朵凑了过来，眼睛却瞟着远处的“银行当局”。
“我要去求婚了，”斯特莱佛先生两条胳膊自信地趴在他桌子上说——那办公桌虽然是很大的双人桌，却还装不下他的一半，“我要去向你那逗人爱的小朋友曼内特小姐求婚了呢，罗瑞先生。”
“啊天呐！”罗瑞先生叫了出来，怀疑地擦着下巴，望着客人。
“你‘天呐’个什么呀，先生？”斯特莱佛先生身子一缩，重复道。“你干吗天呐天呐的，先生？你这是什么意思，罗瑞先生？”
“我的意思，”业务人员回答，“当然是友好的，感激的，认为这个打算说明你是个最善良的人。总之，我的意思是祝愿你得到你所希望的一切。但是，的确，你知道，斯特莱佛先生——”罗瑞先生住了嘴，对着他以最奇怪的方式摇着头，仿佛对他无可奈何，只好在心里说，“你知道你这样做真有点太出格了。”
“怎么！”斯特莱佛说，用他那好胜的手一拍桌子，眼睛睁得更大了，还倒抽了一口大气，“我要是明白你的意思，就绞死我，罗瑞先生！”
罗瑞先生调整了一下两耳旁的小假发，作为达到目的的手段，咬了咬鹅毛笔的羽毛。
“去他娘的，先生！”斯特莱佛瞪眼望着他，“我难道还不够资格么？”
“啊天呐，够的！啊，够的，你够资格！”罗瑞先生说，“要说够不够资格么，你倒是够的。”
“我难道不发达么？”斯特莱佛问。
“啊，要说发达么，你倒也是的，”罗瑞先生说。

b@r> “因为，”罗瑞先生说，“要追求这样的目标，若是不能十拿九稳，我是不会贸然行事的。”
“他娘的！”斯特莱佛叫道，“任何事情都能叫你这条理由驳倒的。”
罗瑞先生瞥了一眼远处的“银行当局”，再瞥了一眼斯特莱佛。
“你真是个办理业务的人，老资格的，有经验的，坐银行的，”斯特莱佛说，“已经总结了三条大获全胜的主要理由，还说不能十拿九稳！而且说得心平气和！”斯特莱佛对这一特点发表评论，仿佛那话若是说得气急败坏就不知要平淡多少了。
“我要说的胜利，是对那位小姐的胜利。我要说的致胜的原因和理由是能在小姐身上大起作用的原因和理由。总之，我的好先生，小姐，”罗瑞先生温和地敲着斯特莱佛的手臂，“小姐才是最重要的。”
“那你的意思是要告诉我，罗瑞先生，”斯特莱佛先生张开双臂，说道，“你确实认为我们现在谈起的这位小姐是个只能摆摆门面的傻妞儿么？”
“并不完全如此。我是要告诉你，斯特莱佛先生，”罗瑞先生涨红了脸说，“我可不愿听任何人对那位小姐说一句不尊重的活；而且，如果我遇见任何一个男人——我希望现在没有遇上——趣味低劣，性情急躁到了这种地步，竟然忍不住在这张桌子面前说出了对那位小姐欠尊重的话，我就要狠狠地教训他，那怕是台尔森银行也别想挡住我。”
轮到听斯特莱佛先生愤怒了。他憋了一肚子气不能发作，血管处于危险状态；罗瑞左生的血液循环虽然一向循规蹈矩，现在也窝了火，状态也并不更佳。
“我打算告诉你的就是这个，先生，”罗瑞先生说，“请你别误会了。”
斯特莱佛先生拿起一把尺子吮了吮它的顶端，又站那儿用它在牙上敲了支曲子，也许敲得牙疼了，然后才说话，打破了令人尴尬的沉默。
“这对我倒挺新鲜的，罗瑞先生。你居然认认真真劝我别到索霍去为我自己求婚——为我自己，王家法庭的斯特莱佛，是么？”
“你是在征求我的意见吧，斯特莱佛先生？”
“是的，是征求你的意见。”
“那好。那我已经提了意见！而且你也复述得正确无误。”
“我对这意见的看法是，”斯特莱佛苦恼地笑了笑，“你这意见——哈哈！——可以把一切的理由都驳倒：过去的，现在的和未来的。”
“现在你可要明白，”罗瑞先生接下去说。“作为业务人员我无权对这件事说三道四，因为作为业务人员我对它一无所知。可是作为一个当年曾把曼内特小姐抱在怀里的老头子，而且是曼内特小姐和她爸爸的可信赖的朋友，一个对他俩也很有感情的老头子，我已经说了话。记住，不是我要找你谈知心话的。现在，你认为我大概没错了吧？”
“我不认为！”斯特莱佛吹着口哨。“常识问题我只能自己解决，不能向别人请教。我以为有的事是合情合理的；可你却认为简直是装腔作势的胡闹。我觉得挺新鲜，不过我敢说你没有错。”
“我认为，斯特莱佛先生，我的看法说明我自己的性格。你要理解我，先生，”罗瑞先生说，很快又涨红了脸，“我不愿意任何人来代替我说明，那怕是台尔森银行也不行。”
“那好！我请你原谅！”斯特莱佛说。
“我原谅你。谢谢。晤，斯特莱佛先生，我刚才是打算说：你可能会因为发现自己错了而感到痛苦；曼内特医生又因为不得不向你说真话也感到痛苦；曼内特小姐也因为不得不向你说真话而感到痛苦。你知道我跟这家人的交情，那是我引为荣耀和快乐的事。若是你乐意的话，我倒愿意修正一下我的劝告。我愿意不要你负责，也不代表你，专门为此事去重新作一次小小的观察和判断。那时如果你对结论不满意，不妨亲自去考察它是否可靠。若是你感到满意，而结论还是现在的结论，那就可以让各方面都省掉一些最好是省掉的麻烦。你意下如何？”
“你要我留在城里多久？”
“啊！不过是几个小时的问题。我今天晚上就可以去索霍区，然后到你家里去。”
“那我同意，”斯特莱佛说，“现在我就不到那儿去了，我也没有着急到现在非去不可。我同意，今天晚上我静候你光临。再见。”
于是斯特莱佛先生转过身就往银行外冲了出去。一路刮起了大风，两个老行员在柜台后站起身来向他鞠躬，竟然竭尽了全力才站稳脚跟。人们老看见那两位可敬的衰迈老人在鞠躬。大家都相信他们“鞠”走了一个顾客之后还要在空办公室里“鞠”下去，直到“鞠”进另一个顾客。
律师很敏感，他猜得到银行家若只是道德上有把握而无更可靠的理由是不会提出如此令人难堪的意见的。他对于这样重的一剂苦药虽无准备，却也硬吞了下去。“现在，”斯特莱佛先生吞下药，像在法庭上一样对整座法学会大厦摇晃着指头，“我解决这个问题的办法是让你们全都担点不是。”
那是老贝勒策略家的一种手腕，他因此得到巨大的安慰。“我不能让你说我不对，小姐，”斯特莱佛先生说，“我倒要说你不对
因此，当罗瑞先生那天晚上迟至十点钟才来看他时，斯特莱佛先生已故意乱七八糟地摊开了许多书籍和文件，好像早上的话题已全然不在他心上了。他在见到罗瑞先生时甚至表现出惊讶，而且一直是心事重重，神思恍惚。
“好了！”性情温和的使者花了足足半小时工夫想引他回到这个话题而终于无效后说道，“我去过索霍区了。”
“去过索霍？”斯特莱佛冷淡地说。“啊，当然！我在想什么呀！”
“我毫不怀疑，”罗瑞先生说，“早上我们谈话时我就是对的。我的意见得到了证实，我重申我的劝告。”
“我向你保证，”斯特莱佛先生以最友好的态度说，“我为你感到遗憾，也为那可怜的父亲感到遗憾，我知道这在那家人中是个痛苦的话题，咱俩就不要再提这事了吧。”
“我不明白你的意思。”罗瑞先生说。
“我敢说你是不会明白的，”斯特莱佛回答，抚慰地、但也不容反驳地点了点头，“没有关系，没有关系。”
“可是这事有关系，”罗瑞强调说。
“不，没有关系。我向你保证没有关系。我把一桩没有意义的事当作了有意义的事；把不值得称赞的意图当作了值得称赞的意图，而我已经彻底悔悟，没有造成任何伤害。这类蠢事年轻的女人以前也干过，等到陷入贫穷与卑微的境地以后又总懊悔。从无私的角度看来，我为不提这件事感到抱歉，因为在世俗的眼光里，此举在我是一种牺牲。但从自私的角度看来，我倒高兴不再提这件事，因为在世俗的眼光里，这场婚姻对我是件坏事——我什么好处也得不到，这几乎不用说明。丝毫损害都不会有的，我并没有向那位小姐求婚。说句知心话，你可别对人讲，我想来想去都觉得犯不着白操心到那份地步。罗瑞先生，对一个头脑空空的姑娘的忸妮作态、虚荣无聊你是控制不了的。不要想去控制，否则你永远会失望的。现在请你再也别提了。我告诉你，为别人我对此虽感到遗憾，可是为自己我倒感到高兴
d@r> 不等罗瑞先生知道自己在哪里，他已经进入了黑暗之中。斯特莱佛先生已回到沙发上躺了下来，对着天花板眨巴着眼睛。
Book 2 Chapter 13 The Fellow of Delicacy 
IF Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone the house of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole year, and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. When he cared to talk, he talked well; but, the cloud of caring for nothing, which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light within him.
And yet he did care something for the streets that environed that house, and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. Many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered there, when wine had brought no transitory gladness to him; many a drearydaybreak revealed his solitary figure lingering there, and still lingering there when the first beams of the sun brought into strong relief, removed beauties of architecture in spires of churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet time brought some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattainable, into his mind. Of late, the neglected bed in the Temple Court had known him more scantily thin ever; and often when he had thrown himself upon it no longer than a few minutes, he had got up again, and haunted that neighbourhood.
On a day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after notifying to his jackal that `he had thought better of that marrying matter') had carried his delicacy into Devonshire, and when the sight and scent of flowers in the City streets had some waifs of goodness in them for the worst, of health for the sickliest, and of youth for the oldest, Sydney's feet still trod those stones. From being irresolute and purposeless, his feet became animated by an intention, and, in the working out of that intention, they took him to the Doctor's door.
He was shown upstairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She had never been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. But, looking up at his face in the interchange of the first few commonplaces,   she observed a change in it.
`I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton!'
`No. But the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive to health. What is to be expected of or by, such profligates?'
`Is it not--forgive me; I have begun the question on my lips--a pity to live no better life?'
`God knows it is a shame!'
`Then why not change it?'
Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he answered:
`It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, and be worse.'
He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. The table trembled in the silence that followed.
She had never seen hint softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to be so, without looking at her, and said:
`Pray forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the knowledge of what I want to say to you. Will you hear me?'
`If it will do you any good, Mr. Carton, if it would make you happier, it would make me very glad!'
`God bless you for your sweet compassion!'
He unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily. `Don't be afraid to hear me. Don't shrink from anything
I say. I am like one who died young. All my life might have been.'
`No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be; I am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself.'
`Say of you, Miss Manette, and although I know better--although in the mystery of my own wretched heart I know better--I shall never forget it I'
She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed despair of himself which made the interview unlike any other that could have been holden.
`If it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before you--self-flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be--he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. I know very well that you can have no tenderness for me; I ask for none; I am even thankful that it cannot he.'
`Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton? Can I not recall you--forgive me again!--to a better course? Can I in no way repay your confidence? I knob this is a confidence,' she modestly said, after a little hesitation, and in earnest tears, `I know you would say this to no one else. Can I turn it to no good account for yourself, Mr. Carton?'
He shook his head.
`To none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through a very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me. Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent for ever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.'
`Will nothing of it remain? O Mr. Carton, think again! Try again!'
`No, Miss Manette; all through it, I have known myself to be quite undeserving. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire--a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away.'
`Since it is my misfortune, Mr. Carton, to have more unhappy than you were before you knew me--
`Don't say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if anything could. You will not be the cause of my becoming worse.'
`Since the state of your mind that you describe, is, at all events, attributable to some influence of mine--this is what I mean, if I can make it plain--can I use no influence to serve you? Have I no power for good, with you, at all?' 
`The utmost good that I am capable of now, Miss Manette, I have come here to realise. Let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life, the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the world; and that there was something left in me at this time which you could deplore and pity.'
`Which I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, with all my heart, was capable of better things, Mr. Carton!'
`Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved myself, and I know better. I distress you; I draw fast to an end. Will you let me believe, when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone, and will be shared by no one?'
`If that will be a consolation to you, yes.'
`Not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you?' 
`Mr. Carton,' she answered, after an agitated pause, `the secret is yours, not mine; and I promise to respect it.'
`Thank you. And again, God bless you.'
He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door. `Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. I will never refer to it again. If I were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour of my death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance--and shall thank and bless you for it--that my last avowal of myself was made to you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in your heart. May it otherwise be light and happy!'
He was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so sad to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every day kept down and perverted, that Lucie Manette wept mournfully for him as he stood looking back at her.
`Be comforted!' he said, `I am not worth such feeling, Miss Manette. An hour or two hence, and the low companions and low habits that I scorn but yield to, will render me less worth such tears as those, than any wretch who creeps along the streets. Be comforted But, within myself, I shall always be, towards you, what I am now, though outwardly I shall be what you have heretofore seen me. The last supplication but one I make to you, is, that you will believe this of me.'
`I will, Mr. Carton.'
`My last supplication of all, is this; and with it, I will relieve you of a visitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between whom and you there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you--ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn--the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!' He said, `Farewell!' said a last `God bless you!' and left her. 
若是西德尼．卡尔顿在别的地方也有发出光彩的时候，他在曼内特医生家可从来就暗淡无光。整整一年了，他常去他们家，却永远是那样一个沮丧的忧伤的闲人。他在乐意谈话时也能侃侃而谈，但是他那对一切都漠不关心的阴云却总以一种致命的黑暗笼罩着他，极少为他内心的光芒所刺破。 然而，他对那座房屋附近的街道和它那没有知觉的铺路石却很感兴趣。有多少个无从借酒浇愁的夜晚，他曾在那道路上茫然而忧伤地徘徊过。有多少个凄凉的破晓曾照出他逡途巡不去的孤独身影，即使当晨晰的光芒鲜明地勾勒出为黑夜隐蔽的教堂尖塔和高楼大厦的建筑之美时，他仍然在那儿流连不去。其实在那个平静的时刻，他也许是可以想起一些在别的时候被忘却的和得不到的美好事物的。近来法学会大院那张被忽视的床比过去更少跟他见面了。他常常是倒在床上不到几分钟便又翻身爬起来，又回到那一带转悠去了。
在一个八月的日子，那时斯特莱佛先生已对他的豺狗说明“关于婚姻问题我另有考虑”，然后带着他那体贴的柔情到德文郡去了。那时市区街道花卉的美色与馨香已能给穷途末路者以安慰、给病体支离者以健康、给老迈龙钟者以青春，可是西德尼的脚步仍然在那条路上蹀躞不去，只是由于有了设想而从迟疑无目的变得稳健有力了。在他终于下定决心之后，那双脚便把他带进了医生家的门。
他上了楼，发现露西一个人在干活儿。露西对他一向就有些不大自然。当他在她的桌旁坐下时，她带着几分忸怩接待了他。两人谈家常时，露西抬起头来望了望他的脸，却发现了他的变化。
“我担心你是病了，卡尔顿先生！”
“没有病。不过我的生活方式是不利于健康的。这样胡混的人能有什么好结果呢？”
“要是不能过一种更好的生活岂不遗憾么？对不起，我话到口边就顺嘴说了出来。”
“上帝知道，确实遗憾！”
“那你为什么不改一改呢？”
她再温和地望他时却吃了一惊，感到不安了。他眼里噙着泪水，回答时口气也带着泪水：
“太晚了。我怕是好不起来了。只能越来越堕落，越来越糟糕。”
他把一只胳膊靠在桌上，用手遮住了眼睛。在随之而来的沉默里那桌子颤动着。
她从没见他软弱过，因此很觉难受。他知道她难受，却没有抬头看她，只说：
“请原谅，曼内特小姐。我是因为想起我打算向你说的话才忍不住流泪的。你愿听听我的话么？”
“若是对你有好处的话，卡尔顿先生，只要能让你好过一些，我很乐意听！”
“上帝保右你的好心与体贴。”
过了一会儿，他从脸上放下了手，平静地说了下去。
“不要怕听我说话，也别怕我要说的话。我很像是个在青年时代就已夭亡的人，一辈子也没有希望了。”
“不，卡尔顿先生，我相信你最好的年华还在前头。我可以肯定你能非常非常值得自己骄傲。”
“希望是值得你骄傲，曼内特小姐。虽然我还有自知之明——虽然我这苦闷的心让我神秘地产生了自知之明——但我会永远也忘不了的。”
她的脸色苍白了，她战栗起来。幸好此时他对自己表示了无法改变的失望，才令她安下了心。于是这场会晤便具有了跟其它任何谈话不同的性质。
“即使你有可能回报你眼前的人的倾慕之情，曼内特小姐，他此时此刻也明白自己是个自暴自弃的、虚弱可怜的、不得志的酒徒（这你是知道的）。尽管他会感到幸福，但他却难免会使你痛苦、悲哀和悔恨，难免会玷污了你、辱没了你，拖着你跟他一起堕落。我很明白你对我不可能有什么温情；我并不祈求；我甚至为此感谢上苍。”
“撇开这个问题不谈，我能对你有所帮助吗，卡尔顿先生？我能不能让你走上新的道路呢？——请原谅！我难道就没有办法回报你对我的信任么？我知道这是一种信任的表现。”她略微犹豫了一下，流着真诚的泪，娴静地说，“我知道你是不会对别人说这样的话的。我能不能使这事对你有好处呢，卡尔顿先生？”
他摇摇头。
“不行。曼内特小姐，不行。如果体能再听我说几句，你也就尽了你最大的努力了。我希望你知道你是我灵魂的最终的梦想。我是在我堕落的生活中见到了你和你的父亲，还有你所经营的这个甜蜜的家，才恢复了我心中自以为早已死灭的往日的梦想的。我也因此才感到比任何时候都凄苦可怜。自从我见到你以后，我才为一种原以为不会再谴责我的悔恨所苦恼。我听见我以为早已永远沉默的往日的声音在悄悄地催我上进。我曾有过许多没有成形的想法：重新奋起，改弦更张，摆脱懒散放纵的习惯，把放弃了的斗争进行下去。可那只是个梦，整个儿是个梦，一个没有结果的梦，醒来时还躺在原来的地方，不过我仍希望你知道你曾唤起过我这样的梦。”
“难道那梦就一点也不能留下么？啊，卡尔顿先生?j@ ??+@梦里我都知道自己是很不配的。然而我一向便有，至今也有这个弱点。我总希望你知道你是怎样突然控制了我，让我这一堆死灰燃起了火焰的一—可是这火焰因为它的本质跟我难以分开，所以并没有点燃什么，照亮什么，做到什么，就一事无成地燃烧完了。”
“既然，卡尔顿先生，是我的不幸使你比见到我之前更悲哀，那么——”
“别那么说，曼内特小姐，因为若是世上还有东西能拯救我，你早就拯救了我了。你不会使我更悲哀的。”
“既然你所描写的心情大体可以归结为我的影响——简而言之，这是我的感觉——我难道就无法产生有利于你的影响了么？我难道就完全不能对你产生好的影响了么？”
“我现在所能获得的最大好处，曼内特小姐，正是我到这儿来想得到的。让我在今后迷失方向的生活中永远记住我曾向你袒露过我的心，这是我最后的一次袒露。我要记住，我此时留下了一些能让你悲痛和惋惜的东西。”
“这些都可以改变的，我曾一再最热诚地、衷心地请求你相信
“别再请求我相信了，曼内特小姐。我已经考验过自己，也更了解自己。可是，我令你难过了。让我赶快说完吧！你是否能让我在回忆起现在时相信我生活中最后的一番知心话是保存在你那纯洁真诚的心胸里的，它将在那儿独自存在，不会让任何人知道？”
“如果那对你是一种安慰，我答应。”
“连你最亲爱的人也不让知道？”
“卡尔顿先生，”她很激动，过了一会儿才说，“这是你的秘密，不是我的秘密，我保证尊重它。”，
“谢谢你。再说一句，上帝保佑你。”
他把她的手在唇边放了放，然后向门口走去。
“别担心我会继续这次谈话，曼内特小姐，即使是顺便提起。我是永远也不会再提起的了。就算让我死去也不会有更可靠的保证的。在我死去时，这个美好的回忆对我也将是神圣的——为此，我还要感谢你、祝福你——我最后的一句誓言是向你作出的，而我的名字、缺点和痛苦都将温柔地存留在你的心里。还能有什么比这更令人轻松和快乐的呢！”
他跟他一向的表现多么不同啊，想想看，他放弃了多少东西啊！他每天又压抑和扭曲了多少感情啊！想到这一切不免令人痛苦。在他停步回头望她时，露西.曼内特伤心地哭了。
“别难过！”他说，“我配不上你这种感情，曼内特小姐。一两个小时之后，我瞧不起却又摆不掉的卑劣伙伴和恶劣习性又会把我变得比流浪街头的可怜虫更不配你的眼泪了！但在内心里我对你将永远是现在的我，虽然外表上我仍是你一向在这儿所见到的样子。我对你提出的倒数第二个请求是：相信我的这番话。”
“我会的，卡尔顿先生。”
“我的最后请求是这样的——提出它之后我就让你摆脱一个我深知跟你毫无共鸣的、无法沟通的客人。我虽知道说也无用，但也知道我的话出自灵魂。我愿为你和为你所爱的人做任何事。若是我的事业条件较优，有作出牺牲的机会或能力，我愿抓住一切机会为你和你所爱的人作出任何牺牲。在你心平气和时请记住：我说这话时是热情的、真挚的。你将建立起新的关系，那日子已经不远。那关系将会更加温情而有力地把你跟你所装点经营的家连结在一起——一个永远为你增光、令你幸福的最亲密的关系。啊，曼内特小姐，在一个跟他幸福的父亲长相一祥的小生命抬起头来望着你的脸时，在你看到你自己光彩照人的美貌重新出现在你的脚下时，请不时地想起有这么一个人，他为了让你所爱的人留在你的身边是不惜牺牲他的生命的。”
他说了声，“再见！”最后道一声“上帝保佑你！”然后便离开了。
Book 2 Chapter 14 The Honest Tradesman
TO the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sitting on his stool in Fleet Street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of objects in movement were every day presented. Who could sit upon anything in Fleet Street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tending westward with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to the plains beyond the range of red and purple where the sun goes down!
With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Cruncher sat watching the two streams, like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on duty watching one stream--saving that Jerry had no expectation of their ever running dry. Nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful kind, since Ball part of his income was derived from the pilotage of timid women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle of life) from Tellson's side of the tides to the opposite ore. Brief as such companionship was in every separate instance, Mr. Cruncher never failed to become so interested the lady as to express a strong desire to have the honour drinking her very good health. And it was from the gifts towed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that he recruited his finances, as just now observed.
Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on stool in a public place, but not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him.
It fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were few, and belated women few, and when his affairs in general were so unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that Mrs. Cruncher must have been `flopping' in some pointed manner, when an unusual concourse pouring down Fleet Street westward, attracted his attention. Looking that way, Mr. Cruncher made out that me kind of funeral was coming along, and that there was popular objection to this funeral, which engendered uproar.
`Young Jerry,' said Mr. Cruncher, turning to his offspring, `it's a buryin'.'
`Hooroar, father!' cried Young Jerry.
The young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious significance. The elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on the ear.
`What d'ye mean? What are you hooroaring at? What do you want to conwey to your own father, you young Rip? This boy is a getting too many for me!' said Mr. Cruncher, surveying him. `Him and his hooroars. Don't let me hear no more of you, or you shall feel some more of me. D'ye hear?'
`I warn't doing no harm,' Young Jerry protested, rubbing his cheek.
`Drop it then,' said Mr. Cruncher; `I won't have none of your no harms. Get atop of that there seat, and look at the crowd.'
His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in which mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trappings that were considered essential to the dignity of the position. The position appeared by no means to please him, however, with an increasing rabble surrounding the coach, deriding him, making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning and calling out: `Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! Spies!' with many compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat.
Funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for Mr. Cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became excited, when a funeral passed Tellson's. Naturally, therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendance excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran against him:
`What is it, brother? What's it about?'
`I don't know,' said the man. `Spies! Yaha! Tst! Spies!' 
He asked another man. `Who is it?'
`I don't know,' returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising heat and with the greatest ardour, `Spies! Yaha! Tst, tst! Spi-ies!'
At length, a person better informed on the merits of the case, tumbled against him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was the funeral of One Roger Cly.
`Was He a spy?' asked Mr. Cruncher.
`Old Bailey spy,' returned his informant. `Yaha Tst! Yah! Old Bailey Spi-i-ies!'
`Why, to be sure!' exclaimed Jerry, recalling the Trial at which he had assisted. `I've seen him. Dead, is he?'
`Dead as mutton,' returned the other, `and can't be too dead. Have `em out, there Spies! Pull `em out, there! Spies!'
The idea was so acceptable in the prevalent absence of any idea, that the crowd caught it up with eagerness, and, loudly repeating the suggestion to have `em out, and to pull em out, mobbed the two vehicles so closely that they came to a stop. On the crowd's opening the coach doors, the one mourner scuffled out of himself and was in their hands for a moment; but he was so alert, and made such good use of his time, that in another moment he was scouring away up a bystreet, after shedding his cloak, hat, long hatband, white pocket handkerchief, and other symbolical tears.
These, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide with great enjoyment, while the tradesmen hurriedly shut up their shops; for a crowd in those times stopped at nothing, and was a monster much dreaded. They had already got the length of opening the hearse to take the coffin out, when some brighter genius proposed instead, its being escorted to destination amidst general rejoicing. Practical suggestions being much needed, this suggestion, too, was received with acclamation, and the coach was immediately filled with eight inside and a dozen out, while as many people got on the roof of the hearse as could by any exercise of ingenuity stick upon it. Among the first of these volunteers was Jerry Cruncher himself, who modestly concealed his spiky head from the observation of Tellson's, in the further corner of the mourning coach.
The officiating undertakers made some protest against these changes in the ceremonies; but, the river being alarmingly near, and several voices remarking on the efficacy of cold immersion in bringing refractory members of the profession to reason, the protest was faint and brief. The remodelled procession started, with a chimney-sweep driving the hearse--advised by the regular driver, who was perched beside him, under close inspection, for the purpose--and with a pieman, also attended by his cabinet minister, driving the mourning coach. A bear-leader, a popular street character of the time, was impressed as an additional ornament, before the cavalcade had gone far down the Strand; and his bear, who was black and very mangy, gave quite an Undertaking air to that part of the procession in which he walked.
Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, and infinite caricaturing of woe, the disorderly procession went its way, recruiting at every step, and all the shops shutting up before it. Its destination was the old church of Saint Pancras, far off in the fields. It got there in course of time; insisted on pouring into the burial-ground; finally, accomplished the interment of the deceased Roger Cly in its own way, and highly to its own satisfaction.
The dead man disposed of, and the crowd being under the necessity of providing some other entertainment for itself, another brighter genius (or perhaps the same) conceived the humour of impeaching casual passersby, as Old Bailey spies, and wreaking vengeance on them. Chase was given to some scores of inoffensive persons who had never been near the Old Bailey in their lives, in the realisation of this fancy, and they were roughly hustled and maltreated. The transition to the sport of window-breaking, and thence to the plundering of public-houses, was easy and natural. At last, after several hours, whensundry summerhouses had been pulled dow and some area-railings had been torn up, to arm the more belligerent spirits, a rumour got about that the Guards we coming. Before this rumour, the crowd gradually melted away, and perhaps the Guards came, and perhaps they never came, and this was the usual progress of a mob.
Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing sports, hut had remained behind in the churchyard, to confer and condole with the undertakers. The place had a soothing influence on him. He procured a pipe from a neighbouring public house, and smoked it,looking in at the railings and maturely considering the spot.
`Jerry,' said Mr. Cruncher, apostrophising himself in his usual way, `you see that there Cly that day, and you see with your own eyes that he was a young `un and a straight made `un.'
Having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a little longer, he turned himself about, that he might appear, before the hour of closing, on his station at Tellson's. Whether his meditations on mortality had touched his liver, or whether his general health had been previously at all amiss, or whether he desired to show a little attention to an eminent man, is not so much to the purpose, as that he made a short call upon his medical adviser--a distinguished surgeon--on his way back.
Young Jerry relieved his father with dutiful interest, and reported No job in his absence. The bank closed, the ancient clerks came Out, the usual watch was set, and Mr. Cruncher and his son went home to tea.
`Now, I tell you where it is!' said Mr. Cruncher to his wife, on entering. `If, as a honest tradesman, my wenturs goes wrong tonight, I shall make sure that you've been praying again me, and I shall work you for it just the same as if I seen you do it.'
The dejected Mrs. Cruncher shook her head.
`Why, you're at it afore my face!' said Mr. Cruncher, with signs of angry apprehension.
`I am saying nothing.'
`Well, then; don't meditate nothing. You might as well meditate. You may as well go again me one way as another. Drop it altogether.'
`Yes Jerry.'
`Yes, Jerry,' repeated Mr. Cruncher, sitting down to tea. `Ah! It is yes, Jerry. That's about it. You may say yes, Jerry.'
Mr. Cruncher had no particular meaning in these sulky corroborations, but made use of them, as people not unfrequently do, to express general ironical dissatisfaction.
`You and your yes, Jerry,' said Mr. Cruncher, taking a bite out of his bread-and-butter, and seeming to help it down with a large invisible oyster out of his saucer. `Ah! I think so. I believe you.'
`You are going out to-night?' asked his decent wife, when he took another bite.
`Yes, I am.'
`May I go with you, father?' asked his son, briskly. 
`No, you mayn't. I'm a going--as your mother knows--a fishing. That's where I'm going to. Going a fishing.' 
`Your fishing rod gets rather rusty; don't it, father?' 
`Never you mind.' 
`Shall you bring any fish home, father?' 
`If I don't, you'll have short commons, tomorrow,' returned that gentleman, shaking his head; `that's questions enough for you; I ain't a going out, till you've been long a-bed.'
He devoted himself during the remainder of the evening to keeping a most vigilant watch on Mrs. Cruncher, and sullenly holding her in conversation that she might be prevented from meditating any petitions to his disadvantage. With this view, he urged his son to hold her in conversation also, and led the unfortunate woman a hard life by dwelling on any causes of complaint lie could bring against her, rather than he would leave her for a moment to her own reflections. The devoutest person could have rendered no greater homage to the efficacy of an honest prayer than he did in this distrust of his Mile. It was as if a professed unbeliever in ghosts should be frightened by a ghost story.
`And mind you!' said Mr. Cruncher. `No games tomorrow! If I, as a honest tradesman, succeed in providing a jinte of meat or two, none of your not touching of it, and sticking to bread. If I, as a honest tradesman, am able to provide a little beer, none of your declaring on water. When you go to Rome, do as Rome does. Rome will be a ugly customer to you, if you don't. `I'm your Rome, you know.'
Then he began grumbling again:
`With your flying into the face of your own wittles and drink! I don't know how scarce you mayn't make the wittles and drink here, by your flopping tricks and your unfeeling conduct. Look at your boy: he is your'n, ain't he? He's as thin as a lath. Do you call yourself a mother, and not know that a mother's first duty is to blow her boy out?'
This touched Young Jerry on a tender place; who adjured his mother to perform her first duty, and, whatever else she did or neglected, above all things to lay especial stress on the discharge of that maternal function so affectingly and delicately indicated by his other parent.
Thus the evening wore away with the Cruncher family, until Young Jerry was ordered to bed, and his mother, laid under similar injunctions, obeyed them. Mr. Cruncher beguiled the earlier watches of the night with solitary pipes, and did not start upon his excursion until nearly one o'clock. Towards that small and ghostly hour, he rose up from his chair, took a key out of his pocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought forth a sack, a crowbar of convenient size, a rope and chain, and other fishing tackle of that nature. Disposing these articles about him in skilful manner, he bestowed a parting defiance on Mrs. Cruncher, extinguished the light, and went out.
Young Jerry, who had only made a feint of undressing when he went to bed, was not long after his father. Under cover of the darkness he followed out of the room, followed down the stairs, followed down the court, followed out into the streets. He was in no uneasiness concerning his getting into the house again, for it was full of lodgers, and the door stood ajar all night.
Impelled by a laudable ambition to study the art and mystery of his father's honest calling, Young Jerry, keeping as close to house-fronts, walls, and doorways, as his eyes were close to one another, held his honoured parent in view. The honoured parent steering Northward, had not gone far, when he was joined by another disciple of Izaak Walton, and the two trudged on together.
Within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyond the winking lamps, and the more than winking watchmen, and were out upon a lonely road. Another fisherman was Picked up here--and that so silently, that if Young Jerry had been superstitious, he might have supposed the second follower of the gentle craft to have, all of a sudden, split himself in two.
The three went on, and Young Jerry went on, until the three stopped under a bank overhanging the road. Upon the top of the bank was a low brick wall, surmounted by an iron railing. In the shadow of bank and wall the three turned out of the road, and up a blind lane, of which the wall--there, risen to some eight or ten feet high--formed one side. Crouching down in a corner, peeping up the lane, the next object that Young Jerry saw, was the form of his honoured parent, pretty well defined against a watery and clouded moon, nimbly scaling an iron gate. He was soon over, and then the second fisherman got over, and then the third. They all dropped softly on the ground within the gate, and lay there a little--listening perhaps. Then, they moved away on their hands and knees.
It was now Young Jerry's turn to approach the gate: which he did, holding his breath. Crouching down again in a corner there, and looking in, he made out the three fishermen creeping through some rank grass, and all the gravestones in the churchyard--it was a large churchyard that they were in looking--on like ghosts in white, while the church tower itself looked on like the ghost of a monstrous giant. They did not creep far, before they stopped and stood upright. And then they began to fish.
They fished with a spade, at first. Presently the honoured parent appeared to be adjusting some instrument like a great corkscrew. Whatever tools they worked with, they worked hard, until the awful striking of the church clock so terrified Young, Jerry, that he made off, with his hair as stiff as his father's.
But, his long-cherished desire to know more about these matters, not only stopped him in his running away, but lured him back again. They were still fishing perseveringly, when he peeped in at the gate for the second time; but, now they seemed to have got a bite. There was a screwing and complaining sound down below, and their bent figures were strained, as if by a weight. By slow degrees the weight broke away the earth upon it, and came to the surface. Young Jerry very well knew what it would be; but, when he saw it, and saw his honoured parent about to wrench it open, he was so frightened, being new to the sight, that he made off again, and never stopped until he had run a mile or more.
He would not have stopped then for anything less necessary than breath, it being a spectral sort of race that he ran, and one highly desirable to get to the end of. He had a strong idea that the coffin he had seen was running after him; and, pictured as hopping on behind him, bolt upright, upon its narrow end, always on the point of overtaking him and hopping on at his side--perhaps taking his arm--it was a pursuer to shun. It was an inconsistent and ubiquitous fiend too, for, while it was making the whole night behind him dreadful, he darted out into the roadway to avoid dark alleys, fearful of its coming hopping out of them like a dropsical boy's Kite without tail and wings. It hid in doorways too, rubbing its horrible shoulders against doors, and drawing them up to its ears, as if it were laughing. It got into shadows on the road, and lay cunningly on its back to trip him up. All this time it was incessantly hopping on behind and gaining on him, so that when the boy got to his own door lie had reason for being half dead. And even then it would not leave him, but followed him upstairs with a bump on every Stair, scrambled into bed with him, and bumped down, dead and heavy, on his breast when he fell asleep.
From his oppressed slumber, Young Jerry in his closet was awakened after daybreak and before sunrise, by the presence of his father in the family room. Something had gone bong with him; at least, so Young Jerry inferred, from the circumstance of his holding Mrs. Cruncher by the ears, and knocking the back of her head against the headboard of the bed.
`I told you I would,' said Mr. Cruncher, `and I did.' 
`Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!' his wife implored.
`You oppose yourself to the profit of the business,' said Jerry, `and me and my partners suffer. You was to honour and obey; why the devil don't you?'
`I try to be a good wife, Jerry,' the poor woman protested, with tears.
`Is it being a good wife to oppose your husband's business? Is it honouring your husband to dishonour his business? Is it obeying your husband to disobey him on the wital subject of his business?'
`You hadn't taken to the dreadful business then, Jerry.'
`It's enough for you,' retorted Mr. Cruncher, `to be the wife of a honest tradesman, and not to occupy your female mind with calculations when he took to his trade or when he didn't. A honouring and obeying wife would let his trade alone altogether. Call yourself a religious woman? If you're a religious woman, give me a irreligious one! You have no more nat'ral sense of duty than the bed of this here Thames river has of a pile, and similarly it must be knocked into you.'
The altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice, and terminated in the honest tradesman's kicking off his clay-soiled boots, and lying down at his length on the floor. After taking a timid peep at him lying on his back, with his rusty hands under his head for a pillow, his son lay down too, and fell asleep again.
There was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else. Mr. Cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept an iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs. Cruncher, in case he should observe any symptoms of her saying Grace. He was brushed and washed at the usual hour, and set off with his son to pursue his ostensible calling.
Young Jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at his father's side along sunny and crowded Fleet Street, was a very different Young Jerry from him of the previous night, running home through darkness and solitude from his grim pursuer. His cunning was fresh with the day, and his qualms were gone with the night--in which particulars it is not improbable that he had compeers in Fleet Street and the City of London, that fine morning.
`Father,' said Young Jerry, as they walked along: taking care to keep at arm's length and to have the stool well between them: `what's a Resurrection--Man?'
Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before lie answered, `How should I know?'
`I thought you knowed everything, father,' said the artless boy.
`Hem! Well,' returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, and lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play, `he's a tradesman.'
`What`s his goods, father?' asked the brisk Young Jerry.
`His goods,' said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, is a branch of Scientific goods.'
`Persons' bodies, ain't it, father?' asked the lively boy.
`I believe it is something of that sort,' said Mr. Cruncher.
`Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection--man when I `m quite growed up!'
Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and moral way. `It depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Be careful to dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you can help to nobody, and there's no telling at the present time what you may not come to be fit for.' As Young Jerry, thus encouraged, went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself: `Jerry, you honest tradesman, there's hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to you for his mother! 
每天，坐在舰队街板凳上，跟他那相貌丑陋的顽童在一起的耶利米亚.克朗彻先生眼前总有大量的五光十色的东西川流不息。有谁能在舰队街热闹繁忙的时刻坐在那儿而不被那两条浩大的人流弄得目眩耳聋呢！一条人流跟着太阳无休止地往西走，一条人流对着太阳无休止地往东走，两条人流都在往日落处红紫两色山峦外的平原走！
克朗彻先生嘴里咬着干草望着两道人流，像是那盯着一条河流看了若干世纪的异教徒乡巴佬——只是他并不在等着河水干涸。何况那是件没有希望的事，因为他有一小部分收入正是来自为胆小的妇女（往往是盛装的中年以上的妇女）导航，从洪流的台尔森一侧驶到对岸去。尽管每一次和客人接触的时间都很短，克朗彻先生却总对那位女士发生兴趣，甚至表示出想有幸为她的健康干杯的强烈愿望。他的经济收入正是从这种普渡众生的行为所得到的谢礼。这我们刚才已经说过了。
过去曾有诗人坐在公共场所的一条板凳上望着行人进行沉思。克朗彻先生也坐在公共场所的一条板凳上，可他不是诗人，因此只是四面张望，尽可能地不去沉思。
他东张西望时正好是行人不多、急着赶路的妇女也少、生意不算兴隆的时候。这却使他心中强烈怀疑克朗彻太太又在肆无忌惮地“下跪”了。这时一支从舰队街向西滚滚而来的不寻常的人流引起了他的注意。克朗彻先生向那边望了望，看出是来了一支丧礼队伍，因为有人阻拦引起了喧哗。
“小杰瑞，”克朗彻先生转身对他的下一代说，“是埋死人呢。”
“呜哇，爸爸！”小杰瑞叫了起来。
这位少爷发出这种兴高采烈的呼喊是带有神秘的意思的。而老爷却很生气，瞅准机会扇了他一个耳光。
“你是什么意思？呜哇个什么？你要对你爹表示个什么意思，小混蛋？你这小子跟你那个‘呜哇’越来越叫我受不了了！”克朗彻先生打量着他说。“别让我再听见你那么乱叫，否则叫你尝尝我的滋味，听见了没有？”
“我又没伤着谁，”小杰瑞一边揉着面颊，一边抗议。
“住嘴，”克朗彻先生说，“我不管你伤没伤着谁。到座位上坐着，看热闹去。”
他的儿子服从了，人群也来到了。他们正对着一辆肮脏的灵车和一辆肮脏的送葬车发出喧闹和嘘声。送葬车上只有一个哭丧的，一身公认为适合于这种庄严场合的肮脏服装。可是他的处境似乎并不叫他高兴。马车周围的人越来越多，他们嘲弄他，对他装鬼脸，还不时地起哄大叫，“呀！密探！啧啧！呀哈！密探！”而且加上太多太犀利的叫人难以复述的恭维话。
丧葬行列在任何时候对克朗彻先生都有惊人的吸引力。凡有丧葬行列经过台尔森，他总要眼耳鼻舌齐动，亢奋起来。因此，惹来了这么一个不寻常的人群的丧葬队伍自然会叫他异常亢奋。他对向他奔来的第一个人问道：
“那是什么，老兄，闹些什么？”
“我不知道，”那人说。“密探！呀哈！啧啧！密探！”
他问另外一个人，“是谁？”
“我不知道，”那人回答，却对着嘴拍着掌，以惊人的热力和最大的干劲大喊大叫，“密探！呀哈！啧啧！啧啧！密——探！”
最后有一个比较明白真相的人撞上了他，他才从那人口里听说，那是一个叫罗杰.克莱的人的丧礼。
“是个密探么？”克朗彻问。
“老贝勒的密探，”他的情报提供人说，“呀哈！啧！呀！老贝勒的密——咦—一探！”
“啊，没错！”杰瑞回忆起一场他曾效过点力的审判。“我见过他的。死了，是么？”
“死得像羊肉一样，”对方回答，“死得不能再死了。把他们抓出来，喂！密探！把他们拖出来，喂，密探！”
人们正缺少主意，他这个建议倒很可以接受，大家便急忙抓住，大声重复道，“抓出来，拖出来。”人群围了上去，两辆车只好停下了。人群打开车门，那唯一的哭丧人只好扭打着往外挤。他被抓住了一会儿，但他很机灵，很会利用时机，转瞬之间已经沿着一条偏僻街道飞快地跑掉了，丧服、帽子、帽带、白手绢和其它象征眼泪的玩艺儿都扔下了。
人们把他这些东西撕了个粉碎，欢天喜地地到处乱扔。此刻商家急忙关了铺子，因为那时的人群是很可怕的怪物，什么事都干得出来。人群此时已到了准备打开灵车把棺材往外拖的地步。可某个更为聪明的天才却提出了另一个主意：倒不如大家快快活活把那东西送到它的目的地去。这时需要的正是现实的主意，因此，这个意见受到了热烈的欢迎。顷刻之间，马车上已经是里面八个、外面一打地坐满了人。人们又往灵车顶上爬。他们发挥出聪明才智，能呆得住多少就挤上了多少。在这批志愿人员中杰瑞.克朗彻是最早的一个。他挤到了送葬车的角落里，把他那铁蒺藜头客客气气地隐蔽了起来，不让台尔森的人看见。
主持丧礼的殡葬人员对这种改变仪式的行为提出了抗议，但是叫人心惊胆战的大河就在附近，偏又有几个声音叫着要对殡葬人员中的顽固分子采用冷浸疗法，让他们清醒清醒，那抗议便只能短暂而无力了。经过改组的队伍出发了。一个扫烟囱的赶着灵车——由坐在他身边的驭手当顾问，驭手本人又受到严密监视。一个卖馅饼的也在他的内阁首相辅佐之下赶着送葬车。浩浩荡荡的人群走入河滨路不久，一个牵狗熊的也被拉了进来作为点缀——那时街面上这种人很引人注意，也很受人欢迎。而那头长满疥癣的一身黑毛的熊走在队伍里也颇有几分沉重哀悼的神气。
这个乌烟瘴气的行列就像这样行进着，有人喝啤酒，有人抽烟斗，有人哇哇地唱，还有人没完没了地装出椎心泣血的样子。他们一路上招兵买马，所有的商店一见他们赶紧关了门。队伍的目的地是乡下远处的圣潘克拉斯。他们按时到达，坚持要涌进坟场，最后是以他们自己喜欢的形式把死去的罗杰.克莱埋葬掉了，而且感到异常满意。
死人处理完毕，人群又急于另谋消遣。另一个更聪明的天才（也许就是刚才那个）想出了个节目：拿偶然路过的人当作老贝勒的密探进行控拆，向他们报复。二十来个一辈子也没靠近过老贝勒的无辜路人便因要满足这种幻想而遭到了追逐、粗暴的推操和虐待。从这种游戏转化为打碎窗户、枪劫酒店乃是顺理成章的事。最后，几个小时过去，几处凉亭已被推倒，几处围栏也被拆掉甩来武装较为好战的勇士们。这时出现了谣言，说是警卫队要来了。一听这谣言，人群便渐渐散掉。警卫队也许来了，也许根本没有来。总之，暴民活动的全过程就是这样。
克朗彻先生没有参加闭幕式的游戏，却留在了坟场，跟殡仪人员聊天，也表示惋惜。坟场对他产生了一种慰籍镇定的效果。他从附近一个酒店弄来了一个烟斗，抽起烟来，从栅栏望进去看着坟场，慎重地思考着它。
“杰瑞，”克朗彻先生说，按照常规对自己说开了。“这位克莱那天你是见到的，你亲眼见到他还年纪轻轻的，长得也还结实。”
他吸完烟又沉思了一会儿，才转过身来，想赶在下班之前回到他在台尔森的岗位上去。不知道是对道德问题的思维伤了他的肝，还是他的健康一向就有问题，或是他想去对一个杰出的人物表示一点敬意，这都无关宏旨，总之，他在回家的路上去看了看他的健康顾问——一个出色的外科医生。
尽心尽力、饶有兴趣地接替了他爸爸的工作的小杰瑞向他报告说，他离开之后没有任务。银行关了门，衰老的职员们走了出来，门卫照常上了班。克朗彻和他的儿子也回家喝茶去了。
“好，我来告诉你问题在什么地方，”克朗彻先生一进门就对他的老婆说。“如果作为一个诚实的生意人，我今晚的活动出了问题，我准会查出来你又祈祷过要我倒霉的，那我就要像亲眼看见过一样收拾你。”
垂头丧气的克朗彻太太摇摇头。
“可不么，你当着我的面还在祈祷呢！”克朗彻先生说，表现出洞察一切的气愤。
“可我没有说什么。”
“那就好，那就别想。你要想，跪下可以想，不跪下也可以想。你要反对我，用这个办法可以反对，用那个办法也可以反对，可是，我一律不准。”
“是的，杰瑞。”
“是的，杰瑞，”克朗彻先生一边重复她的话，一边坐下来喝茶。“啊！总是‘是的杰瑞’，只有一句话，只会说‘是的杰瑞！”
克朗彻先生这一番懊恼的确证之词，其实并无特别的意思，只不过用它的冷嘲热讽发点牢骚罢了——一般人也并非不常这么做的。
“你跟你那‘是的杰瑞’，”克朗彻先生咬了一口奶油面包，仿佛就着碟子咽下去一个看不见的大牡蛎，“啊，就这祥吧！我相信你。”
“你今儿晚上要出去么？”他那规矩的太太问道。他又咬了一口面包。
“要出去。”
“我也跟你出去好吗，爸爸？”他的儿子赶快问。
“不，你不能去，我是去——你妈妈知道——去钓鱼。是到钓鱼的地方去，去钓鱼。”
“你的鱼竿不是已锈得很厉害了么，爸爸？”
“这你别管。”
“你会带鱼回家么，爸爸？”
“我要是不带回来，你明天就得饿肚子，”那位先生摇摇头回答。“那你可就大成问题了。我要在你睡觉之后很久才出去。”
那天晚上剩下的时间他都十分警惕地监视着克朗彻太太，闷闷不乐地跟她说东道西，不让她进行不利于他的祈祷。为此，他也让他的儿子跟她谈话，找些话头借题发挥埋怨她，不给她丝毫时间思考，让那个不幸的妇女很遭了些罪。就连最信奉上帝的人崇信起虔诚的祈祷的效果来，怕是也比不上他怀疑他老婆的祈祷所能起到的作用。这就像一个自称不相信有鬼的人叫鬼故事吓得心惊胆战一样。
“你得注意！”克朗彻先生说，“明天别玩花头！如果我作为一个诚实的生意人明天能弄到一两条猪腿，你们也不会光吃面包没有肉的。若是我作为一个诚实的生意人能弄到一点啤酒，你们也就不必光喝白水。到什么山上唱什么歌，你要是唱错了调，别人可不买你的帐。我就是你的山，你知道。”
然后他又开始抱怨：
“你这是跟吃的喝的过不去呀！我真不知道你那下跪祈祷的花招和硬心肠的胡闹会让家里缺吃少喝到什么程度。你看看你这儿子吧！他难道不是你亲生的？可他瘦得就像根板条。你还说自己是娘呢，可你难道不懂得当娘的人的头一条责任就是把儿子养得胖胖的么？”
这话可触动了小杰瑞伤心之处。他立即要求他娘执行她的头一条责任。不管她做了多少其它的事，或是没做其它的事，她得特别强调完成爸爸伤心而体贴地指出的当娘的人的本分。
克朗彻家之夜就像这祥消磨过去，直到小杰瑞被命令上了床，他那娘也接到同样的指示，而且遵命执行。克朗彻先生一个人一锅一锅地抽着烟斗，打发着初入夜的几个小时，直到差不多半夜才准备出发。到了凌晨一两点，也就是幽灵出没的时刻，他才在椅子边站了起来，再从口袋里掏出钥匙，打开柜橱，取出一个口袋，一根大小适中的撬棍，一根带链的绳子和这一类的“渔具”。他挺内行地把它们收拾好，向克朗彻太太轻蔑地告了别，灭了灯，走出门去。
小杰瑞在上床时只不过假装脱掉了衣服，不久之后已跟在父亲后面了。他利用黑暗作掩护，跟着他出了屋子，下了楼，进了院子，到了街上。他并不担心回家时进不了大院，因为房客众多，门是通夜半开着的。
他有一个值得称赞的雄心壮志，要探索他父亲那诚实的职业的艺术与神秘。以此为动力，小杰瑞尽可能地贴近房屋门面、墙壁和门洞走（贴近得有如他那两只眼睛），跟随在他那可敬的父亲身后。他那可敬的父亲往北走了不远，便跟另一位艾萨克.华尔顿的门徒会合，一同蹒跚地往前走去。
出发后不到半小时他们已离开了昏沉的灯火和更昏沉的守夜人，走上了一条荒凉的路。在这儿他们又会合了另一个钓鱼人——会合时一点声音也没有。如果小杰瑞信迷信，他简直会以为他是第二个钓鱼人突然一分为二变出来的。
三个人往前走，小杰瑞也往前走。走到一道俯瞰大路的石塄坎之下。石塄坎顶上有一道矮砖墙，上面是一道铁栏杆。三人在石塄坎与砖墙的阴影下脱离正路，穿进一条死胡同，那短墙在此升高了八至十英尺，形成了胡同的一侧墙壁。小杰瑞在一个角落蹲了下来，往胡同里望去。他看到的头一个东西就是他那可敬的父亲的身影，在略带云翳的如水月色衬托之下轮廓分明，正灵巧地往一道铁栅门上爬，很快就翻了过去。第二个钓鱼人也翻了过去，然后是第三个。三个人都轻轻地落在门内的地面上，躺了一会儿——大约是在听听声音，然后便手脚并用地爬走了。
现在轮到小杰瑞靠近大门了：他屏住呼吸走了过去，在一个角落里蹲下，往里一看，隐约看到三个钓鱼人从一些乱草和墓地里的墓碑之间爬了过去——那墓地很大。三人像些穿着白袍的幽灵，而教堂高塔则像个巍巍然的巨人的幽灵。他们没有爬多远便停住步子站了起来。于是开始钓鱼。
起初他们用铁锹钓。紧接着那可敬的父亲似乎在调整一个巨大的拔塞钻一样的东西。不管他们用的是什么工具，总之他们都干得很卖力。直到教堂钟声响起才把小杰瑞吓了一大跳，跑掉了。他的头发竖了起来，像他爸爸那铁蒺藜似的。
但是他那为时已久的探索这秘密的欲望不但让他停住了脚步，而且引诱他又跑了回去。在他第二次从大门朝里望时，那三个人仍然坚持不懈地钓着鱼。不过现在鱼儿好像已经上了钩。下面出现了钻子钻动的声音，他们佝偻着的身子也绷紧了，似乎拽着个什么重东西。那东西逐渐挣脱了压在上面的泥土，露出了地面。小杰瑞原很清楚那会是什么玩艺儿，但是等他见到那东西，又见那可敬的父亲打算把它撬开时，却因为从没见过这样的景象吓得魂不附体，第二次又跑掉了，而且一直跑了一英里或更远才停了下来。
若不是因为非喘气不可，他是绝不敢停步的。他这简直像是在跟幽灵赛跑，非常想摆脱它，他有一个强烈的印象：他看到的那棺材似乎在追他，其形象是小头在下直立着，连蹦带跳，总好像马上就会抓住他似的在他身边蹦跳——也许是想抓住他的胳膊吧！——他非要躲开不可。那玩艺儿还是个缥缈不定、无所不在的幽灵，弄得它背后的整个黑夜都很恐怖。为了回避黑暗的胡同，他窜上了大路，害怕那东西会像得了水肿病的、没有尾巴没有翅膀的风筝似的从胡同里蹦出来。那玩艺儿也躲在门洞里，用它那可怕的双肩在门上擦来擦去，双肩直耸到耳朵，仿佛在笑。那玩艺儿也钻进路上的影子里，狡猾地躺着，想绊他摔筋头，又一直跟在身后，而且越来越逼近了。因此当那孩子跑回自家门口时，简直有理由觉得自己已经死了一半。就连进了屋后那玩艺儿也还没有离开他，仍然跟着他砰砰砰一级一级地跳上了楼，跟着他一起钻进了被窝，他睡着以后还砰砰地跳到他胸口上，死沉死沉的。
黎明以后日出之前睡在小屋里的小杰瑞从那沉重压抑的昏睡之中被他在正屋里的父亲惊醒了。他一定是出了问题，至少小杰瑞那么想，因为他正揪住克朗彻太太的耳朵把她的后脑勺往床板上撞。
“我告诉过你，我会教训你的，”克朗彻先生说，“我也教训过，你。”
‘杰瑞、杰瑞、杰瑞！”他的妻子哀求。
“你跟我的业务收益作对，”杰瑞说，“我和我的伙伴就遭殃。你得尊重我，服从我你他妈的为什么不照办？”
“我是想做个好妻子的，杰瑞，”可怜的女人流着泪抗议。
“跟你丈夫的业务作对就是个好妻子么？害得你丈夫的业务倒霉就是尊重他么？在你丈夫业务的关键问题上不肯听话就是服从他么？”
“可那时你还没有干这桩可怕的买卖，杰瑞。”
“你只需要，”克朗彻反驳道，“做一个诚实的生意人的老婆就够了，至于你丈夫干什么不干什么，你一个妇道人家少去操心。尊重丈夫、服从丈夫的老婆是不会干扰他的业务的。你不是说自己是个很虔诚的女人么？你要是也算得上虔诚的女人，那就我一个不虔诚的给我看看！你心里没有天然的责任感，正如泰晤士河河底长不出钱来一样。应当往你脑袋里敲点责任感进去。”
这番咒骂声音很低，终于以那位诚实的生意人踢掉脚上满是泥土的靴子，然后伸直了身子往床上一倒结束。他的儿子怯生生地偷看了一眼，见他躺在床上，把两只生锈的手放在脑后当作枕头，自己便也躺下去，又睡着了。
早餐并没有鱼，别的东西也不多。克朗彻先生没精打采，一肚子闷气，把一个铁锅盖放在手边作为纠正克朗彻太太的暗器，准备发现她有做祈祷的迹象时使用。他按时洗漱完毕便带着儿子从事名义上的职业去了。
小杰瑞腋下挟个小板凳，跟在爸爸身边沿着阳光普照的拥挤的舰队街走着。他跟昨天晚上逃避那可怖的追逐者在黑暗和孤独中跑回家来时那个杰瑞迥然不同了。他的狡黠已随着白日而更新，他的恐俱已随着黑夜而消逝。就这个特点而言，在那个晴朗的早晨，舰队街和伦敦城跟他情况相同的人也并非没有。
“爸爸，”两人同路走着时小杰瑞说，说时同爸爸保持一臂的距离，当中还夹着一个板凳，“什么叫‘复活贩子’？”
克朗彻先生在街上停了步，回答说，“我怎么会知道。”
“我以为你什么都知道呢，爸爸，”天真的孩子说。
“晤！好了，”克朗彻先生又往前走，同时脱下帽子，充分展示出他的铁蒺藜，“‘复活贩子’是经营一种商品的人。”
“经营什么，爸爸？”敏锐的小杰瑞问。
“他经营的是—一”克朗彻在心里思考了一番，“一种科学研究需要的商品。”
“是人的身体吧，爸爸？”那活泼的孩子问。
“我相信是那一类的东西，”克朗彻先生说。
“我长大以后，啊，爸爸，也很想当个复活贩子呢！”
克朗彻先生虽感到安慰，却以一种恪守道德的含糊态度摇了摇头。“那可得看你怎样发展自己的才能了。小心培养你的才能吧！这种事尽可能别告诉别人。有的工作你未必适宜，现在还说不清。”小杰瑞受到这样的鼓励便往前走了几码，把小板凳放在法学会大楼的阴影里。这时克朗彻先生对自己说道：“杰瑞，你这个诚实的生意人，那孩子还有希望给你带来幸福呢。他倒可以弥补他那娘的不足！”
Book 2 Chapter 15 Knitting
THERE had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine shop of Monsieur Defarge. As early as six o'clock in the morning, sallow faces peeping through its barred windows had descried other faces within, bending over measures of wine. Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wine at the best of times, but it would seem to have been an unusually thin wine that he sold at this time. A sour wine, moreover, or a souring, for its influence on the mood of those who drank it was to make them gloomy. No vivacious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grape of monsieur Defarge: but, a smouldering fire that burnt in thedark, lay hidden in the dregs of it.
This had been the third morning in succession, on which there had been early drinking at the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. It had begun on Monday, and here was Wednesday come. There had been more of early brooding than drinking; for, many men had listened and whispered and slunk about there from the time of the opening of the door, who could not ave laid a Piece of money on the counter to save their souls. These were to the full as interested in the place, however, as if they could have commanded whole barrels of wine; and they glided from seat to seat, and from corner to corner, swallowing talk in lieu of drink, with greedy looks.
Notwithstanding an unusual flow of company, the master of the wine-shop was not visible. He was not missed; for, nobody who crossed the threshold looked for him, nobody asked for him, nobody wondered to see only Madame Defarge in her seat, presiding over the distribution of wine, with a bowl of battered small coins before her, as much defaced and beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage of humanity from whose ragged pockets they had come.
A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind, were perhaps observed by the spies who looked in at the wine-shop, as they looked in at every place, high and low, from the king's palace to the criminal's gaol. Games at cards languished, players at dominoes musingly built towers with them, drinkers drew figures on the tables with spilt drops of wine, Madame Defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleeve with her toothpick, and saw and heard something inaudible and invisible a long way off.
Thus, Saint Antoine in this vinous feature of his, until midday. It was high noontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets and under his swinging lamps: of whom, one was Monsieur Defarge: the other a mender of roads in a blue cap. All adust and athirst, the two entered the wine-shop. Their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breast of Saint Antoine, fast spreading as they came along, which stirred and flickered in flames of faces at most doors and windows. Yet, no one had followed them, and no man spoke when they entered the wine-shop, though the eyes of every man there were turned upon them.
`Good-day, gentlemen!' said Monsieur Defarge.
It may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue. It elicited an answering chorus of `Good-day!'
`It is bad weather, gentlemen,' said Defarge, shaking his head. Upon which, every man looked at his neighbour, and then all cast down their eyes and sat silent. Except one man, who got up and went out.
`My wife,' said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame Defarge: `I have travelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads, called Jacques. I met him--by accident--a day an half's journey Out of Paris. He is a good child, this mender of roads, called Jacques. Give him to drink, my wife!'
A second man got up and went out. Madame Defarge set wine before the mender of roads called Jacques, who doffed his blue cap to the company, and drank. In the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse dark bread; he ate of this between whiles, and sat munching and drinking near Madame Defarge's counter. A third man got up and went out.
Defarge refreshed himself with a draught of wine--but, he took less than was given to the stranger, as being himself a man to whom it was no rarity--and stood waiting until the countryman had made his breakfast. He looked at no one present, and no one now looked at him; not even Madame Defarge, who had taken up her knitting, and was at work.
`Have you finished your repast, friend?' he asked, in due season.
`Yes, thank you.'
`Come, then! You shall see the apartment that I told you you could occupy. It will suit you to a marvel.'
Out of the wine-shop into the street, out of the street into a courtyard, out of the courtyard up a steep staircase, out of the staircase into a garret--formerly the garret where a white-haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making shoes.
No white-haired man was there now; but, the three men were there who had gone out of the wine-shop singly. And between them and the white-haired man afar off, was the one small link, that they had once looked in at him through the chinks in the wail.
Defarge closed the door carefully, and spoke in a subdued voice:
`Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three! This is the witness encountered by appointment, by me, Jacques Four.
He will tell you all. Speak, Jacques Five!
The mender of roads, blue cap in hand, wiped his swarthy forehead with it, and said, `Where shall I commence, monsieur?'
`Commence,' was Monsieur Defarge's not unreasonable reply, `at the commencement.'
`I saw him then, messieurs,' began the mender of roads, a year ago this running summer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis, hanging by the chain. Behold the manner of it. I leaving my work on the road, the sun going to bed, the carriage of the Marquis slowly ascending the hill, he hanging by the chain--like this.'
Again the mender of roads went through the whole performance; in which he ought to have been perfect by that time, seeing that it had been the infallible resource and indispensable entertainment of his village during a whole year.
Jacques One struck in, and asked if he had ever seen the man before?
`Never,' answered the mender of roads, recovering his perpendicular.
Jacques Three demanded how he afterwards recognised him then?
`By his tall figure,' said the mender of roads, softly, and with his finger at his nose. `When Monsieur the Marquis demands that evening,, ``Say, what is he like?'' I make response, ``Tall as a spectre.'''
`You should have said, short as a dwarf,' returned Jacques Two.
`But what did I know? The deed was not then accomplished, neither did he confide in me. Observe! Under those circumstances even, I do not offer my testimony. Monsieur the Marquis indicates me with his finger, standing near our little fountain, and says, ``To me! Bring that rascal!'' My faith, messieurs, I offer nothing.'
`He is right there, Jacques,' murmured Defarge, to him who had interrupted. `Go on!'
`Good!' said the mender of roads, with an air of mystery. `The tall man is lost, and he is sought--how many months? Nine, ten, eleven?'
`No matter, the number,' said Defarge. `He is well hidden, but at last he is unluckily found. Go on!'
`I am again at work upon the hillside, and the sun is again about to go to bed. I am collecting my tools to descend to my cottage down in the village below, where it is already dark, when I raise my eyes, and see coming over the hill six soldiers. In the midstof them is a tall man with his arms bound--tied to his sides--like this!'
With the aid of his indispensable cap, he represented a man with his elbows bound fast at his hips, with cords that were knotted behind him.
`I stand aside, messieurs, by my heap of stones, to see the soldiers and their prisoner pass (for it is a solitary road, that, where any spectacle is well worth looking at), and at first, as they approach, I see no more than that they are six soldiers with a tall man bound, and that they are almost black to my sight--except on the side of the sun going to bed where they have a red edge, messieurs. Also, I see that their long shadows are on the hollow ridge on the opposite side of the road, and are on the hill above it, and are like the shadows of giants. Also, I see that they are covered with dust, and that the dust moves with them as they come, tramp, tramp! But when they advance quite near to me, I recognise the tall man, and he recognises me. Ah, but he would be well content to precipitate himself over the hillside once again, as on the evening when he and I first encountered, close to the same spot!'
He described it as if he were there, and it was evident that he saw it vividly; perhaps he had not seen much in his life.
`I do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he does not show the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know it, with our eyes. ``Come on!'' says the chief of that company, pointing to the village, ``bring him fast to his tomb!'' and they bring him faster. I follow. His arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, his wooden shoes are large and clumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame, and consequently slow, they drive him with their guns--like this!'
He imitated the action of a man's being impelled forward by the butt-ends of muskets.
`As they descend the hill like madmen running a race, he falls. They laugh and pick him up again. His face is bleeding and covered with dust, but he cannot touch it; thereupon they laugh again. They bring him into the village; all the village runs to look; they take him past the mill, and up to the prison; all the village sees the prison gate open in the darkness of the night, and swallow him--like this!'
He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and shut it with a sounding snap of his teeth. Observant of his unwillingness to mar the effect by opening it again, Defarge said, `Go on, Jacques.'
`All the village,' pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a low voice, `withdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all the village sleeps; all the village dreams of that unhappy one, within the locks and bars of the prison on the crag, and never to come out of it, except to perish. In the morning, with my tools upon my shoulder, eating my morsel of black bread as I go, I make a circuit by the prison, on my way to my work. There I see him, high up, behind the bars of a lofty iron cage, bloody and dusty as last night, looking through. He has no hand free, to wave to me; I dare not call to him; he regards me like a dead man.'
Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The looks of all of them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened to the countryman's story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret, was authoritative too. They had the air of a rough tribunal; Jacques One and Two sitting on the old pallet-bed, each with his chin resting on his hand, and his eyes intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three, equally intent, on one knee behind them, with his agitated hand always gliding over the network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose; Defarge standing between them and the narrator, whom he had stationed in the light of the window, by turns looking from him to them, and from them to him.
`Go on, Jacques,' said Defarge.
`He remains up there in his iron cage some days. The village looks at him by stealth, for it is afraid. But it always looks up, from a distance, at the prison on the crag; and in the evening, when the work of the day is achieved and it assembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces are turned towards the prison. Formerly, they were turned towards the posting-house; now, they are turned towards the prison. They whisper at the fountain, that although condemned to death he will not be executed; they say that petitions have been presented in Paris, showing that he was enraged and made mad by the death of his child; they say that a petition has been presented to the King himself. What do I know? It is possible. Perhaps yes, perhaps no.'
`Listen then, Jacques,' Number One of that name sternly interposed. `Know that a petition was presented to the King and Queen. All here, yourself excepted, saw the King take it, in his carriage in the street, sitting beside the Queen. It is Defarge whom you see here, who, at the hazard of his life, darted out before the horses, with the petition in his hand.'
`And once again listen, Jacques!' said the kneeling Number Three: his fingers ever wandering over and over those fine nerves, with a strikingly greedy air, as if he hungered for some thing--that was neither food nor drink; `the guard, horse and foot, surrounded the petitioner, and struck him blows. You hear?'
`I hear, messieurs.' 
`Go on then,' said Defarge.
`Again; on the other hand, they whisper at the fountain,' resumed the countryman, `that he is brought down into our country to be executed on the spot, and that he will very certainly be executed. They even whisper that because he has slain Monseigneur,and because Monseigneur was the father of his tenants--serfs--what you will--he will be executed as a parricide. One old man says at the fountain, that his right hand, armed with the knife, will be burnt off before his face; that, into wounds which will be made in his arms, his breast, and his legs, there will be poured boiling oil, melted lead, hot resin, wax, and sulphur; finally, that he will be torn limb from limb by four strong horses. That old man says, all this was actually done to a prisoner who made an attempt on the life of the late King, Louis Fifteen. But how do I know if he lies? 
I am not a scholar.'
`Listen once again then, Jacques!' said the man with the restless hand and the craving air. `The name of that prisoner was Damiens, and it was all done in open day, in the open streets of this city of Paris; and nothing was more noticed in the vast concourse that saw it done, than the crowd of ladies of quality and fashion, who were full of eager attention to the last--to the last, Jacques, prolonged until nightfall, when he had lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed! And it was done--why, how old are you?'
`Thirty-five,' said the mender of roads, who looked sixty.
`It was done when you were more than ten years old; you might have seen it.'
`Enough!' said Defarge, with grim impatience. `Long live the Devil! Go on.'
`Well! Some whisper this, some whisper that; they sped of nothing else; even the fountain appears to fall to that tune. At length, on Sunday night when all the village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down from the prison, and their guns ring on the stones of the little street. Workmen dig, workmen hammer, soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, by the fountain, there is raised a gallows forty feet high, poisoning the water.'
The mender of roads looked through rather than at the low ceiling, and pointed as if he saw the gallows somewhere in the sky.
`All work is stopped, all assemble there, nobody leads the cows out, the cows are there with the rest. At midday, the roll of drums. Soldiers have marched into the prison in the night, and he is in the midst of many soldiers. He is bound as before, and in his mouth there is a gag--tied so, with a tight string, making him look almost as if he laughed.' He suggested it, by creasing his face with his two thumbs, from the corners of his mouth to his ears. `On the top of the gallows is fixed the knife, blade upwards, with its point in the air. He is hanged there forty feet high--and is left hanging, poisoning the water.
They looked at one another, as he used his blue cap to wipe his face, on which the perspiration had started afresh while he recalled the spectacle.
`It is frightful, messieurs. How can the women and the children draw water! Who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow! Under it, have I said? When I left the village, Monday evening as the sun was going to bed, and looked back from the hill, the shadow struck across the church, across the mill, across the prison--seemed to strike across the earth, messieurs, to where the sky rests upon it!'
The hungry man gnawed one of his fingers as he looked at the other three, and his finger quivered with the craving that was on him.
`That's all, messieurs. I left at sunset (as I had been warned to do), and I walked on, that night and half next day, until I met (as I was warned I should) this comrade. With him, I came on, now riding and now walking, through the rest of yesterday and through last night. And here you see me!'
After a gloomy silence, the first Jacques said, `Good! You have acted and recounted faithfully. Will you wait for us a little, outside the door?'
`Very willingly,' said the mender of roads. Whom Defarge escorted to the top of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned.
The three had risen, and their heads were together when he came back to the garret.
`How say you, Jacques?' demanded Number One. `To be registered?'
`To be registered, as doomed to destruction,' returned Defarge.
`Magnificent!' croaked the man with the craving. 
`The chateau and all the race?' inquired the first.
`The chateau and all the race,' returned Defarge. `Extermination.'
The hungry man repeated, in a rapturous croak, `Magnificent!' and began gnawing another finger.
`Are you sure,' asked Jacques Two, of Defarge, `that no embarrassment can arise from our manner of keeping the register? Without doubt it is safe, for no one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall we always be able to decipher it or, I ought to say, will she?'
`Jacques,' returned Defarge, drawing himself up, `if madame my wife undertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not lose a word of it--not a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches and her own symbols, it will always be as plain toher as the sun. Confide in Madame Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives, to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name or crimes from the knitted register of Madame Defarge.'
There was a murmur of confidence and approval, and then the man who hungered, asked: `Is this rustic to be sent back soon? I hope so. He is very simple; is he not a little dangerous?'
`He knows nothing,' said Defarge; `at least nothing more than would easily elevate himself to gallows of the same height. I charge myself with him; let him remain with me; I will take care of him, and set him on his road. He wishes to see the fine world--the King, the Queen, and Court; let him see them on Sunday.
`What?' exclaimed the hungry man, staring. `Is it a good sign, that he wishes to see Royalty and Nobility?'
`Jacques,' said Defarge; judiciously show a cat milk, if you wish her to thirst for it. Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wish him to bring it down one day.'
Nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being found already dozing on the topmost stair, was advised to lay himself down on the pallet-bed and take some rest. He needed no persuasion, and was soon asleep.
Worse quarters than Defarge's wine-shop, could easily have been found in Paris for a provincial slave of that degree. Saving for a mysterious dread of madame by which he was constantly haunted, his life was very new and agreeable. But, madame sat allday at her counter, so expressly unconscious of him, and so particularly determined not to perceive that his being there had any connexion with anything below the surface, that he shook in his wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her. For, he contended with himself that it was impossible to foresee what that lady might pretend next; and he felt assured that if she should take it into her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seen him do a murder and afterwards Ray the victim, she would infallibly go through with it until the play was played out.
Therefore, when Sunday came, the mender of roads was not enchanted (though he said he was) to find that madame was to accompany monsieur and himself to Versailles. It was additionally disconcerting to have madame knitting all the way there, in a public conveyance; it was additionally disconcerting yet, to have madame in the crowd in the afternoon, still with her knitting in her hands as the crowd waited to see the carriage of the King and Queen.
`You work hard, madame,' said a man near her.
`Yes,' answered Madame Defarge; `I have a good deal to do.'
`What do you make, madame?'
`Many things.'
`For instance--'
`For instance,' returned Madame Defarge, composedly, `shrouds.'
The man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, and the mender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightily close and oppressive. If he needed a King and Queen to restore him, he was fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the large-faced King and the fair-faced Queen came in their golden coach, attended by the shining Bull's Eye of their Court, a glittering multitude of laughing ladies and fine lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendour and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful faces of both sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so much to his temporary intoxication, that he cried Long live the King, Long live the Queen, Long live everybody and everything! as if he had never heard of ubiquitous Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens, courtyards, terraces, fountains, green banks, more King andQueen, more Bull's Eye, more lords and ladies, more Long live they all! until he absolutely wept with sentiment. During the whole of this scene, which lasted some three hours, he had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental company, and I throughout Defarge held him by the collar, as if to restrain him from flying at the objects of his brief devotion and tearing them pieces.
`Bravo' said Defarge, clapping him on the back when it was Over, like a patron; `you are a good boy!'
The mender of roads was now coming to himself, and was mistrustful of having made a mistake in his late demonstrations; but no.
`You are the fellow we want,' said Defarge, in his ear; `you make these fools believe that it will last for ever. Then, they are the more insolent, and it is the nearer ended.'
`Hey!' cried the mender of roads, reflectively; `that's true.' `These fools know nothing. While they despise your breath, and would stop it for ever and ever, in you or in a hundred like you rather than in one of their own horses or dogs, they only know what your breath tells them. Let it deceive them, then, a little longer; it cannot deceive them too much.'
Madame Defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded in confirmation.
`As to you,' said she, `you would shout and shed tears for anything, if it made a show and a noise. Say! Would you not?'
`Truly, madame, I think so. For the moment.'
`If you were shown a great heap of dolls, and were set upon them to pluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you would pick out the richest and gayest. Say! Would you not?'
`Truly yes, madame.'
`Yes. And if you were shown a flock of birds, unable to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers for your own advantage, you would set upon the birds of the finest feathers; would you not?'
`It is true, madame.'
`You have seen both dolls and birds today,' said Madame Defarge, with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been apparent; `now, go home!'  
德伐日先生酒馆的客人比平时来得早。早在清晨六点几张黄瘦的面孔已在往带栏杆的窗户里偷看，而那时便已见到许多人躬着身子、捧着酒杯。德伐日先生即使在生意兴隆时也只卖一种很淡的酒。但他这一天卖的酒似乎淡得出奇，而且酸涩，倒不如叫“辛酸酒”，因为它对喝酒的人产生一种阴郁的影响。欢快的酒神的火苗是无法从德伐日先生压榨出的葡萄汁上燃起来的，它的酒渣里也隐藏着一种在黑暗里闷着燃烧的火。
这已是德伐日先生酒店里连续第三天喝早早酒了。是从星期一开始的，而今天已是星期三。其实在早上喝下的酒还不如思考的多，因为许多男人从开门时起便在那儿溜来溜去，听别人说话，自己也说话，而这些人即使是为了拯救自己的灵魂也是付不起酒帐的。可他们对酒店的兴趣却很大，仿佛可以买得起大桶大桶的酒似的。他们从一个座位到另一个座位，从一个角落到另一个角落溜来溜去，眼里闪着贪婪的光，吞下的却不是酒，而是话语。
尽管客人多得出奇，酒店老板却不见了，也没有人想起他，因为踏进门槛来的人并不找他，也没有人问起他。他们看到只有德伐日太太坐在柜台边主管打酒，也并不惊讶。德伐日太太面前有一只碗，碗里装着变了形的小硬币，硬币磨窳了，变形了，跟新铸出来时已经大不相同。而那群从破衣兜里把硬币掏出来的人也一样，跟他们的天生形象已经相去极远。
密探上上下下四处调查，从国王的宫殿直到罪犯的监狱。他们在这家酒馆里看到的也许是一种普遍的有所渴求而未得手的心不在焉的神气。玩纸牌的玩得没精打采；玩骨牌的若有所思地拿牌搭着高塔；喝酒的拿洒出的酒在桌上乱画；德伐日太太拿牙签在他编织的袖子上挑着什么图案，却能看见和听见远处看不见和听不见的东西。
圣安托万就像这样一杯半盏地直喝到中午。正午时分两个风尘仆仆的人在晃动的街灯下经过了它的街道。一个是德伐日先生，另一个是戴着蓝帽的补路工。两人满身灰尘走进酒店，十分口渴。他们的出现在圣安托万胸中燃起了火焰。这火焰随着两人的行踪蔓延，激动了大多数窗户和门洞后的面孔，让它们爆发出火星，燃烧起火苗。但没有人跟着他们走，他俩进入酒店时也没有人说话，虽然每张脸都转向了他们。
“日安，先生们！”德伐日先生说。
这声招呼可能是一种舌头解禁的信号，引起了一片合唱“日安！”作为回答。
“天气不好呀，先生们，”德伐日摇着头说。
这一来，大家都面面相觑，然后低下目光一言不发地坐着。只有一个人站了起来，走了出去。
“老婆，”德伐日先生对德伐日太太说，“我跟这位好补路工走了好几十里，他叫雅克。我在巴黎城外一天半的路程处偶然遇到了他。这个补路工是个好伙伴，叫雅克。给他酒喝，老婆！”
第二个人站起身来走了出去。德伐日太太把酒放到叫雅克的补路工面前，那人脱下蓝帽对大家敬了个礼，然后喝酒。在他的短衫胸前他带了一个粗糙的黑面包，便坐在德伐日太太的柜台前不时地咬一口嚼着，喝着酒。第三个人又站起身来走了出去。
德伐日喝了点酒，润了润喉咙，但比客人喝得少，因为酒对他并不希罕。他喝完就站在那儿等那乡下人吃早饭。他不看任何人，任何人也不后弥；甚至德伐日太太也不看他。现在她又拿起毛线活儿打了起来。
“点心吃完了么，朋友？”到了时候他问道。
“吃完了，谢谢。”
“那就来吧！我带你到我刚才告诉你打算给你住的房间去。这房间对你最合适不过。”
两人出了酒店，进了街道，出了街道，进了院子，出了院子，上了一道陡直的楼梯，出了楼梯，进了一个阁楼——以前有一个白发的老头曾坐在这间阁楼的凳于上，佝偻着身子忙着做鞋。
现在这儿没有了那白发老人，但那分别走出酒店的三个人却在这儿。他们和远处那白发老头之间有过一点小小的瓜葛：曾从墙缝里窥视过他。
德伐日仔细关好门，压低了嗓子说：
“雅克一号，雅克二号，雅克三号！他就是雅克五号，是指定由我雅克四号约来跟你们会面的。情况由他谈。说吧，雅克五号。”
补路工脱下蓝帽子行了个礼，又用它擦了擦黝黑的前额说，“从什么地方说起呢，先生？”
“从开头说起，”德伐日的回答不无道理。
“先生们，一年以前，也是在这样的夏天里，”补路工开始了，“我在侯爵的马车下面见到了那人，吊在链条上。你们就看看那种情况吧。太阳快睡觉了，我正要下班，侯爵的马车慢馒地上了坡。那人挂在链条上——像这样。”
补路工又作了一次无懈可击的表演。他早该表演得十全十美了，因为他在村里表演这个节目已有一年，回回叫座，已成了不可缺少的娱乐节目。
雅克一号插嘴问他以前是否见过那人？
“没有，”补路工恢复了直立姿势回答。
雅克三号问他后来是怎么认出那人的。
“因为他那高个儿，”补路工一个指头放在鼻子面前细声地说。“那天黄昏时侯爵大人对我说，‘告诉我，他是什么样子？’我回答，高得像个妖怪。’”
“你应该说‘矮得像个侏儒’的。”雅克二号插嘴。
“那我怎么知道。那时人还没杀，他又没叮嘱过我。请注意！在那种情况之下我也没有主动作证。侯爵大人站在我们那小小的泉水边说，‘给我把那流氓带来！’他用手指头表示是我！说真的，几位先生，我没有主动要干什么。”
“他这话确是真的，雅克，”德伐日对插嘴的人说。“说下去！”
“好的！”修路工神秘地说，“那高个儿不见了，到处抓他——有几个月？九个、十个、十一个月吧？”
“究竟几个月没关系，”德伐日说，“总之，他躲得很隐蔽，可最终还是倒了霉，给抓住了。说下去！”
“我又是在山坡上干活，太阳又是快要睡觉了。我正收拾好工具打算下坡回村往家里去，村子已经黑了。这时我抬起头来，看见六个士兵从山坡那边走了过来。他们中间有一个高个儿，两只手臂给捆住了——捆在身子两边—一像这样！”
他利用那顶少不了的帽子表现一个人两条手臂被紧紧捆在腰胁上、绳结打在背后的样子。
“我站在路边我的石头堆旁，先生们，看着几个士兵和囚犯过去（那路很荒凉，任何不常见的东西都值得看一看），他们刚走过来时，我只看到六个士兵押了一个捆绑着的囚犯，从我的方向看去几乎全是黑的，只是在太阳睡觉的方向镶有一道红色的边。我还看到他们很长很长的影子落到路那边凹下的山脊和隆起的山坡上，像是些巨人的影子。我还看到他们满身灰尘叭嗒叭嗒地走着，灰尘也跟着他们乱飘！在他们靠我很近的时候，我认出了可高个儿，他也认出了我。啊，他若能跟那天黄昏我第一次见他时那样再从山崖边跳下去准会很高兴的，那地方在附近!”
他描述起来好像自己此刻就在山坡上，而且还活灵活现地看到了那场面。看来他这一辈子见过的场面不多。
“我并没有让当兵的看出我认得那高个儿，他也没让他们看出他认得我。我俩只递了个眼色便都明白了。‘走吧！’大兵头头指着村子，‘赶快送他进坟墓去！’说时走得更快了。我跟在他们身后。因为捆得太紧，他的两条胳膊都肿了。他的木鞋又大又笨重，脚也瘸了。跛着脚走得慢，他们便用枪赶他—一像这祥！”
他模仿一个人挨着枪托往前走的样子。
“他们像疯子赛跑一样往坡下冲，他摔倒了。当兵的哈哈大笑，把他拽了起来。他脸上流着血，一脸泥土，却不能擦；他们一见，又大笑起来。他们把他押进了村子，满村的人都来看。他们押着他经过风车，爬上坡，来到了监狱。全村人都看到监狱在漆黑的夜里开了大门，把他吞了下去——就像这样！”
他使劲张大了嘴，猛地一下闭上，牙齿嗒地一响。德伐日注意到他不愿意再张开嘴破坏效果，便说，“说下去，雅克。”
“村子里的人，”补路工踮起脚压低嗓门说下去，“全都回去了，都在泉水边悄悄地说话，都睡了，都梦见了那个不幸的人锁在悬崖顶上监牢的铁栏杆里，除非上刑场，再也别想出来。早上我扛起工具，吃着黑面包去上工。我绕道去了一趟监狱，在那儿见到了他。他被关在一个很高的铁笼子里，跟昨天晚上一样满是血迹和沙土。他在往外看。他的手不自由，不能向我招手，只能像个死人一样望着我；我也不敢叫他。”
德伐日和三个人彼此阴沉地瞥了一眼。听着那乡下人的故事，他们脸色都很严厉、压抑、仇恨，样子尽管秘密，却也权威，有一种肃杀的法庭气氛。雅克一号和二号坐在铺了草荐的旧床上，下巴放在手上，眼睛盯着补路工。雅克三号在他们身后跪下了一条腿，神情也很专注，一只激动的手老在口鼻间的微细神经网络处抓挠。德伐日站在他们跟那报信人之间——他让报信人站在从窗户照进来的光线里。补路工的目光不断地从他转到他们，又从他们转到他身。
“说下去，雅克，”德伐日说。
“他在那个高高的笼子里关了几天。村里的人都害怕，虽只敢偷偷地望他一望，却总要在远处抬头看悬崖上的监狱。到了黄昏，一天工作完毕，大家到泉水边闲聊，所有的脸又都转向监狱——以前他们都转向驿站，现在却转向监狱。他们在泉水边悄悄议论，说是他虽被判了死刑，却未必会执行。据说有几份请愿书已送到了巴黎，说他是因为孩子给压死了太生气发了疯。又说是有一份请愿书还送到了国王手里。这我怎么能知道呢，不过那也是可能的，也许可能，也许未必。”
“那你就听着，雅克，”雅克一号严厉地插嘴，“要知道已经有请愿书送给了国王和王后。除你之外，我们在场的几个人都看到国王接过了请愿书。那是在街上的马车里，他坐在王后身边。是你在这儿见到的德伐日冒着生命危险拿着请愿书跳到了马匹前面的。”
“还有，雅克，”跪着一只脚的三号说，他的手指总是在那神经敏感的部分抓挠，那神气很贪婪，似乎渴望得到什么既不是食物、也不是饮料的东西，“骑兵和步兵卫士把他包围起来，打他，你听见没有？”
“听见了，先生们。”
“你再说下去，”德伐日说。
“还有。他们在泉水边悄悄议论过另一件事，”那乡下人又讲了下去，“据说他被押到我们乡下来是要在这儿处死的，而且必死无疑。他们甚至悄悄说，因为他杀死了大人，而大人又是佃户们—一可算是农奴吧——的父亲，因此他要被当作杀父的逆子处死。泉水边有个老头儿说他是右手用刀的，所以要把他的右手当着他的面烧掉，再在他手臂、胸口、两腿划出许多口子，把烧开的油、熔化的铅、滚烫的松香、蜡和硫磺灌进去，然后用四匹强壮的马拴在手脚上把身子撕成几块。那老头儿说有个想谋杀前国王路易十五的囚犯就确确实实是让用这种方法处死的。不过他究竟是否说的是真话，我怎么会知道？我又没上过学．”
“那就再听着，雅克，”那抓挠个不停的带着渴望神情的人说，“那人姓达米安，是大白天在巴黎城的大街上公开处死的。后行刑的人非常多，最引人注目的倒是那些打扮入时的高贵的夫人小姐们。她们也非常感兴趣，一定要看到最后——最后，雅克，一直看到天黑，那时他已被扯断了两条腿和一条胳膊，却还在呼吸！然后才杀死了他——你多大年龄？”
“三十五，补路工说。他看上去倒有六十。
“那是你十来岁时的事，你是有可能看到的。”
“够了，”德伐日说，因为不耐烦，显得严厉。“魔鬼万岁！说下去。”
“啊！有人悄悄说这，有人悄悄说那，却离不开这个题目，就连泉水也似乎放低了声音。最后，到星期天晚上，全村人都睡着了，来了一群当兵的，从监狱绕下山来，他们的抢碰着小街的石头咔咔地响。工人挖地，工人钉钉，当兵的又笑又唱。到了早上，泉水边竖起了一个四十英尺高的绞架，把泉水都变得有毒了。”
补路工抬头望着——不，是望穿了——低矮的天花板，用手指着，好像看见绞架竖立在天空。
“所有的工作都停了下来，所有的人都集合了起来，没有人牵牛出去，牛跟人在一起。正午响起了鼓声。当兵的早在半夜就进了监狱，把他包围了。他跟以前一样捆着，嘴里还塞了根木棍，用绳扎紧，远远看去好像在笑。”他用两根拇指把嘴角往耳朵两边掰，拉出一脸绉纹。“绞架顶上捆着他那把刀，刀口向上，刀尖在空中。他被绞死在那个四十英尺高的绞如上，然后一直吊在那儿，毒害了泉水。”
他用蓝帽于擦擦脸，因为回忆起那场面，脸上又冒出了汗珠。大家彼此望了望。
“太可怕了，先生们。在那样的阴影之下妇女和儿童怎么敢来汲水呢？晚上谁还能在那儿聊天呢！在绞架底下，我说过么？星期一的黄昏，太阳要睡觉时，我离开了村子。我在山上回头看了看，那影子斜挂在教堂上，斜挂在风车上，斜挂在监狱上——似乎斜挂在整个大地上，先生们，一直到与天空相接的地方！”
那带着渴望神情的人啃着一权手指望着其他的人，由于渴望得难受，他的手指在发抖。
“就是这样，先生们。我按通知在太阳落山时离开村子往前走，走了一个通宵和第二天半天，才遇到了这位同志（按通知他会跟我接头），便跟他一起来了。我们有时骑马，有时走路，走完昨天，还走了个通宵，现在才到了你们这儿。”
一阵悲伤的沉默之后，雅克一号说，“好的，你讲得很真实，表演得也很好。你能在门外等我们一会儿么？”
“很乐意，”补路工说。德伐日陪他来到楼梯口，让他坐下，自己再进了阁楼。
他回屋时那三个人已经站了起来，三颗头攒在了一起。
“你们怎么说，雅克们？”一号问。“记录在案么？”
“记录在案。判决彻底消灭，”德伐日回答。
“妙极了！”那带着渴望神情的人低沉地说。
“庄园和全家？”一号问。
“庄园和全家，”德伐日回答。“彻底消灭。”
带着渴望神情的人发出低沉的狂欢声，“妙极了！”他又啃起另一根指头来。
“你有把握我们这种记录方式不会出问题么？”雅克二号问德伐日。“无疑它是安全的，因为除了我们自己谁也破译不出。但是我们自己准能破译么？——或者我应当说，她总能破译么？”
“雅克，”德伐日站直身子回答，“既然是我老婆接受了任务，愿意一个人把记录保持在她的记忆里，她是一个字也不会忘记的——一个音节也不会忘记的。用她自己的针法和记号编织起来的东西，在她看来简直跟太阳一样清楚。相信德伐日太太吧。若想从德伐日太太织成的记录上抹去一个名字或罪恶，那怕是一个字母，也比最胆小的懦夫抹掉自己的生命还难呢！”
一阵喁喁的低语，表示了信任与赞许。那带着渴望神情的人问道，“这个乡下人要马上打发回去吧？我希望这样。他太单纯，会不会弄出什么危险？”
“他什么都不知道，”德伐日说，“他知道的东西不至于那么容易就把他送上同样高的绞架去的。我愿负责做他的工作。让他跟我在一起吧，由我来照顾他，打发他回去。他想看看这个花花世界——看看国王、王后和王官。让他星期天去看看吧！”
“什么？”那带着渴望神情的人瞪大了眼睛叫道，“他想看国王的豪华和贵族的气派，这难道是好迹象么？”
“雅克，”德伐日说，“你若要让猫喜欢喝牛奶，明智的办法是让它看见牛奶；若要想狗在某一天去捕杀猎物，明智的办法是让它看到它天然的捕猎对象。”
再没有谈别的话，他们找到补路工时，他已在楼梯口打着吨儿。他们劝他躺到草荐床上去休息。他不用劝说立即躺下睡着了。
像他那么穷的外省汉子在巴黎能找到的住处，一般都比不上德伐日酒店那小屋。因此若不是他心里对老板娘总存在着一种神秘的畏俱的话，他的日子应算是很新奇，也很有趣的。好在那老板娘整天坐在柜台边，仿佛故意不把他放在心上，特别下了决心，无论他在那儿跟什么事情发生了表面以外的关系，她都一律假装视而不见。这就使他每次见到她都害怕得发抖，因为他想来想去总觉得自己不可能知道她下一步打算假装什么。万一她那打扮得漂漂亮亮的脑袋忽然打算假装看见他杀了人，而且剥了那人的皮的话，她准定会一口咬定他不放，一直跟他玩到底的。
因此，等到星期日到来，他听说老板娘要陪德伐日先生和他去凡尔赛宫时，他并不感到有多快活（虽然口头也表示高兴）。更叫他紧张的是他们坐在公共马车里时，那老板娘还在织着毛线。尤其叫他紧张的是到了下午人群已在等着看国王和王后的车驾了，她还在人群中织着。
“你可真勤快呀，太太！”她身边一个人说。
“是的，”德伐日太太回答，“我的活儿很多呢。”
“你织的是什么，太太？”
“很多东西。”
“比如说——”
“比如说，”德伐日太太平静地回答，“裹尸布。”
那人尽快往旁边挪，挪得远远的。补路工用他的蓝帽子扇凉，他感到非常拥挤，非常气闷。若是他需要国王和王后让他清醒清醒，他倒也幸运，因为那清醒剂已经临近。那大脸盘的国王和面目姣好的王后已坐着黄金的马车来了。前导的有宫廷的牛眼明灯，一大群服饰鲜明、欢声笑语的妇女和漂亮的老爷。他们珠光宝气，穿绸着缎，傅粉涂脂，一片煊赫的声势和傲慢的气派，露出一张张又漂亮又轻蔑的男男女女的脸儿。补路工沐浴在这盛大的场面之中，一时十分激动，不禁大叫“国王万岁！”“王后万岁！”“大家万岁！”“一切万岁！”仿佛他那时从来没听说过无所不在的雅克党似的。然后便是花园、庭院、台阶、喷泉、绿色的草坡，又是国王与王后，更多的宫廷精华，更多的达宫显贵、仕女名媛，更多的万岁！他终于感情冲动得无以复加，哭了起来。在这长达三个小时的盛大场面之中，他跟许多感情充沛的人一起呼叫着，哭喊着。德伐日在整个过程中都揪住他的衣领，仿佛怕他会对他短暂的崇拜对象冲出去，把他们撕得粉碎。
“好！”游行结束后，德伐日拍拍他的背，像他的恩主一样说，“你真是个乖娃娃！”
补路工此时才清醒过来，很担心他刚才的表现是犯了错误。好在并不如此。
“我们正需要你这样的人，”德伐日对着他耳朵说，“你让这些傻瓜们以为这种局面可以天长地久，于是他们就更加骄横，也就垮得更早。”
“着！”补路工想了想，叫了起来，“说得对。”
“这些傻瓜们什么都不知道。他们不把你们的声音放在耳里；为了他们的狗或马，他们可以永远永远堵住成百个像你这样的人的喉咙。另一方面，他们又只知道你们说给他们听的话。就让他们再受受骗好了，这种人怎么骗他都不算过分。”
德伐日太太轻蔑地望了望客人，点头同意。
“至于你嘛，”她说，“你对什么事都要大喊大叫，都要流眼泪，只要引人注目吵得热闹就行。你肯不肯干，说呀！”
“干呀，太太，我干。目前就干这个。”
“如果你面前有一大堆布娃娃，有人鼓动你去剥掉它们的衣服给自己用，你会选择那最高贵最漂亮的剥，是吧？说呀！”
“是的，太太。”
“若是在你面前有一大群已经不能飞的鸟儿，有人鼓动你去拔掉它们的羽毛装饰自己，你会拣羽毛最漂亮的拔，是么？”
“是的，太太。”
“今天你已经看到了布娃娃，也看到了鸟儿，”德伐日太太向他们刚才去过的地方挥了挥手，“现在，回家去吧！”
Book 2 Chapter 16 Still knitting 
MADAME DEFARGE and monsieur her husband returned amicably to the bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the darkness, and through the dust, and down the weary miles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point of the compass where the chateau of Monsieur the Marquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees. Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening to the trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrows who, in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of dead stick to burn, strayed within sight of the great stone courtyard andterrace staircase, had it borne in upon their starved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. A rumour just lived in the village--had a faint and bare existence there, as its people had that when the knife struck home, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of anger and pain also, that when that dangling figure was hauled up forty fee above the fountain, they changed again, and bore a cruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bear for ever. In the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointed out in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, and which nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions when two or three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take a hurried peep at Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinny finger would not have pointed to it for a minute, before they all started away among the moss and leaves, like the more fortunate hares who could find a living there.
Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the village well--thousands of acres of land--a whole province of France--all France itself--lay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hairbreadth line. So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature on it.
The Defarges, husband and wife, came lumbering under the starlight, in their public vehicle, to that gate of Paris whereunto their journey naturally tended. There was the usual stoppage at the barrier guardhouse, and the usual lanterns came glancing forth forthe usual examination and inquiry. Monsieur Defarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldiery there, and one of the police. The latter he was intimate with, and affectionately embraced.
When Saint Antoine had again enfolded the Defarges in his dusky wings, and they, having finally alighted near the Saint's boundaries, were picking their way on foot through the black mud and offal of his streets, Madame Defarge spoke to her husband:
`Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tell thee?' 
`Very little tonight, but all he knows. There is another spy commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for all that he can say, but he knows of one.'
`Eh well!' said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool business air. `It is necessary to register him. How do they call that man?'
`He is English.'
`So much the better. His name?'
`Barsad,' said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness.
`Barsad,,' repeated madame. `Good. Christian name?'
`John.'
`John Barsad,' repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself. `Good. His appearance; is it known?'
`Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek; expression,therefore, sinister.'
`Eh my faith. It is a portrait!' said madame, laughing. `He shall be registered tomorrow.'
They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it was midnight) and where Madame Defarge immediately took her post at her desk, counted the small moneys that had been taken during her absence, examined the stock, went through the entries inthe book, made other entries of her own, checked the serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissed him to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the bowl of money for the second time, and began knotting them up in her handkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keeping through the night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, but never interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to the business and his domestic affairs, he walked up and down through life.
The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded by so foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur Defarge's olfactory sense was by no means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger than it ever tasted, and so did the stock of rum and brandy and aniseed. He whiffed the compound of scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe.
`You are fatigued,' said madame, raising her glance as she knotted the money. `There are only the usual odours.'
`I am a little tired,' her husband acknowledged.
`You are a little depressed, too,' said madame, whose quick eyes had never been so intent on the accounts, but they had had a ray or two for him. `Oh, the men, the men!'
`But my dear!' began Defarge.
`But my dear!' repeated madame, nodding firmly; `but my dear! You are faint of heart tonight, my dear!'
`Well, then,' said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung Out of his breast, `it is a long time.'
`It is a long time,' repeated his wife; `and when is it not a long time? Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule.'
`It does not take a long time to strike a man with Lightning,' said Defarge.
`How long,' demanded madame, composedly, `does it take to make and store the lightning? Tell me.'
Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there were something in that too.
`It does not take a long time,' said madame, `for an earthquake to swallow a town. Eh well! Tell me how long it takes to prepare the earthquake?'
`A long time, I suppose,' said Defarge.
`But when it is ready, it takes place, and grinds to pieces everything before it. In the meantime, it is always preparing, though it is not seen or heard. That is your consolation. Keep it.'
She tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe.
`I tell thee,' said madame, extending her right hand, for emphasis, `that although it is a long time on the road, it is on the road and coming. I tell thee it never retreats, and never stops. I tell thee it is always advancing. Look around and consider the lives of all the world that we know, consider the faces of all the world that we know, consider the rage and discontent to which the Jacquerie addresses itself with more and more of certainty every hour. Can such things last? Bah! I mock you.'
`My brave wife,' returned Defarge, standing before her with his head a little bent, and his hands clasped at his back, like a docile and attentive pupil before his catechist, `I do not question all this. But it has lasted a long time, and it is possible--you know well, my wife, it is possible--that it may not come, during our lives.'
`Eh well! How then?' demanded madame, tying another knot, as if there were another enemy strangled.
`Well!' said Defarge, with a half-complaining and half apologetic shrug. `We shall not see the triumph.'
We shall have helped it,' returned madame, with her extended hand in strong action. `Nothing that we do, is done in vain. I believe, with all my soul, that we shall see the triumph. But even if not, even if I knew certainly not, show me the neck of an aristocrat and tyrant, and still I would--'
Then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible knot indeed.
`Hold!' cried Defarge, reddening a little as if he felt charged with cowardice; `I too, my dear, will stop at nothing.'
`Yes! But it is your weakness that you sometimes need to see your victim and your opportunity, to sustain you. Sustain yourself without that. When the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil; but wait for the time with the tiger and the devil chained--not shown--yet always ready.'
Madame enforced the conclusion of this piece of advice by striking her little counter with her chain of money as if she knocked its brains out, and then gathering the heavy handkerchief under her arm in a serene manner, and observing that it was time to goto bed.
Next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual place in the wine-shop, knitting away assiduously. A rose lay beside her, and if she now and then glanced at the flower, it was with no infraction of her usual preoccupied air. There were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated, sprinkled about. The day was very hot, and heaps of flies, who were extending their inquisitive and adventurous perquisitions into all the glutinous little glasses near madame, fell dead at the bottom. Their decease made no impression on the other flies out promenading, who looked at them in the coolest manner (as if theythemselves were elephants, or something as far removed), until they met the same fate. Curious to consider how heedless flies are!--perhaps they thought as much at Court that sunny summer day.
A figure entering at the door threw a shadow on Madame Defarge which she felt to be a new one. She laid down her knitting, and began to pin her rose in her head-dress, before she looked at the figure.
It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose, the customers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop out of the wine-shop.
`Good day, madame,' said the new comer. 
`Good day, monsieur.'
She said it aloud, but added to herself as she resumed her knitting: `Hah! Good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black hair, generally rather handsome visage, complexion dark, eyes dark, thin long and sallow face, aquiline nose but notstraight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek which imparts a sinister expression! Good day, one and all!'
`Have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac, and a mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.'
Madame complied with a polite air.
`Marvellous cognac this, madame!'
It was the first time it had ever been so complimented, and Madame Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better. She said, however, that the cognac was flattered, and took up her knitting. The visitor watched her fingers for a few moments,and took the opportunity of observing the place in general.
`You knit with great skill, madame.'
`I am accustomed to it.'
`A pretty pattern too!'
`You think so?' said madame, looking at him with a smile. 
`Decidedly. May one ask what it is for?'
`Pastime,' said madame, still looking at him with a smile, while her fingers moved nimbly.
`Not for use?'
`That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I do--well,' said madame, drawing a breath and nodding her head with a stern kind of coquetry, `I'll use it!'
It was remarkable: but the taste of Saint Antoine seemed to be decidedly opposed to a rose on the headdress of Madame Defarge. Two men had entered separately, and had been about to order drink, when, catching sight of that novelty, they faltered, made a pretence of looking about as if for some friend who was not there, and went away. Nor, of those who had been there when this visitor entered, was there one left. They had all dropped off. The spy had kept his eyes open, but had been able to detect no sign. They had lounged away in a poverty-stricken, purposeless, accidental manner, quite natural and unimpeachable.
`JOHN,' thought madame, checking off her work as her fingers knitted, and her eyes looked at the stranger., `Stay long enough, and I shall knit ``BARSAD'' before you go.'
`You have a husband, madame?' 
`I have.'
`Children?' 
`No children.' 
`Business seems bad?' 
`Business is very bad; the people are so poor.'
`Ah, the unfortunate, miserable people! So oppressed, too--as you say.'
`As you say,' madame retorted, correcting him, and deftly knitting an extra something into his name that boded him no good.
`Pardon me; certainly it was I who said so, but you naturally think so. Of course.'
`I think?' returned madame, in a high voice. `I and my husband have enough to do to keep this wine-shop open, without thinking. All we think, here, is how to live. That is the subject we think of, and it gives us, from morning to night, enough to think about, without embarrassing our heads concerning others. I think for others? No, no.'
The spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could find or make, did not allow his baffled state to express itself in his sinister face; but, stood with an air of gossiping gallantry, leaning his elbow on Madame Defarge's little counter, and occasionally sipping his cognac.
`A bad business this, madame, of Gaspard's execution. Ah! the poor Gaspard!' With a sigh of great compassion.
`My faith!' returned madame, coolly and lightly, `if people use knives for such purposes, they have to pay for it. He knew beforehand what the price of his luxury was; he has paid the price.'
`I believe,' said the spy, dropping his soft voice to a tone that invited confidence, and expressing an injured revolutionary susceptibility in every muscle of his wicked face: `I believe there is much compassion and anger in this neighbourhood, touching the poor fellow? Between ourselves.'
`Is there?' asked madame, vacantly. 
`Is there not?'
`--Here is my husband!' said Madame Defarge.
As the keeper of the wine-shop entered at the door, the spy saluted him by touching his hat, and saying, with an engaging smile, `Good day, Jacques!' Defarge stopped short, and stared at him.
`Good day, Jacques!' the spy repeated; with not quite so much confidence, or quite so easy a smile under the stare.
`You deceive yourself, monsieur,' returned the keeper of the wine-shop. `You mistake me for another. That is not my name. I am Ernest Defarge.'
`It is all the same,' said the spy, airily, but discomfited too: `good day!'
`Good day!' answered Defarge, drily.
`I was saying to madame, with whom I had the pleasure of chatting when you entered, that they tell me there is--and no wonder!--much sympathy and anger in Saint Antoine, touching the unhappy fate of poor Gaspard.'
`No one has told me so,' said Defarge, shaking his head. `I know nothing of it.'
Having said it, he passed behind the little counter, and stood with his hand on the back of his wife's chair, looking over that barrier at the person to whom they were both opposed, and whom either of them would have shot with the greatest satisfaction.
The spy, well used to his business, did not change his unconscious attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac, took a sip of fresh water, and asked for another glass of cognac. Madame Defarge poured it out for him, took to her knitting again, and hummed a little song over it.
`You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than I do?' observed Defarge.
`Not at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so profoundly interested in its miserable inhabitants.'
`Hah!' muttered Defarge.
`The pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur Defarge, recalls to me,' pursued the spy, `that I have the honour of cherishing some interesting associations with your name.'
`Indeed!' said Defarge, with much indifference.
`Yes, indeed. When Dr. Manette was released, you, his old domestic, had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered to you. You see I am informed of the circumstances?'
`Such is the fact, certainly,' said Defarge. He had had it conveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wife's elbow as she knitted and warbled, that he would do best to answer, but always with brevity.
`It was to you,' said the spy, `that his daughter came; and it was from your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a neat brown monsieur; how is he called?--in a little wig--Lorry--of the bank of Tellson and Company--over to England.'
`Such is the fact,' repeated Defarge.
`Very interesting remembrances' said the spy. `I have known Dr. Manette and his daughter, in England.'
`Yes?' said Defarge.
`You don't hear much about them now?' said the spy. 
`No,' said Defarge.
`In effect,' madame struck in, looking up from her work and her little song, `we never hear about them. We received the news of their safe arrival, and perhaps another letter, or perhaps Mo; but, since then, they have gradually taken their road in life--we,ours--and we have held no correspondence.'
`Perfectly so, madame,' replied the spy. `She is going to be married.'
`Going?' echoed madame. `She was pretty enough to have been married long ago. You English are cold, it seems to me.'
`Oh! You know I am English.'
`I perceive your tongue is,' returned madame; `and what the tongue is, I suppose the man is.'
He did not take the identification as a compliment; but he made the best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After sipping his cognac to the end, he added:
`Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to an Englishman; to one who, like herself, is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah, poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!) it is a curious thing that she is going to marry the nephew of' Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the present Marquis. But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he is Mr. Charles Darnay. D'Aulnais is the name of his mother's family.'
Madame Defarge knitted steadily, but the intelligence had a palpable effect upon her husband. Do what he would, behind the little counter, as to the striking of a light and the lighting of his pipe, he was troubled, and his hand was not trustworthy. The spy would have been no spy if he had failed to see it, or to record it in his mind.
Having made, at least, this one hit, whatever it might prove to be worth, and no customers coming in to help him to any other, Mr. Barsad paid for what he had drunk, and took his leave: taking occasion to say, in a genteel manner, before he departed, that he looked forward to the pleasure of seeing Monsieur and Madame Defarge again. For some minutes after he had emerged into the outer presence of Saint Antoine, the husband and wife remained exactly as he had left them, lest he should come back.
`Can it be true,' said Defarge, in a low voice, looking down at his wife as he stood smoking with his hand on the back of her chair: `what he has said of Ma'amselle Manette?'
`As he has said it,' returned madame, lifting her eyebrows a little, `it is probably false. But it may be true.'
`If it is--'Defarge began, and stopped. 
`If it is?' repeated his wife.
`--And if it does come, while we live to see it triumph--I hope, for her sake, Destiny will keep her husband out of France.'
`Her husband's destiny,' said Madame Defarge, with her usual composure, `will take him where he is to go, and will lead him to the end that is to end him. That is all I know.'
`But it is very strange--now, at least, is it not very strange'--said Defarge, rather pleading with his wife to induce her to admit it, `that, after all our sympathy for Monsieur her father, and herself, her husband's name should be proscribed under your hand at this moment, by the side of that infernal dog's who has just left us?'
`Stranger things than that will happen when it does come,' answered madame. `I have them both here, of a certainty; and they are both here for their merits; that is enough.'
She rolled up her knitting when she had said those words, and presently took the rose out of the handkerchief that was wound about her head. Either Saint Antoine had an instinctive sense that the objectionable decoration was gone or Saint Antoine was on the watch for its disappearance; howbeit, the Saint took courage to lounge in, very shortly afterwards, and the wine-shop recovered its habitual aspect.
In the evening, at which season of all others Saint Antoine turned himself inside out, and sat on doorsteps and window-ledges, and came to the corners of vile streets and courts, for a breath of air, Madame Defarge with her work in her hand was accustomed to pass from place to place and from group to group: a Missionary--there were many like her--such as the world will do well never to breed again. All the women knitted. They knitted worthless things; but, the mechanical work was a mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; the hands moved for the jaws and the digestive apparatus: if the bony fingers had been still, the stomachs would have been more famine-pinched.
But, as the fingers went, the eyes went, and the thoughts. And as Madame Defarge moved on from group to group, all three went quicker and fiercer among every little knot of women that she had spoken with, and left behind.
Her husband smoked at his door, looking after her with admiration. `A great woman,' said he, `a strong woman, a grand woman, a frightfully grand woman!'
Darkness closed around, and then came the ringing of church bells and the distant beating of the military drums in the Palace Court-Yard, as the women sat knitting, knitting. Darkness encompassed them. Another darkness was closing in as surely, when the church bells, then ringing pleasantly in many an airy steeple over France, should be melted into thundering cannon; when the military drums should be beating to drown a wretched voice, that night all-potent as the voice of Power and Plenty, Freedom and Life. So much was closing in about the women who sat knitting, knitting, that they their very selves were closing in around a structure yet unbuilt, where they were to sit knitting, knitting, counting dropping heads. 
德伐日太太和她的丈夫平平静静地回到了圣安托万的怀抱，同时一个戴蓝帽子的人影却在黑夜里风尘仆仆地走上了若干英里的长途，按罗盘指示的方向往候爵大人庄园渐渐靠近。侯爵大人此时正在坟墓里谛听着林莽的细语。现在石雕人面十分清闲，可以听树林和泉水的声音了，村里的穷人也敢于闯到巨大的石砌庭院以及台阶附近来找野菜充饥和找枯枝作柴禾了。因为饥饿他们产生了一种幻觉，以为石雕人面已改变了表情。村里流传着一种谣言——它的存在跟村里的人一样有气无力——说是那把匕首刺进去时所有的石雕人面都改变了表情，从骄傲化作了愤怒和痛苦，而在泉水上空四十英尺晃荡起那个人影之后，石像的表情又起了变化，带上了一种报仇雪恨的残酷。而这种表情将永远保留下去。同时又有人指出在发生凶杀的房间窗户上方的石像那雕刻出的鼻子有了两个小小的窝儿。这窝儿人人认得，可过去就没有人在石像上见过。偶然会有两三个衣衫褴褛的农民从伙伴群中走出来窥看变作了石像的侯爵大人，并伸出精瘦的指头指指戳戳闹个分把钟，然后又跟伙伴们一起踏着苔藓和树叶逃走了，像些野兔一样一—野兔倒比他们幸运，可以在林莽中活下去。
庄园与茅屋；石雕人面与吊着摇摇晃晃的身影；石头地板上的斑斑血迹与乡村泉眼中的清清流泉——数以干亩计的土地—一法兰西的一个省区——法兰西的整体一—它们全都在夜空之下凝聚成了一条微弱的细线。整个地球和它的种种伟大与渺小都在一个闪烁的星星之中存在。既然人类知识已经可以分析出光线的构成，那么，更高级的智力必将能在我们这个地球的微弱的光亮中读解出它每一个负责人的每一种思想和行为、每一桩罪恶和德行了。
德伐日夫妇坐着公共马车在星光下隆隆地来到巴黎城门。那是他们自然要经过的地点。他们在路障警卫室前停了停，拿风灯的人照例来作了检查和询问。德伐日认得那儿的两个士兵和一个警察。他跟警察是知己，两人彼此热情地拥抱。
圣安托万把德伐日夫妇拥抱在黄昏的翅膀里。两人在边界附近下了车，在它街道上的黑泥和垃圾间拣着路走。这时德伐日太太对她的丈夫说：
“喂，朋友，警察局的雅克给你说了些什么？”
“今晚说得很少，但他知道的全都告诉我了。我们这儿又派来一个密探，据他说还可能派更多的人来，但他不认识。”
“那好！”德伐日太太带着冷冰冰的办理业务的神气扬起眉毛说。“得把他记录下来。他们怎么叫他？”
“他是英国人。”
“那更好。姓什么？”
“巴赫萨，”德伐日说，把它念成了法国音。但是他很仔细，想弄得很准确，所以又准确地拼出了每一个字母。
“巴萨，”太太说。“好，名字呢？”
“约翰。”
“约翰.巴萨，”太太低声念了念，再重复道。“好，他的长相，知道不？”
“年约四十，身高约五英尺九，黑色头发，微黑皮肤，大体可以算漂亮。深色眼珠，脸瘦长，灰黄。鹰钩鼻，但不直，略向左颊歪斜，因此表情阴险。”
“呃，不错，好一幅肖像画！”太太笑了笑说。“明天给他记下来。”
两人转入酒店。因为已是半夜，酒店早关了门。德伐日太太立即在柜台旁坐下，清点她离开之后收入的零钱，盘点存货，翻查帐本，自己又记上几笔帐，对跑堂的进行了一切可能的检查，然后打发他去睡觉。她这才又第二次倒出碗里的钱，用手绢包起来，打了一串疙瘩，以免夜里出危险。这时德伐日便衔着烟斗走来走去，满意地欣赏着，不去打扰她。他在这类业务和家务的活动中一辈子都只是走来走去而已。
夜很热，酒店密闭，环境又脏，所以有股臭味。德伐日先生的嗅觉并不灵敏，但是店里的葡萄酒味却比平时浓了许多，甜酒、白兰地和茴香的气味也浓。他放下抽完的烟斗，用鼻子吹了吹这种混合气味。
“你累坏了，”老板娘包着钱，打着结，抬头看了他一眼。“这儿只有平常的味儿。”
“我有点疲倦，”她的丈夫承认。
“你的情绪也有点低沉，”老板娘说。她那敏锐的眼睛极专注地看着帐目，可也不时瞄他一两眼。“啊，男人，男人！”
“可是我亲爱的！”德伐日开始说。
“可是我亲爱的！”老板娘坚定地点着头说，“可是我亲爱的！你今天晚上心肠太软！”
“是的，”德伐日说，他的话似乎是从心里痛苦地挤出来的，“时间的确太长了。”
“时间倒是很长，”他的妻子重复他的话，“可哪一件事的时间又能不长呢？报仇雪恨要花很长的时间，这是规律。”
“雷打死人就不需要多少时间，”德伐日说。
“可是你告诉我，”老板娘平静地问道，“让雷电聚积起来需要多少时间？”
德伐日抬起头沉思，仿佛觉得此话也有道理。
“地震毁灭一座城市，”老板娘说，“并不需要多少时间。可是你想想再告诉我，准备一次地震要多久？”
“我看要很长的时间，”德伐日说。
“可是一旦准备成热它就会爆发，把它面前的一切都化成粉末。同时，地震的准备虽然看不见听不见，却总在进行着。这对你就已经是安慰了，记住。”
她的眼睛里冒着火，手上抽紧了一个结，好像掐死了一个敌人。
“告诉你，”老板娘伸出右手强调说，“虽然它在路上的时间很长，它却已经上了路，走过来了。告诉你，它是不会退却，也不会停步的。告诉你，它永远在前进。看看周围的世界，考虑一下世界上我们所认得的每一个人吧，想一想雅克们随着每一小时而增加的愤怒和不满吧！它还长得了么？呸！你真可笑。”
“我勇敢的老婆，”德伐日微低着头，双手背在身后，像个站在教理问答老师面前的小学生似的回答道，“我对这一切都不怀疑。但是它迟迟不来已经太久，很有可能我们这一辈子都盼不到它了。你很明白这是可能的，我的老婆。”
“呃！那又怎么样？”老板娘问，又打了一个结，好像又绞死了一个敌人。”
“唔！”德戈日半是抱怨、半是道歉地耸了耸肩。“那我们就不会看到胜利了。”
“可我们总会促进它的倒来，”老板娘回答，伸出的那只手做了个有力的手势，“我们的努力是不会白费的。我的整个灵魂相信，我们必能看到胜利。即使看不到，即使我明知看不到，你若是给我一个贵族和暴君的脖子，我仍然可以把它一—”
老板娘咬牙切齿地抽紧了一个很可怕的结。
“别说了！”德伐日脸红了，叫了起来，仿佛有谁指责他胆小。“亲爱的，我也是什么都敢干的。”
“不错！但是你有时需要看到对象和机会才坚持得下去，这是你的弱点。别那样，你要坚持。时候一到便把猛虎和魔鬼都放出去，可是在猛虎和魔鬼还有链子拴着的时候，你就得等待时机——不露声色地作好准备。”
老板娘把那一串结子在小柜台上抽打着，仿佛要砸出它的脑浆来，用以强调她的结论。然后她平静地收起沉重的手巾包夹在腋下说，“是睡觉的时候了。”
第二天中午这个可敬的女人又在酒店里她平时的座位上勤勤恳恳也织毛线了。她的旁边放了一朵玫瑰花，虽然她有时要它一两眼，那却并不妨害她一向的遥遥自在的神态。店里有几个零星的客人，有的喝酒，有的没喝；有的站着，有的坐着。天很热，一群群的苍蝇作着探索性的冒险，爬到了老板娘身边带粘性的小酒杯里，落到杯底死去了。在杯外遨游的苍蝇们对伙伴们的死亡却无动于衷，只以最冷淡的态度望着它们，仿佛自己是大象之类跟它们毫不相干的东西，直到它们自己也遇到同样的命运为止。想一想苍蝇那种粗心大意倒也是很有趣的！—一那个炎热的夏天宫廷诸公之粗心大意也许正跟它们不相上下。
一个人影踅进门来，影子投在德伐日太太身上。她觉得是个新人，便放下毛线，往头巾上插上玫瑰，瞄了来人一眼。
有趣的是德伐日太太一拿起玫瑰，顾客们便停止了谈话，开始一个个往店外溜。
“日安，老板娘，”新来的人说。
“日安，先生。”
她大声回答，又打起毛线来，同时心里想道，“哈！日安，年纪四十左右，身高五英尺九左右，黑头发，面孔算得上漂亮，肤色偏黑，深色眼珠，脸瘦长灰质，鼻子鹰钩形，但不直，往左面颊作特别角度的倾斜，形成一种阴险的表情！日安，每一个特征都有！”
“劳驾给我一小杯陈年干邑酒，外加一口新鲜凉水，老板娘。”
老板娘很有礼貌地照办了。
“这干邑酒真好喝，老板娘！”
这酒是第一次受到这种称赞。对于它的评价德伐日太太知道得很多，心中有更准确的估计。不过她仍然说那是过奖了，然后又打起毛线来。客人望了一会儿她的指头，又趁机环顾了一下这地方。
“你打毛线的技术好极了，太太。”
“我习惯了。”
“花样也挺漂亮的。”，
“你觉得漂亮么？”老板娘微笑地看着他说。
“肯定。可以问问是作什么用的吗？”
“打着好玩的，”老板娘说，仍然微笑地看着他，同时灵巧地运动着手指。
“不作什么用？”
“那要看情况。说不定有一天我能给它派上用场的。如果那样的话——晤，”老板娘说，既卖弄风情，又严厉地吸了一口气，点了点头，“它就会有用了。”
说来奇怪，圣安托万的人似乎坚决反对德伐日太太头上插玫瑰。有两个人分头走进店来，想要酒喝，看见那不寻常的玫瑰花，便都犹豫了，都装作到那儿找朋友的样子溜掉了。连他们进店之前在店里的客人也都走得一个不剩了。密探把眼睛睁得大大的，却什么迹象也没发现。人们都走开了。他们穷，行动都很偶然没有目的。这很自然，也无懈可击。
“约翰，”老板娘心想，手指头打着毛线，心里却在检查着手上的工作，眼睛望着生客。“只要你多呆一会儿，我便在你离开之前，把‘巴萨’织进去。”
“你有丈夫吗，老板娘？”
“有。”
“有孩子吗？”
“没有。”
“生意似乎不大好呀？”
“生意很不好，老百姓太穷了。”
“啊，不幸的、痛苦的人民！还受到这样的压迫——正如你所说的。”
“这可是你说的，”老板娘反驳，纠正了他的话，同时在他的名字上娴熟地添上一笔对他不会有什么好处的帐。
“对不起，那确实是我说的，可你自然会这么想的，毫无疑问。”
“我想？”老板娘提高了嗓门回答。“我跟我丈夫要维持这个店面，已经够忙的了，还想什么。我们在这儿想的只是怎样活下去。我们想的就是这个问题，这就够我们从早到晚想个没完了，我们才不去想别人的事自讨苦吃呢。要我想别人的事么？不，我不干。”
那密探是来搜罗点面包皮或者制造点什么的。他不愿在他那阴鸷的脸上露出狼狈的样子，只把胳膊肘靠在老板娘的小柜台上，装作一副献献殷勤闲聊闲聊的神态，偶尔啜一口干邑酒。
“加斯帕德的死，老板娘，真不成话。啊，可怜的加斯帕德！”他说时发出一声深长的叹息，表示同情。
“啊呀！”老板娘轻松冷淡地说，“拿了刀子干这种事总是要受罚的。他早就该知道玩这种奢侈品是什么价钱，不过是欠债还钱罢
“我相信，”密探说，放低了声音。为了取得对方的信任，他那张邪恶的脸上每一块肌肉都表现出受到伤害的革命的敏感：“说句知心话，我相信这一带的人对这个可怜人有着强烈的同情和愤怒，是么？”
“是么？”老板娘一副莫名其妙的表情说。
“没有么？”
“——我当家的来了：”德伐日太太说。
酒店老板进了门，密探碰了碰帽檐行了个礼，带着讨好的微笑说，“日安，雅克！”德伐日停了步，瞪大眼望着他。
“日安，雅克！”密探重复。在对方的注视下显得不太自信，笑得也不太自然。
“你认错人了，先生，”酒店老板回答。“把我看作别人了。我不叫雅克。我叫欧内斯特.德伐日。”
“叫什么都一样，”密探笑眯眯地说，但也诱着狼狈，“日安！”
“日安！”德伐日干巴巴地回答。
“你进来的时候，我有幸在跟老板娘闲聊，正说起别人告诉我的事：圣安托万人对于可怜的加斯帕德的不幸命运表现了强烈的同情和愤怒呢。”
“没听见谁说过这祥的话，”德伐日摇摇头说，“我不知道。”
说完这话，他走到小柜台后面，一只乎放在他妻子的椅背上，隔着这道障碍望着他们共同面对的人。若是能一枪崩了他，两人是会感到痛快的。
那密探很习惯于他的职业生活，并没有改变他那不自觉的姿态，只喝干了他那一小杯干邑酒，啜了一口清水，又叫了一杯干邑。德伐日太太给他斟了酒，又开始打起毛线来，嘴里哼着小曲儿。
“你对这一带好像很熟呢。就是说，比我还熟，是么？”德伐日说。
“不不，不过想多知道一点。我对苦难的居民有深刻的关心，”
“啊！”德伐日含糊地说。
“能有幸跟你谈话，德伐日先生，令我想起——”密探接下去，“我有幸能把你的姓作一个有趣的联想。”
“真的！”德伐日淡漠地说。
“不错，真的。我知道曼内特医生放出来时是由你照顾的。你是他家的老仆人，所以把他交给了你。你看，我还算了解情况吧？”
“有那么回事，肯定，”德伐日说。他的妻子在打毛线和唱歌时仿佛偶然地碰了碰他的手肘，他明白那是暗示他最好还是回答，但要简短。
“他的女儿来后，”密探说，“找的也是你。她是从你手里把她父亲接走的，同来的还有一个一身褐色衣服、穿戴很整齐的先生。那人叫什么来着？——戴个小假发——叫罗瑞——是台尔森银行的人——把他接到英格兰去了。”
“是事实，”德伐日重复。
“多么有趣的回忆！”密探说。“我在英国跟曼内特医生和他的女儿都认识。”
“是么？”，
“你现在不大得到他们的消息了么？”密探说。
“没有消息，”德伐日说。
“实际上，”老板娘放下了活计，也不再哼曲子，抬起头插嘴道，“我们没有得到他俩的消息。我们接到他们平安到达的消息之后只收到过一两封信，从那以后他们的生活逐渐走上了正轨——我们也只顾着自己的生活—一就没有再通信了。”
“完全如此，老板娘，”密探说。“那小姐快要结婚了。”
“快要结婚了？”老板娘回答。“她挺漂亮的，早该结婚了。你们英国人太冷淡了，我好像觉得。”
“啊！你要知道我就是英国人呢！”
“我早听出了你的口音，”老板娘回答，“我估计口音既然是英国的，人也就是英国人了。”
他没有把这番鉴定看作是赞美之辞，只好努力招架，哈哈一笑应付过去。他喝完了干邑酒，又说：
“真的，曼内特小姐要结婚了。但对象不是英国人，而是跟她一样出生在法国的法国人。说到加斯帕德（啊，可怜的加斯帕德！太残酷！太残酷！），有一件事倒很奇怪。小姐要嫁的是侯爵大人的侄子，而加斯帕德正是因为侯爵才被高高吊起来的。换句话说，那人正是现在的侯爵。但是他在英国是隐姓埋名的，在那儿并不是侯爵。他叫查尔斯.达尔内先生。他母亲姓达尔内。”
德伐日太太平静地织着毛线，但这消息对她的丈夫却产生了明显的效果。他在小柜台后面打火点烟斗，可无论做什么那手总有点不听使唤，心里也很乱。那密探若是连这一点也看不出或是没记录在心里，他就算不上是密探了。
巴萨先生这一枪至少已经刺了个正着，虽然它有什么价值还不清楚。此时又再无客人进来给他再显身手的机会，他便付了酒钱，走掉了。临行前他又利用机会温文尔雅地表示希望有机会跟德伐日夫妇再会。他离开酒店之后好一会儿这对夫妇仍然保持着原样没动，怕他又会回来。
“他关于曼内特小姐的消息，”德伐日低声说，他站着，吸着烟，一只手还在她椅背上，“能是真的么？”
“他那话很可能是假的，”老板娘眉毛扬起了一点点，“但也可能是真的。”
“如果是真的一—”德伐日说着又住了嘴。
“如果是真的又怎么样？”他的妻子重复说。
“——而那件事又发生了，我们看到了胜利——那么为了她的缘故，但愿命运让他别回法国来。”
“她丈夫的命运，”德伐日太太跟平时一样平静地说，“会带他到该去的地方，让他在该收场的地方收场。我就知道这一点。”
“但是有一件事却很奇怪——至少现在是很奇怪的，不是么？”德伐日说，带着恳求他妻于承认的口气，“尽管我们非常同情她和她的父亲，她丈夫的名字此时却在你的手下，记录进了惩罚名单，跟刚才离开我们的那条地狱的狗在一起。”
“到了那时比这更离奇的事也会发生的，”老板娘回答。“我把他俩都记在这儿了，这是肯定的。他们各有各的帐，都记下了，那就行了。”
说完这话，她卷起了毛线活儿，把玫瑰花从包在头上的手巾上取下来。圣安托万人或者是有一种本能，意识到那讨厌的装饰已经不见了，或者是一直观察着等待着那装饰的消失。总而言之，不一会儿工夫人们已鼓起勇气往店里走来，酒店又恢复了往日的景象。
在这个季节里的黄昏，圣安托万人全体都要出门，有的坐在门槛上，有的坐在窗台上，有的则坐到肮脏的街头巷尾。都是出来透气的。这时德伐日太太总习惯于拿着毛线活儿在东一群西一群的人之间走来走去：她是个传教士——像她这样的人还不少—一人世间若是不再产生这样的传教士就好了。女人们织着毛线，织的是不值钱的东西。但是，机械的工作可以机械地带来吃喝。手的活动是为了嘴和消化系统的活动。若是精瘦的指头停止了活动，肠胃就更填不满了。
但是她们的手指所到之处也正是眼睛所到之处，也是思想所到之处。德伐日太太在人群间周游时，她所接触到的妇女们的手指、眼睛和思想都行动得更快更猛烈了。
她的丈夫在门口吸烟，带着钦佩之情打量着她。“了不起的女人，”他说，“坚强的女人，伟大的女人，伟大得可怕的女人！”
黑暗在积聚，教堂的钟声响了，远处的王家卫队的军鼓响了。妇女们坐在那儿不断织着毛线。黑暗笼罩着她们。另一种黑暗同祥在稳定地积聚着。那时在全法兰西的尖塔上发出欢声的铜钟将会被熔铸为发出雷鸣的大炮。而隆隆的军鼓亦将淹没一个凄惨的声音。那个夜晚将跟力量与富裕的声音，自由与生命的声音一样无所不能。妇女们坐在那儿不断地编织着，许多东西都往她们积聚包围过来，使她们自己围到一个还没有建立起来的架子下面，坐在那儿不断地编织，记录要落下的人头。
Book 2 Chapter 17 One Night
NEVER did the sun go down with a brighter glory on the quiet comer in Soho, than one memorable evening when Doctor and his daughter sat under the plane-tree together. Never did the moon rise with a milder radiance over great London, than on that night when it found them still seated under the tree, and shone upon their faces through its leaves.
Lucie was to be married to-morrow. She had reserved this last evening for her father, and they sat alone under the plane-tree.
`You are happy, my dear father?'
`Quite, my child.'
They had said little though they had been there a long time. When it was yet light enough to work and read, she had neither engaged herself in her usual work, nor had she read to him. She had employed herself in both ways, at his side under the tree, many and many a time; but, this time was not quite like any other, and nothing could make it so.
And I am very happy to-night, dear father. I am deeply happy in the love that Heaven has so blessed--my love for Charles, and Charles's love for me. But, if my life were not to be still consecrated to you, or if my marriage were so arranged as that it would part us, even by the length of a few of these streets, I should be more unhappy and self-reproachful now than I can tell you. Even as it is---'
Even as it was, she could not command her voice.
In the sad moonlight, she clasped him by the neck, and lad her face upon his breast. In the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the sun itself Bas the light called human life is---at its coming and its going.
`Dearest dear! Can you tell me, this last time, that you feel quite, quite sure, no new affections of mine, and no new duties of mine, will ever interpose between us? I know it well, but do you know it? In your own heart, do you feel quite certain?'
Her father answered, with a cheerful firmness of conviction he could scarcely have assumed, `Quite sure, my darling! More than that,' he added, as he tenderly kissed her: `my future is far brighter, Lucie, seen through your marriage, than it could have been--nay, than it ever was--without it.' 
`If I could hope that, my father!---'
`Believe it, love! Indeed it is so. Consider how natural and how plain it is, my dear, that it should be so. You, devoted and young, cannot fully appreciate the anxiety I have felt that your life should not be wasted'
She moved her hand towards his lips, but he took it in his, and repeated the word.
`--wasted, my child--should not be wasted, struck aside from the natural order of things--for my sake. Your unselfishness cannot entirely comprehend how much my mind has gone on this; but, only ask yourself how could my happiness be perfect, while yours was incomplete?'
`If I had never seen Charles, my father, I should have been quite happy with you.'
He smiled at her unconscious admission that she would have been unhappy without Charles, having seen him; and replied:
`My child, you did see him, and it is Charles. If it had not been Charles, it would have been another. Or, if it had been no other, I should have been the cause, and then the dark part of my life would have cast its shadow beyond myself and would have fallen on you.'
It was the first time, except at the trial, of her ever hearing him refer to the period of his suffering. It gave her a strange and new sensation while his words were in her ears; and she remembered it long afterwards.
`See!' said the Doctor of Beauvais, raising his hand towards the moon. `I have looked at her from my prison-window, when I could not bear her light. I have looked at her when it has been such torture to me to think of her shining upon what I had lost, that I have beaten my head against my prison-walls. I have looked at her, in a state so dull and lethargic, that I have thought of nothing but the number of horizontal lines `I could draw across her at the full, and the number of perpendicular lines with which I could intersect them.' He added in his inward and pondering manner, as he looked at the moon, `It was twenty either way, I remember, and the twentieth was difficult to squeeze in.'
The strange thrill with which she heard him go back to that time, deepened as he dwelt upon it; but, there was nothing to shock her in the manner of his reference. He only seemed to contrast his present cheerfulness and felicity with the dire endurance thatwas over. 
`I have looked at her, speculating thousands of times upon the unborn child from whom I had been rent. Whether it was alive. Whether it had been born alive, or the poor mother's shock had killed it. Whether it was a son who would some day avenge his father. (There was a time in my imprisonment, when my desire for vengeance was unbearable.) Whether it was a son who would never know his father's story; who might even live to weigh the possibility of his father's having disappeared of his own will and act. Whether it was a daughter who would grow to be a woman.'
She drew closer to him, and kissed his cheek and his hand. `I have pictured my daughter, to myself, as perfectly forgetful of me--rather, altogether ignorant of me, and unconscious of me. I have cast up the years of her age, year after year. I have seen her married to a man who knew nothing of my fate. I have altogether perished from the remembrance of the living, and in the next generation my place was a blank.'
`My father! Even to hear that you had such thoughts of a daughter who never existed, strikes to my heart as if I had been that child.'
`You, Lucie? It is out of the consolation and restoration you have brought to me, that these remembrances arise, and pass between us and the moon on this last night.--what did I say just now?'
She knew nothing of you. She cared nothing for you.'
`So! But on other moonlight nights, when the sadness and the silence have touched me in a different way--have affected me with something as like a sorrowful sense of peace, as any emotion that had pain for its foundations could--I have imagined her as coming to me in my cell, and leading me out into the freedom beyond the fortress. I have seen her image in the moonlight often, as I now see you; except that I never held her in my arms; it stood between the little grated window and the door. But, you understand that that was not the child I am speaking of?'
`The figure was not; the--the--image; the fancy?'
`No. That was another thing. It stood before my disturbed sense of sight, but it never moved. The phantom that my mind pursued, was another and more real child. Of her outward appearance I know no more than that she was like her mother. The other had that likeness too--as you have--but was not the same. Can you follow me, Lucie? Hardly, I think I `doubt you must have beer, a solitary prisoner to understand these prisoner perplexed distinctions.
His collected and calm manner could not prevent her blood from running cold, as he thus tried to anatomise his old condition.
`In that more peaceful state, I have imagined her, in the moonlight, coming to me and taking me out to show me that the home of her married life was lull of her loving remembrance of her lost father. My picture was in her room, and I was in her prayers.Her life was active, cheerful, useful; hut my poor history pervaded it all.'
`I was that child,my father. I was not half so good, but in my love that was I.'
`And she showed me her children,' said the Doctor of Beauvais, `and they had heard of me, and had been taught to pity me. When they passed a prison of the State, they kept far from its frowning walls, and looked up at its bars, and spoke in whispers. She could never deliver me; I imagined that she always brought me back after showing me such things. But then, blessed with the relief of tears, I fell upon my knees, and blessed her.'
`I am that child, I hope, my father. O my dear, my dear, will you bless me as fervently to-morrow?'
`Lucie, I recall these old troubles in the reason that I have to-night for loving you better than words can tell, and thanking God for my great happiness. My thoughts, when they were wildest, never rose near the happiness that I have known with you, and that we have before us.
He embraced her, solemnly commended her to Heaven, and humbly thanked Heaven for having bestowed her on him. By-and-by, they went into the house.
There was no one hidden to the marriage but Mr. Lorry; there was even to be no bridesmaid but the gaunt Miss Pross. The marriage was to make no change in their place of residence; they had been able to extend it, by taking to themselves the upper rooms formerly belonging to the apocryphal invisible lodger, and they desired nothing more.
Doctor Manette was very cheerful at the little supper. They were only three at table, and Miss Pross made the third. He regretted that Charles was not there; was more than half disposed to object to the loving little plot that kept him away; and drank to him affectionately. 
So, the time came for him to bid Lucie good night, and they separated. But, in the stillness of the third hour of the morning, Lucie came down stairs again, and stole into his room; not free from unshaped fears, beforehand.
All things, however, were in their places; all was quiet; and he lay asleep, his white hair picturesque on the untroubled pillow, and his hands lying quiet on the coverlet. She put her needless candle in the shadow at a distance, crept up to his bed, and put her lips to his; then, leaned over him, and looked at him.
Into his handsome face, the bitter waters of captivity had worn; but, he covered up their tracks with a determination so strong, that he held the mastery of them even in his sleep. A more remarkable face in its quiet, resolute, and guarded struggle with an unseen assailant, was not to be beheld in all the wide dominions of sleep, that night.
She timidly laid her hand on his dear breast, and put up a prayer that she might ever be as true to him as her love aspired to be, and as his sorrows deserved. Then, she withdrew her hand, and kissed his lips once more, and went away. So, the sunrise came, and the shadows of the leaves of the plane-tree moved upon his face, as softly as her lips had moved in praying for him. 
太阳在索霍那平静的街角以从不曾有过的辉煌落了山。那是一个值得纪念的黄昏，医生和他的女儿一起坐在梧桐树下。月亮的光也以从不曾有过的温柔照在伟大的伦敦城头。她看见了他俩坐在树下，并透过树叶照在他们脸上。
露西明天就要结婚了。她把这最后的晚上留给了爸爸。两人单独坐在梧桐树下。
“你高兴吗，亲爱的爸爸？”
“很高兴，孩子。”
两人在那儿已坐了许久，却没有多说话。在天色还明亮可以工作和读书时，她没有做日常的女红针黹，也没有念书给爸爸听——她曾不知多少次坐在树下他的身边，做过针线活儿，给他念过书，这一回却不同，她没有理由那样做。
“我今天晚上很高兴，爸爸。上天赐给了我爱情：我对查尔斯的爱情和查尔斯对我的爱情。我感到非常快乐。可是如果我不能依旧把我的生命奉献给你，或是我婚姻的安排竟要我跟你分开，即使不过几条街的距离，我也不会像我刚才告诉你的那么快乐的。我会责备自己。即使就像现在这样—一”
即使像现在这样，她已经禁不住带了些哽咽。
她在凄清的月光下搂住了爸爸的脖子，把脸靠在他的胸脯上。在月光下——月光总是冷清的，正如太阳的光本身——正如被称作人类的生命的那种光——正如生命的光的到来和离去一样，都那么冷清。
“我最最亲爱的！这是最后的一次了。你能否告诉我，你能非常非常肯定我的新情感和新职责不会影响我们的关系？这一点我是很明白的，但是你明白么？在你自己的心里，你是否很肯定？”
她的父亲以他很少表现的欢乐而坚定的信心回答道，“很肯定，我亲爱的！还有，”他温柔地亲吻她，“从你的婚姻情况看来，露西，我的未来肯定会比没有这桩婚事时更要好得多一—是的，会比以前好得多的。”
“但愿我能有那样的希望，爸爸——”
“相信我的话，亲爱的！的确会的。你想想看，这事很自然，也很简单，原是顺理成章的事，亲爱的。你年轻，一心只想到我，却不懂得我为你所操的心，我怕你蹉跎了——”
她用手捂住了他的嘴，他却抓住了她的手，重复道：
“磋跪了，孩子，不应该为我磋跎了时光。你的忘我帮神使你不能完全理解我对这事有多着急。你可以问问自己，若是你不能完全幸福，我还能完全幸福么？”
“若是我没遇到查尔斯，爸爸，我跟你也一定会很幸福的。”
他笑了，因为她已不自觉地承认了在遇到查尔斯之后若是再没有了他，她就不会幸福了。他说：
“孩子，你已经遇到了他，他是查尔斯。若不是查尔斯，也会是别的什么人的，或者，若是连别的人也没有，原因就落在我身上了，那就会是我生命中黑暗时期的阴影落到了我的身体之外，投到你的身上了。”
除了那次审判之外，这还是她第一次听见他提起自己受难的日子。这话在她耳里产生了一种奇待的新鲜感受，此后久久难以忘记。
“你看，”波维的医生伸手指着月亮说，“我从监狱的窗户看过月亮，那时它的光使我难堪，总让我想起它也照耀着我失去的一切。那对我是个折磨，使我拿头去撞监狱的墙。我曾在非常迟钝懵懂的状态下望过月亮，那时心里什么都不能想，只想到在满月时，我能在它上面画下的横线的数目和跟横线交叉的竖线的数目，”他带着沉思的神情望着月亮说下去，“横竖都可以画二十条线，我记得，第二十条线就很难挤进去了。”
她听着他的话，一种奇怪的刺激把她带回到他所叙达的时光。他的叙述发展，她受到的刺激也加深，但他叙述时的神态并不令她害怕。他只不过像是拿他今天的欢乐幸福跟已成过去的苦痛经历做着对比。
“我曾千万次地望着月亮想象过从我身边抢走的尚未出生的孩子。它能活着吗？它母亲受了惊吓，它出生时是活着，还是死了？它是个可以为父亲复仇的男孩么？（在监狱里有一个时期我复仇的欲望强烈得叫我受不了）那男孩会不会永远不知道他父亲的遭遇？他甚至会认为他父亲是自动消失的吧？会不会是个女孩？她以后还能长大成人么？”
她靠近了他，吻着他的面颊和手。
“我独自想象过，我的女儿说不定会把我忘得干干净净—一更可能的是根本不知道我，没有意识到我的存在。我一年又一年地设想她那时的样子。我曾想象她跟一个完全不知道我的命运的人结婚；我已经完全从活着的人的记忆里消失；我在下一代人心里的地位是一个空白。”
“爸爸！对于一个还不曾出生的女儿，你竟想象了这么多，真叫我从心底感动，好像我就是你想象中的那个孩子！”
“你，露西么？是你给了安慰，使我恢复健康才引起了这些回忆，在这个最后的晚上，在你、我和月亮之间文流——我刚才说了什么？”
“你说你的女儿完全不知道你，对你一点也不关心。”
“正是那样！但在另外的月明之夜，在悲伤和寂静以另外一种方式感动了我的时候——在一种类似于忧伤的平静之感激动了我的时候——这种平静感是任何以悲痛为基础的感情都可能产生的。那时我曾想象她进了我的牢房，到了我的身边，带着我离开了城堡，走进了自由。我常在月光中看见她的形象，就像我现在看见你一样。只是我从没有把她抱在怀里过；她的形象站在带铁栅的窗户和门之间。但是，那可不是我现在说起的孩于，你知道不？”
“它的样子不对；那只是关于它的想象，是一种幻象，是么？”
“不是的。那是另外的东西。我心情激动，两眼昏花，她在我面前，却从不活动。我的心灵追求的幻影是另一个较为真切的孩子。我只知道她的外形像她母亲，别人也有像她的——比如你——但跟她不同。你明白我的意思么，露西？我想是不太明白吧？要理解这种必须饱经忧患才能感受到的差别，你得要孤独地坐过牢才行。”
剖析着往日的心情他的态度虽然平静，却无法不使姑娘感到血液发凉。
“我在心情比较平静的时候常望着月光想象着她向我走来，带我出去，告诉我她婚后的家庭充满了对她失去的父亲的回忆，那回忆里洋溢着爱。她的屋里有我的肖像，她的祈祷里有我这个人。她的生活朝气蓬勃，快活，有益于他人，却处处有我那不幸的历史。”
“我就是那个孩子，爸爸。我虽没有她一半好，爱你却不亚于她。”
“她让我看她的孩子，”波维的医生说，“孩于们都听说过我，都受到过教育要同情我。他们经过国家监狱时都离那阴森的墙壁远远的，只抬头仰望它的铁窗，说话也放低了声音。可她却无法解救我。我想象她在让我看过这一切之后总把我送了回去。但是那时眼泪却已减轻了我的痛苦，我跪了下来为她祝福。”
“我希望我就是那孩子，爸爸。啊，我亲爱的，亲爱的，你明天也愿这样热烈地为我祝福么？”
“露西，我回忆往日的种种苦难，因为我今晚有理由对你具有言语无法描述的爱，还要感谢上帝给了我这巨大的幸福。即使在我放任想象奔驰的时候，也还不曾想象到现在跟你在一起的这种幸福和未来的美好。”
他拥抱她，向上天庄严地赞美她，谦卑地感谢上天把她赐给了他。过了一会儿两人才进了屋子。
除了罗瑞先生之外再没有邀请别的客人，连伴娘都没有，只有瘦高的普洛丝小姐。他们婚后并不改变住处，只是扩大了住房，连楼上的房子也租了过来，此外不打算再增加什么——楼上的房子以前是由传说中的看不见的住户居住的。
曼内特医生在简单的晚餐上十分高兴。他们一共只有三个人，第三位是普洛丝小姐。医生为查尔斯不在而感到遗憾，他颇有几分不赞成那个出自爱心而排斥了查尔斯的小策略。他真心地为查尔斯祝了酒。
三个人就像这样一直过到跟露西道了晚安才分手。但是等到凌晨三点万籁俱寂的时候，露西却又下了楼，偷愉地进了父亲的卧室：她仍然没有摆脱她自己也弄不清楚的某种担心。
不过，一切依然如故，十分平静。父亲睡着了，白发衬在不曾受到干扰的枕上，像幅图画；双手安详地放在盖被上。她把手上那用不着的蜡烛放在远远的暗处，悄悄走到他的床前，把嘴唇放到他的嘴唇上，然后躬下身子端详着他。
牢狱生活的辛酸泪浸透了他那漂亮的面孔，他却用坚强的决心把泪痕掩盖了，即使入睡后也没有流露。那天晚上在睡眠的广阔世界中跟不可见的敌人进行着斗争的面孔里怕是没有比他那面孔，更为惊人的了：它是那么平静、坚定，却又机警。
她把手怯生生地放在他亲爱的胸脯上，做了一个祷告：她要永远忠实于他，因为那出自她的爱心，也是他的辛酸应得的安慰。然，后她缩回了手，再亲了亲他的嘴唇，离开了。这样，黎明到来了，桐叶的影子在他的脸上晃动，轻柔得如她为他祈祷时的双唇。
Book 2 Chapter 18 Nine Days
THE marriage-day was shining brightly, and they were ready outside the closed door of the Doctor's room, where he was speaking with Charles Darnay. They were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, Mr. Lorry, and Miss Pross--to whom the event, through a gradual process of reconcilement to the inevitable, would have been one of absolute bliss, but for the yet lingering consideration that her brother Solomon should have been the bridegroom.
`And so,' said Mr. Lorry, who could not sufficiently admire the bride, and who had been moving round her to take in every point of her quiet, pretty dress; `and so it was for this, my sweet Lucie, that I brought you across the Channel, such a baby!  Lord bless me! How little I thought what I was doing! How lightly I valued the obligation I was conferring on my friend Mr. Charles!'
`You didn't mean it,' remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross, `and therefore how could you know it? Nonsense!'
`Really? Well; but don't cry,' said the gentle Mr. Lorry. 
`I am not crying,' said Miss Pross; `you are.
`I, my Pross?' (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be pleasant with her, on occasion.)
`You were, just now; I saw you do it, and I don't wonder at it. Such a present of plate as you have made `em, is enough to bring tears into anybody's eyes. There's not a fork or a spoon in the collection,' said Miss Pross, `that I didn't cry over, last night after the box came, till I couldn't see it.'
`I am highly gratified,' said Mr. Lorry, `though, upon my honour, I had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remembrance invisible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To think that there might have been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty years almost!'
`Not at all!' From Miss Pross.
`You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?' asked the gentleman of that name.
`Pooh!' rejoined Miss Pross; `you were a bachelor in your cradle.' 
`Well!' observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting his little wig, `that seems probable, too.
`And you were cut out for a bachelor,' pursued Miss Pross, `before you were put in your cradle.'
`Then, I think,' said Mr. Lorry, `that I was very unhandsomely dealt with, and that I ought to have had a voice in the selection of my pattern. Enough! Now, my dear Lucie,' drawing his arm soothingly round her waist, `I hear them moving in the next room, and Miss Pross and I, as two formal folks of business, are anxious not to lose the final opportunity of saying something to you that you wish to hear. You leave your good father, my dear, in hands as earnest and as loving as your own; he shall be taken every conceivable care of; during the next fortnight, while you are in Warwickshire and thereabouts, even Tellson's shallgo to the wall (comparatively speaking) before him. And when, at the fortnight's end, he comes to join you and your beloved husband, on your other fortnight's trip in Wales, you shall say that we have sent him to you in the best health and in the happiest frame. Now I hear Somebody's step coming to the door. Let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned bachelor blessing, before Somebody comes to claim his own.'
For a moment, he held the fair face from him to look at the well-remembered expression on the forehead, and then laid the bright golden hair against his little brown wig, with a genuine tenderness and delicacy which, if such things be old-fashioned, were as old as Adam.
The door of the Doctor's room opened, and he came out with Charles Darnay. He was so deadly pale--which had not been the case when they went in together--that no vestige of colour was to be seen in his face. But, in the composure of his manner he was unaltered, except that to the shrewd glance of Mr. Lorry it disclosed some shadowy indication that the old air of avoidance and dread had lately passed over him, like a cold wind.
He gave his arm to his daughter, and took her downstairs to the chariot which Mr. Lorry had hired in honour of the day. The rest followed in another carriage, and soon, in a neighbouring church, where no strange eyes looked on, Charles Darnay and Lucie Manette were happily married.
Besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles of the little group when it was done, some diamonds, very bright and sparkling, glanced on the bride's hand, which were newly released from the dark obscurity of one of Mr. Lorry's pockets. They returned home to breakfast, and all went well, and in due course the golden hair that had mingled with the poor shoemaker's white locks in the Paris garret, were mingled with them again in the morning sunlight, on the threshold of the door at parting.
It was a hard parting, though it was not for long. But her father cheered her, and said at last, gently disengaging himself from her enfolding arms, `Take her, Charles! She is yours!'
And her agitated hand waved to them from a chaise window, and she was gone.
The corner being out of the way of the idle and curious, and the preparations having been very simple and few, the Doctor, Mr. Lorry, and Miss Pross, were left quite alone. It was when they turned into the welcome shade of the cool old hall, that Mr. Lorry observed a great change to have come over the Doctor; as if the golden arm uplifted there, had struck him a poisoned blow.
He had naturally repressed much, and some revulsion might have been expected in him when the occasion for repression was gone. But, it was the old scared lost look that troubled Mr. Lorry; and through his absent manner of clasping his head' and drearily wandering away into his own room when they got up-stairs, Mr. Lorry was reminded of Defarge the wine-shop keeper, and the starlight ride.
`I think,' he whispered to Miss Pross, after anxious consideration, `I think we had best not speak to him just now, or at all disturb him. I must look in at Tellson's; so I will go there at once and come back presently. Then, we will take him a ride into the country, and dine there, and all will be well.'
It was easier for Mr. Lorry to look in at Tellson's, than to look out of Tellson's. He was detained two hours. When he came back, he ascended the old staircase alone, having asked no question of the servant; going thus into the Doctors rooms, he was stopped by a low sound of knocking.
`Good God!' he said, with a start. `What's that?'
Miss Pross, with a terrified face, was at his ear. `O me, O me! All is lost!' cried she, wringing her hands. `What is to be told to Ladybird? He doesn't know me, and is making shoes!'
Mr. Lorry said what he could to calm her, and went himself into the Doctor's room. The bench was turned towards the light, as it had been when he had seen the shoemaker at his work before, and his head was bent down, and he was very busy.
`Doctor Manette. My dear friend, Doctor Manette!'
The Doctor looked at him for a moment--half inquiringly, half as if he were angry at being spoken to--and bent over his work again.
He had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was open at the throat, as it used to be when he did that work; and even the old haggard, faded surface of face had come back to him. He worked hard--impatiently--as if in some sense of having been interrupted.
Mr. Lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed that it was a shoe of the old size and shape. He took up another that was lying by him, and asked what it was?
`A young lady's walking shoe,' he muttered, without looking up' `It ought to have been finished long ago. Let it be.'
`But, Doctor Manette. Look at me'
He obeyed, in the old mechanically submissive manner, without pausing in his work.
`You know me, my dear friend? Think again. This is not your proper occupation. Think, dear friend!'
Nothing would induce him to speak more. He looked up, for an instant at a time, when he was requested to do so; but, no persuasion would extract a word from him. He worked, and worked, and worked, in silence, and words fell on him as they would have fallen on an echoless wall, or on the air. The only ray of hope that Mr. Lorry could discover, was, that hesometimes furtively looked up without being asked. In that, there seemed a faint expression of curiosity or perplexity--as though he were trying to reconcile some doubts in his mind.
Two things at once impressed themselves on Mr. Lorry, as important above all others; the first, that this must be kept secret from Lucie; the second that it must be kept secret from all who knew him. In conjunction with Miss Pross, he took immediate steps towards the latter precaution, by giving out that the Doctor was not well, and required a few days of complete rest. In aid of the kind deception to be practised on his daughter, Miss Pross was to write, describing his having been called away professionally, and referring to an imaginary letter of two or three hurried lines in his own hand, represented to have beenaddressed to her by the same post. 
These measures, advisable to be taken in any case, Mr. Lorry took in the hope of his coming to himself. If that should happen soon, he kept another course in reserve; which was, to have a certain opinion that he thought the best, on the Doctor's case.
In the hope of his recovery, and of resort to this third course being thereby rendered practicable, Mr. Lorry resolved to watch him attentively, with as little appearance as possible of doing so. He therefore made arrangements to absent himself fromTellson's for the first time in his life, and took his post by the window in the same room.
He was not long in discovering that it was worse than useless to speak to him, since, on being pressed, he became worried. He abandoned that attempt on the first day, and resolved merely to keep himself always before him, as a silent protest against thedelusion into which he had fallen, or was falling. He remained, therefore, in his seat near the window, reading and writing, and expressing in as many pleasant and natural ways as he could think of that it was a free place.
Doctor Manette took what was given him to eat and drink, and worked on, that first day, until it was too dark to see--worked on, half an hour after Mr. Lorry could not have seen, for his life, to read or write. When he put his tools aside as useless, until morning, Mr. Lorry rose and said to him:
`Will you go out?' "
He looked down at the floor on either side of him in the old manner, looked up in the old manner, and repeated in the old low voice:
`Out?'
`Yes; for a walk with me. Why not?'
He made no effort to say why not, and said not a word more. But, Mr. Lorry thought he saw, as he leaned forward on his bench in the dusk, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, that he was in some misty way asking himself `Why not?' The sagacity of the man of business perceived an advantage here, and determined to hold it.
Miss Pross and he divided the night into two watches, and observed him at intervals from the adjoining room. He paced up and down for a long time before he lay down; but, when he did finally lay himself down, he fell asleep. In the morning, he was up betimes, and went straight to his bench and to work.
On this second day, Mr. Lorry saluted him cheerfully by his name, and spoke to him on topics that had been of late familiar to them. He returned no reply, but it was evident that he heard what was said, and that he thought about it, however confusedly. This encouraged Mr. Lorry to have Miss Pross in with her work, several times during the day; at those times, they quietly spoke of Lucie, and of her father then present, precisely in the usual manner, and as if there were nothing amiss. This was done without any demonstrative accompaniment, not long enough, or often enough to harass him; and it lightened Mr. Lorry's friendly heart to believe that he looked up oftener, and that he appeared to be stirred by some perception of inconsistencies surrounding him.
When it fell dark again, Mr. Lorry asked him as before:
`Dear Doctor, will you go out?'
As before, he repeated, `Out?'
`Yes; for a walk with me. Why not?'
This time, Mr. Lorry feigned to go out when he could extract no answer from him, and, after remaining absent for an hour, returned. In the meanwhile, the Doctor had removed to the seat in the window, and had sat there looking down at the plane-tree; but, on Mr. Lorry's return, he slipped away to his bench.
The time went very slowly on, and Mr. Lorry's hope darkened, and his heart grew heavier again, and grew yet heavier and heavier every day. The third day came and went, the fourth, the fifth. Five days, six days, seven days, eight days, nine days.
With a hope ever darkening, and with a heart always growing heavier and heavier, Mr. Lorry passed through this anxious time. The secret was well kept, and Lucie was unconscious and happy; but he could not fail to observe that the shoemaker, whosehand had been a little out at first, was growing dreadfully skilful, and that he had never been so intent on his work, and that his hands had never been so nimble and expert, as in the dusk of the ninth evening. 
婚礼那天阳光普照。一切都已就绪，医生却紧闭了房门在屋里跟查尔斯.达尔内谈话，大家在门外等着。美丽的新娘、罗瑞先生和普洛丝小姐都已作好去教堂的准备。经过了一个适应过程，普洛丝小姐已逐渐接受了那无法逃避的事实，这桩婚事对她只剩下绝对的欢乐了，尽管她仍然恋恋不舍，希望当新郎的是她的弟弟所罗门。
“原来，”罗瑞先生说，他对新娘总是崇拜个不够，一直围着她转圈，欣赏着她那素净美丽的服装的每一个细节，“原来我把你抱过海峡来是为了今天呀，你那时可是那么个小娃娃呢，我可爱的露西！上帝保佑！我那时认为自己办的事多么渺小呀！我为我的朋友查尔斯先生效了劳，可我对它的作用估计得多么不足呀！”
“那时你恐怕是不会有这种打算吧，”实心眼的普洛丝小姐说，“你怎会知道呢？废话！”
“废话？好，那你就别哭呀，”温和的罗瑞先生说。
“我没有哭，”普洛丝小姐说，“你才哭了呢。”
“我么，我的普洛丝？”（这时罗瑞先生已经敢于偶然跟她开开玩笑了）
“你刚才就哭了的，我看见的，可我也不觉得奇怪。你送的那套银餐具谁见了也免不了流泪的。昨天晚上礼品盒送到的时候，”普洛丝小姐说，“盒里的叉子和羹匙没有一件不放我流过泪，我哭得都看不见东西了。”
“我非常满意，”罗瑞先生说，“不过，我以我的荣誉担保，我可没有存心让人看不见我那小小的礼品的意思。天呐！现在倒是我估计一下自己所失去的一切的时候了。天呐，天呐，天呐！想想看，差不多五十年来任何时候都可能出现一个罗瑞太太呢！”
“没有那么回事！”普洛丝小姐说。
“你认为从来就不可能出现个罗瑞太太么？’叫罗瑞的那位先生问。
“呸！”普洛丝小姐回答，“你在摇篮里就打光棍呢！”
“不错，这也好像非常可能，”罗瑞先生说，笑嘻嘻地调整着他的小假发。
“你还没有进摇篮，”普洛丝小姐接下去说，“就已经注定要打一辈子光棍了。”
“那样我就觉得，”罗瑞先生说，“对我的处理太不公平了。我对自己的生活方式是应当有权选择和发表意见的。够了！亲爱的露西，”他用手安慰地搂着她的腰，“我听见他们在隔壁房里有响动了。普洛丝小姐和我都是正牌的业务人员，我们都不愿意失去最后机会对你们说点你们喜欢听的话，亲爱的，你可以把你的父亲交到跟你一样真诚挚爱的人手里，你们能想象出什么样的照顾，他就能得到什么样的照顾。你们到华列克郡和附近地区旅游的两周里，就连台尔森银行也得服从他的要求（比较而言）。等到两个礼拜过去，他跟你和你亲爱的丈夫一起去威尔士时，你准会说我交给你们的是个身体最健康、心情最愉快的他。现在我听见脚步声来到门口了。让我在某人宣布她属于他之前吻吻我亲爱的站娘，并给他一个老派单身汉的祝福吧！”
他捧住那美丽的脸儿，推到一定的距离，观察她额上那令人难忘的表情，然后带着真诚的温柔和体贴把她那明亮的金发跟自己那褐色的小假发搂到了一起。如果这样做应当叫作老派的话，那么它就老得跟亚当一样了。
门开了，医生和查尔斯.达尔内走了出来。医生脸色惨白，一丝血色也没有——他俩进屋去时他并不如此。但是，他态度镇定，神色如常，不过罗瑞先生精明的目光却也看出了一些模糊的迹象，表明过去的回避与畏惧的神气又曾如一道寒风在他身上刮过。
他把手臂伸给了女儿，带她下了楼，进了罗瑞先生为祝贺这一天雇好的四轮轻便马车，其他的人坐在另一部车里随后。不久之后，查尔斯.达尔内和露西.曼内特便在附近的教堂里举行了幸福的婚礼，没有陌生的眼睛看热闹。
除了婚礼完成时在众人微笑的眼中有泪花闪耀之外，还有几粒非常晶莹耀眼的钻石也在新娘的手上闪耀。那是新近才从罗瑞先生口袋的黑暗角落里解放出来的。这一行人回家吃早饭，一切顺利。不久之后，曾在巴黎阁楼上跟可怜的鞋匠的白发混在一起的金发又在上午的阳光中跟那白发混在一起了。那是他们在门槛上的告别。
别离虽不长，分别却很苦。但是她的父亲却鼓励了她。他轻轻地摆脱了她拥抱他的双臂，说，“接过去吧，查尔斯，她是你的！”
她从车窗里向他们挥动着激动的手，走了。
那街角距离闲逛和好奇的人很远，婚礼的准备又极简单朴素，因此不一会儿工夫医生、罗瑞先生和普洛丝小姐就发现只剩下自己了。他们进人古老的厅堂那清凉可人的阴影中时，罗瑞先生注意到医生已发生了巨大的变化，仿佛高举在那儿的金胳膊给了他狠命的一击。
他自然曾狠狠地压抑过自己，压抑一放松免不了会产生反弹。但叫罗瑞先生着急的却是他以往那副恐惧而茫然的样子又出现了。他们上楼时他那心不在焉地抱住头和凄凉地里进自己房间的模样使罗瑞先生想起了酒店老板德伐日和星光之下的马车旅行。
“我认为，”他着急地想了想，悄悄对普洛丝小姐说，“我认为我们现在最好别跟他说话，也别去打扰他。现在我得回台尔森去看看，马上就去，立即回来。然后我们就带他坐车下乡去逛一逛，在那儿吃晚饭，然后一切就会好的。”
罗瑞先生进台尔森容易，出来却难，他在那儿耽误了两个小时。回来时他没有向仆人询问情况就径直爬上了古老的楼梯，走进了医生的房间。一阵低低的敲打声却阻止了他。
“天呐！”他吃了一惊，说，“是怎么回事？”
普洛丝小姐满面惊惶地在他耳边说，“啊天呐，天呐！全都完了！”她绞着自己的双手叫道，“向小鸟儿怎么交代？他已经不认得我了，在做鞋呢！”
罗瑞先生竭尽全力让她平静下来，自己进了医生的房间。板凳已挪了过来对着日光，医生低着头正忙着，跟他当年见到那鞋匠干活儿时一样。
“曼内特医生，我亲爱的朋友，曼内特医生！”
医生望了他一会儿，一半是疑问，一半是因有人对他说话而生气，随后又低下头干起活儿来。
他已跟过去做鞋时一样脱下了外衣和背心，敞开了衬衫领口，就连那憔悴枯黄的脸色也回来了。他干活儿很努力，也有些不耐烦，好像不高兴受到了打扰。
罗瑞先生瞥了一眼他手上的活儿，说那鞋式样和大小都老式，又捡起他身边另一只鞋，问那是什么。
“是年轻女士的步行鞋，”他嘟哝说，并没有抬头看。“很久以前就该做完的了。放下它。”
“可是，曼内特医生，你看看我！”
他服从了，是以前那种机械的、驯服的态度，活儿却没有停。
“你还认得我吗，我亲爱的朋友。再想想看。这职业并不适合于你。想想吧，亲爱的朋友！”
要让他多说一句话都是办不到的。要他抬头，他倒偶然抬头望望，但是无论怎样劝说，他也不说一句话。他老是干活儿，干活儿，干活儿，一声不响。话语落到他身上就像落到没有回声就墙壁上或是进入了虚空。罗瑞先生能够发现的仅有的希望是有时他会自己抬起头来，脸上似乎有一种好奇或惶感的表情——仿佛想回答心里的某些疑问。
罗瑞先生感到有两件事比任何其它的事都重要：第一，一定要对露西保密；第二，一定要对所有认识他的人保密。他立即跟普洛丝小姐合作采取措施解决了第二个问题，对了外宣称医生身体欠安，需要彻底休养几天。为了对他的女儿进行善意的欺骗，普洛丝小姐必须写一封信去，说是医生到外地出诊去了，还提到他一封并不存在的亲笔信，说是只有潦潦草草的两三行与此信同一班邮车寄给她。
除了采取这些必需的措施之外，罗瑞先生也希望医生就自己恢复正常。若是他很快就正常了，罗瑞先生还准备采取另外一个措施，要对医生的病找一个他认为最恰当的了断。
怀着他自行恢复正常的希望，也希望第三个措施得以实现，罗瑞先生决定专心地观察他，而且尽可能不引起他的注意。因此他平生第一次在台尔森作了安排，请了假，在医生的窗下住定下来。
不久，他就发现跟医生说话不但无益而且有害，因为一逼他说话，他就烦恼，从第一天起他就放弃了那种打算，决定只让自已一直留在他面前，作为对他所落入或正要落入的幻觉的一种无声的对抗。因此他一直在窗前的座位上读书写字，而且用种种他想得出的自然而愉快的方式表示这屋子并不是牢房。
头一天曼内特医生吃着喝着给他的东西，干着活儿，一直干到天黑得看不见活儿为止——就在罗瑞先生无论如何也无法读书写字之后他还干了半小时。然后他就收拾工具，打算明天早上再用，这时罗瑞先生站起来对他说道：
“你要出去一下吗？”
他以固有的方式盯着两侧的地板，以固有的方式搜寻着，并以固有的细声重复着：
“出去？”
“是的，跟我一起出去散散步。为什么不可以呢？”
他也努力想说为什么不可以呢？却没有出声。但是，罗瑞先生觉得当他在昏暗中躬着身子坐在凳上，胳膊肘靠着膝头，双手抱着脑袋时，他也在以某种模糊的方式对自己说，“为什么不可以呢？”生意人的精明在这里看出了一个有利条件，他决心抓住。
普洛丝小姐和他把夜晚分作两班，在隔壁屋里轮班观察着他。医生在睡觉之前来回走了许久，但终于躺下之后便立即睡着了。早上他安时起床，然后径直走到凳子边去开始干活儿。
第二天罗瑞先生叫着他的名字向他欢欢喜喜打了个招呼，而且跟他谈起双方近来都熟悉的问题。他并未回答，但显然听见了他的话，而且思考着，尽管头脑不清楚。这就鼓舞了罗瑞先生。他让普洛丝小姐白天进屋好几趟来干家务活儿。．那时他们很快地谈起露西，谈起露西的父亲（他就在旁边），跟平时完全一样，仿佛并无异常。这一切都做得很自然，并没有故意表现什么，每次时间很短，也不太频繁，不致令他心烦。罗瑞先生那友好的心感到了轻松，他相信医生抬头听他说话的次数增加了，也好像看出了周围有许多跟他的感觉不一致的东西，受到了刺激。
黄昏又一次来临时，罗瑞先主又像以前那样问他：
“亲爱的医生，你愿意出去一下吗？”
他照样重复道，“出去？”
“是的，跟我出去散散步，有什么不可以的？”
这一次罗瑞先生在诱导他回答失败之后就假装出门去了。他在外面呆了一个小时才回来。在这段时间里医生已来到窗户下的座位上坐下，望着窗下的梧桐树。但罗瑞先生一回来，他又悄悄溜回原来的凳子边去了。
时间过得非常缓慢，罗瑞先生的希望越来越渺茫，心情也越来越沉重，而且一天比一天沉重。第三天来了又去了，然后是第四天、五天、六天、七天、八天、九天。
罗瑞先生带着日益渺茫的希望和越来越沉重的心情度过了这段好不令人焦灼的日子。两人守口如瓶，露西很快乐，一点也没有觉察。但是罗瑞先生却不能不注意到那鞋匠多少已经生疏的双手又变得可怕地熟练起来，而且到了第九天的黄昏，他不但比以往任何时候都更热中于工作，而且那双手也比以往任何时候都灵巧熟练了。
Book 2 Chapter 19 An Opinion 
WORN out by anxious watching, Mr. Lorry fell asleep at his post. On the tenth morning of his suspense, he was startled by the shining of the sun into the room where a heavy slumber had overtaken him when it was dark night.
He rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when he had done so, whether he was not still asleep. For, going to the door of the Doctor's room and looking in, he perceived that the shoemaker's bench and tools were put aside again, and that the Doctor himself sat reading at the window. He was in his usual morning dress, and his face (which Mr. Lorry could distinctly see), though still very pale, was calmly studious and attentive.
Even when he had satisfied himself that he was awake, Mr. Lorry felt giddily uncertain for some few moments whether the late shoemaking might not be a disturbed dream of his own; for, did not his eyes show him his friend before him in his accustomed clothing and aspect, and employed as usual; and was there any sign within their range, that the change of which he had so strong an impression had actually happened?
It was but the inquiry of his first confusion and astonishment, the answer being obvious. If the impression were not produced by a real corresponding and sufficient cause, how came he, Jarvis Lorry, there? How came he to have fallen asleep, in his clothes, on the sofa in Dr. Manette's consulting-room, and to be debating these points outside the Doctor's bedroom door in the early morning?
Within a few minutes, Miss Pross stood whispering at his side. If he had had any particle of doubt left, her talk would of necessity have resolved it; but he was by that time clearheaded, and had none. He advised that they should let the time go by until the regular breakfast-hour, and should then meet the Doctor as if nothing unusual had occurred. If he appeared to be in his customary state of mind, Mr. Lorry would then cautiously proceed to seek direction and guidance from the opinion he hadbeen, in his anxiety, so anxious to obtain. 
Miss Pross submitting herself to his judgment, the scheme was worked out with care. Having abundance of time for his usual methodical toilette, Mr. Lorry presented himself at the breakfast-hour in his usual white linen, and with his usual neat leg. The Doctor was summoned in the usual way, and came to breakfast.
So far as it was possible to comprehend him without overstepping those delicate and gradual approaches which Mr. Lorry felt to be the only safe advance, he at first supposed that his daughter's marriage had taken place yesterday. An incidental allusion, purposely thrown out, to the day of the week, and the day of the month, set him thinking and counting, and evidently made him uneasy. In all other respects, however, he was so composedly himself, that Mr. Lorry determined to have the aid he sought. And that aid was his own.
Therefore, when the breakfast was done and cleared away, and he and the Doctor were left together, Mr. Lorry said, feelingly:
`My dear Manette, I am anxious to have your opinion, in confidence, on a very curious case in which I am deeply interested; that is to say, it is very curious to me; perhaps, to your better information it may be less so.'
Glancing at his hands, which were discoloured by his late work, the Doctor looked troubled, and listened attentively. He had already glanced at his hands more than once.
`Doctor Manette,' said Mr. Lorry, touching him affectionately on the arm, `the case is the case of a particularly dear friend of mine. Pray give your mind to it, and advise me well for his sake--and above all, for his daughter's--his daughter's, my dear Manette.'
`If I understand,' said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, `some mental shock---?'
`Yes!'
`Be explicit,' said the Doctor. `Spare no detail.'
Mr. Lorry saw that they understood one another, and proceeded.
`My dear Manette, it is the case of an old and a prolonged shock, of great acuteness and severity to the affections, the feelings, the--the--as you express it--the mind. The mind. It is the case of a shock under which the sufferer was borne down, one cannot say for how long, because I believe he cannot calculate the time himself, and there are no other means of getting at it. It is the case of a shock from which the sufferer recovered, by a process that he cannot trace himself--as I once heard him publicly relate in a striking manner. It is the case of a shock from which he has recovered, so completely, as to be a highly intelligent man, capable of close application of mind, and great exertion of body, and of constantly making fresh additions to his stock of knowledge, which was already very large. But, unfortunately, there has been'--he paused add took a deep breath--`a slight relapse.'
The Doctor, in a low voice, asked, `Of how long duration?' 
`Nine days and nights.'
`How did it show itself? I infer,' glancing at his hands again, `in the resumption of some old pursuit connected with the shock?'
`That is the fact.'
`Now, did you ever see him,' asked the Doctor, distinctly and collectedly, though in the same low voice, `engaged in that pursuit originally?'
`Once.'
`And when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respects--or in all respects--as he was then?'
`I think in all respects.'
`You spoke of his daughter. Does his daughter know of the relapse?'
`No. It has been kept from her, and I hope will always be kept from her. It is known only to myself, and to one other who may be trusted.'
The Doctor grasped his hand, and murmured, `That was very kind. That was very thoughtful!' Mr. Lorry grasped his hand in return, and neither of the two spoke for a little while.
`Now, my dear Manette,' said Mr. Lorry, at length, in his most considerate and most affectionate way, `I am a mere man of business, and unfit to cope with such intricate and difficult matters. I do not possess the kind of information necessary; I do not possess the kind of intelligence; I want guiding. There is no man in this world on whom I could so rely for right guidance, as on you. Tell me, how does this relapse come about? Is there danger of another? Could a repetition of it be prevented? How should a repetition of it be treated? How does it come about at all? What can I do for my friend? No man ever can have been more desirous in his heart to serve a friend, than I am to serve mine, if I knew how. But I don't know how to originate, in such a case. If your sagacity, knowledge, and experience, could put me on the right track, I might be able to do so much; unenlightened and undirected, I can do so little. Pray discuss it with me; pray enable me to see it a little more clearly, and teach me how to be a little more useful.'
Doctor Manette sat meditating after these earnest words were spoken, and Mr. Lorry did not press him.
`I think so' it probable,' said the Doctor, breaking silence with an effort, `that the relapse you have described, my dear friend, was not quite unforeseen by its subject.'
`Was it dreaded by him?' Mr. Lorry ventured to ask. 
`Very much.' He said it with an involuntary shudder.
`You have no idea how such an apprehension weighs on the sufferer's mind, and how difficult--how almost impossible--it is, for him to force himself to utter a word upon the topic that oppresses him.'
`Would he,' asked Mr. Lorry, `he sensibly relieved if he could prevail upon himself to impart that secret brooding to any one, when it is on him?'
`I think so. But it is, as I have told you, next to impossible. I even believe it--in some cases--to be quite impossible.'
`Now,' said Mr. Lorry, gently laying his hand on the Doctor's arm again, after a short silence on both sides, `to what would you refer this attack?'
`I believe,' returned Doctor Manette, `that there had been a strong and extraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance that was the first cause of the malady. Some intense associations of a most distressing nature were vividly recalled, I think. It is probable that there had long been a dread lurking in his mind, that those associations would be recalled--say, under certain circumstances--say, on a particular occasion. He tried to prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare himself made him less able to bear it.'
`Would he remember what took place in the relapse?' asked Mr. Lorry, with natural hesitation.
The Doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head, and answered, in a low voice, `Not at all.'
`Now, as to the future,' hinted Mr. Lorry.
`As to the future,' said the Doctor, recovering firmness, `I should have great hope. As it pleased Heaven in its mercy to restore him so soon, I should have great hope. He; yielding under the pressure of a complicated something, long dreaded and long vaguely foreseen and contended against, and recovering after the cloud had burst and passed, I should hope that the worst was over.'
`Well, well! That's good comfort. I am thankful!' said Mr. Lorry.
`I am thankful!' repeated the Doctor, bending his head with reverence.
`There are two other points,' said Mr. Lorry, `on which I am anxious to be instructed. I may go on?
`You cannot do your friend a better service.' The Doctor gave him his hand.
`To the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusually energetic; he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition of professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to many things. Now, does he do too much?'
`I think not. It may be the character of his mind, to be always in singular need of occupation. That may be, in part, natural to it; in part, the result of affliction. The less it was occupied with healthy things, the more it would be in danger of turning in theunhealthy direction. He may have observed himself, and made the discovery.'
`You are sure that he is not under too great a strain?' 
`I think I am quite sure of it.' 
`My dear Manette, if he were overworked now'
`My dear Lorry, I doubt if that could easily be. There has been a violent stress in one direction, and it needs a counter-weight.'
`Excuse me, as a persistent man of business. Assuming for a moment, that he was overworked; it would show itself in some renewal of this disorder?'
`I do not think so. I do not think,' said Doctor Manette with the firmness of self-conviction, `that anything but the one train of association would renew it. I think that, hence-forth, nothing but some extraordinary jarring of that chord could renew it. Alter what has happened, and after his recovery, I find it difficult to imagine any such violent sounding of that string again. I trust, and I almost believe, that the circumstances likely to renew it are exhausted.'
He spoke with the diffidence of a man who knew how slight a thing would overset the delicate organisation of the mind, and yet with the confidence of a man who had slowly won his assurance out of personal endurance and distress. It was not for his friend to abate that confidence. He professed himself more relieved and encouraged than he really was, and approached his second and last point. He felt it to be the most difficult of all; but, remembering his old Sunday morning conversation with Miss Pross, and remembering what he had seen in the last nine days, he knew that he must face it.
`The occupation resumed under the influence of this passing affliction so happily recovered from,' said Mr. Lorry, clearing his throat, `we will call-Blacksmith's work, Blacksmith's work. We will say, to put a case and for the sake of illustration, that he had been used, in his bad time, to work at a little forge. We will say that he was unexpectedly found at his forge again. Is it not a pity that he should keep it by him?'
The Doctor shaded his forehead with his hand, and beat his foot nervously on the ground.
`He has always kept it by him,' said Mr. Lorry, with an anxious look at his friend. `Now, would it not be better that he should let it go?'
Still, the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beat his foot nervously on the ground.
`You do not find it easy to advise me?' said Mr. Lorry. 
`I quite understand it to be a nice question. And yet I think---' And there he shook his head, and stopped.
`You see,' said Doctor Manette, turning to him after an uneasy pause, `it is very hard to explain, consistently, the innermost workings of this poor man's mind. He once yearned so frightfully for that occupation, and it was so welcome when it came; no doubt it relieved his pain so much, by substituting the perplexity of the fingers for the perplexity of the brain, and by substituting, as he became more practised, the ingenuity of the hands, for the ingenuity of the mental torture; that he has never been able to bear the thought of putting it quite out of his reach. Even now, when I believe he is more hopeful of himself than he has ever been, and even speaks of himself with a kind of confidence, the idea that he might need that old employment, and not find it, gives him a sudden sense of terror, like that which one may fancy strikes to the heart of a lost child.'
He looked like his illustration, as he raised his eyes to Mr. Lob's face. `But may not--mind! I ask for information, as a plodding man of business who only deals with such material objects as guineas, shillings, and bank-notes--may not the retention of the thing involve the retention of the idea? If the thing were gone, my dear Manette, might not the fear go with it? In short, is it not a concession to the misgiving, to keep the forge?'
There was another silence.
`You see, too,' said the Doctor, tremulously, `it is such an old companion.'
`I would not keep it,' said Mr. Lorry, shaking his head; for he gained in firmness as he saw the Doctor disquieted. `I would recommend him to sacrifice it. I only want your authority. I am sure it does no good. Come! Give me your authority, like a dear good man. For his daughter's sake, my dear Manette!'
Very strange to see what a struggle there was within him! `In her name, then, let it be done; I sanction it. But, I would not take it away while he was present. Let it be removed when he is not there; let him miss his old companion after an absence.'
Mr. Lorry readily engaged for that, and the conference was ended. They passed the day in the country, and the Doctor was quite restored. On the three following days he remained perfectly well, and on the fourteenth day he went away to join Lucie and her husband. The precaution that had been taken to account for his silence, Mr. Lorry had previously explained to him, and he had written to Lucie in accordance with it, and she had no suspicions.
On the night of the day on which he left the house, Mr. Lorry went into his room with a   chopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended by Miss Pross carrying a light. There, with closed doors, and in a mysterious and guilty manner, Mr. Lorry hacked the shoemaker's bench to pieces, while Miss Pross held the candle as if she were assisting at a murder--or which, indeed, in her grimness, she was no unsuitable figure. The burning of the body (previously reduced to pieces convenient for the purpose) was commenced without delay in the kitchen fire; and the tools, shoes, and leather, were buried in the garden. So wicked do destruction and secrecy appear to honest minds, that Mr. Lorry and Miss Pross, while enraged in the commission of their deed and in the removal of its traces, almost felt, and almost looked, like accomplices in a horrible crime.  
罗瑞先生被忧心忡忡的观察弄得筋疲力尽，在他的岗位上睡着了。在他提心吊胆度过的第十个早上，他被射进屋里的阳光惊醒了，原来他在夜里昏昏沉沉睡了一个好觉。
他揉着眼睛坐了起来，怀疑自己还在梦里。因为，他走到医生寝室往里看时，发现鞋匠的凳子和工具又已经收拾好，医生也坐在窗前读书了。他穿着平时穿的晨衣，那张脸（罗瑞先生刚好可以看得清楚）虽然依旧苍白，却平静、勤奋，而且专注。
尽管罗瑞先生因为他已恢复了正常而感到满意，却仍然糊涂了好大一会儿，不知道最近这做鞋的事是否是一个令人心烦意乱的梦。他不是明明看见他的朋友衣着如常、神态如故做着一向都做的事么？他眼前能有什么迹象说明那给了他强烈印象的事确实出现过呢？
可是在迷惑惊讶之余一想，答案又很清楚。若是那印象并非产生于相应的、现实的、充分的原因，他贾维斯.罗瑞又怎么会到这儿来呢？又怎么会在曼内特医生诊室的沙发上和衣而卧睡着了呢？怎么又会一大早站在医生寝室的门口思考着这些问题呢？
几分钟之后普洛丝小姐已站在他身旁消声说话。若是他还有丝毫怀疑，她那话也肯定能让他释然于心了。但他那时已经头脑清醒，并不怀疑。他建议先别声张，直到早饭时再像没有发生任何事情一样跟医生见面。若是那时医生心情跟过去一样，罗瑞先生就可以小心寻求指示和引导。他很着急，急于求得个答案。
普洛丝小姐同意了他的判断，两人细心作了安排。罗瑞先生有充裕的时间有条有理地洗漱梳理，到早饭时才穿着他一向穿的那一身白衬衫和整洁的裤子出现。医生和平时一样得到通知才出来吃早饭。
罗瑞先生设想了一套循序渐进的精细操作法，认为那才是唯一的安全措施。他想在不背离这套措施的前提下去理解他。医生起初以为他女儿是昨天才结婚的。采取偶然的方式故意提起的日期问题（今天是星期几？是本月几号？）引起了医生的考虑和计算，他显然感到不安了。但在其它方面他仍然十分平静，因此罗瑞先生决定寻求他所需要的帮助——那帮助来自医生自己。
吃完早饭撤下杯盘，桌旁只有他跟医生在一起时，罗瑞先生很带感情地说：
“亲爱的曼内特先生，我很想向你请教一个需要保密的问题。是一个我很感兴趣的奇特病例。就是说，我感到很奇特，你见多识广，也许并不觉得如此。”
医生瞥了一眼他那双因最近的工作而变了颜色的手，露出迷惑的神色，仔细听着。他已经不止一次望过自己的手了。
“曼内特医生，”罗瑶先生深情地碰碰他的手臂，“那是我一个特别好的朋友。请为他费点心给我出个好主意。尤其是为了他的女儿——他的女儿，亲爱的曼内特。”
“如果我的理解不错的话，”医生压低了嗓子说，“是一种心理休克吧？”，
“对！”
“介绍清楚一点，”医生说，“不要遗漏任何细节。”
罗瑞先生看出彼此很默契，便说了下去。
“亲爱的曼内特，这是一种陈旧性的长期休克，对感情和感觉都十分痛苦，十分严重，正是你所说的心理休克，心理上的。病情是：病人因心理休克而崩溃过不知道多少时间，因为我相信他自己无法计算，也没有其它的方式计算。后来病人自行复原了，复原的过程他自己也无法追溯——我曾听他公开讲述过，很动人。他的病好得很彻底，作为一个智力很高的人他已可以作沉重的脑力劳动，也可以作沉重的体力劳动，可以对他已经很丰富的知识又增加新的东西了。可是不幸的是——”他住了嘴，深深地吸了一口气，“他的病出现了一次轻微的反复。”
医生低声问道，“有多久时间？”
“九天九夜。”
“有什么表现？”说时又看了看他的手，“我估计是因为又接触到某种跟休克有关的问题了，是么？”
“正是。”
“晤，你过去，”医生问道，显然是在控制自己，虽然声音还是很低，“见过他休克时的活动么？”
“见过一次。”
“他什么时候犯病的？他是大体上还是完全回复到了以前的状态？”
“我相信是完全回复到了以前的状态。”
“你刚才谈到过他的女儿。他的女儿知道他又犯病了么？”
“不知道。对她保了密，我希望还会对她永远保密。只有我一个人知道，还有一个值得信任的人知道。”
医生抓住他的手喃喃地说，“做得很细心，很周到！”罗瑞先生也抓住他的手，两人无言，静默了好一会儿。
“现在，我亲爱的曼内特，”罗瑞先生终于以他最关切最深情的态度说，“我只是个生意人，不适宜处理这类困难复杂的问题。我不具备必需的知识．我需要指导。我在这个世界上要想得到正确的指导只能依靠你了。告诉我，这种病为什么会犯？有再犯的危险吗？可以防止再犯吗？犯了该怎么治？这病的起因是什么？我可以为我的朋友做些什么？我只要知道了该怎么办，是最急于为我的朋友效劳的，谁也比不上我。但是我不知道对这样的病情如何下手。若是你的智慧、知识和经验能引我上路，我可以做许多事。但若得不到启蒙和指导，我就差不多无能为力了。请跟我讨论，让我更了解情况，多起点作用。”
听完这番恳切的话，曼内特医生沉思了一会儿。罗瑞先生没有催促他。
“我认为，”医生鼓起勇气打破了沉默，“病号很可能并非完全没有预料到你所描绘的那次犯病，我亲爱的朋友。”
“他害怕犯病么？”罗瑞先生大胆地问。
“很害怕，”他说时不自觉地发起抖来。
“你不知道这种恐惧压在患者心里有多么沉重。你也不知道要让他谈起自己所遭受过的迫害又有多么困难，即使是一个字他也几乎不可能提起。”
“患者有了那种秘密的预感之后，”罗瑞先生问道，“若是能说服自己向别人透露透露，对缓解痛苦能起作用么？”
“我看可以。但我也要告诉你，要他向别人透露差不多是不可能的，在某些病例上甚至是绝对不可能的。”
“那么，”两人沉默了一会儿，罗瑞先生又把手放在医生的手臂上说，“你认为犯病的原因何在？”
“我相信，”曼内特医生回答，“是因为导致疾病的一连串思想和回忆重新以激烈的、异常的形式出现所致。我认为是某种最痛苦的紧张联想又在记忆中活跃了起来。他心里很可能有一种长期隐藏的恐惧，他惧怕回忆起有关的问题。比如某种环境，或是某个特定的时期。他努力准备克服，却失败了；也许他准备克服的努力正好削弱了他的承受力。”
“他能记得旧病复发时的情景吗？”罗瑞先生问，难免有些犹豫。
医生痛苦地环顾了一下屋子，摇摇头，低声回答，“一点也不记得。”
“那以后呢？”罗瑞先生暗示。
“以后，”医生坚强了起来说，“我认为以后是大有希望的。既然上天怜悯他，让他很快就复了原，我想会很有希望的。他在某种复杂的东西的压力之下崩溃了，他曾长期害怕过它，长期模糊地害怕过它，跟它斗争过，直到乌云裂开，而且消失，他又恢复了正常。我认为最严重的时期已经过去了。”
“好，好！这就叫人放心了。我很感谢！”罗瑞先生说。
“我也很感谢！”医生虔诚地低下头重复他的话。
“还有两个问题，”罗瑞先生说，“很希望你指教。我能再问问么？”
“问了对你的朋友会更有好处的。”医生向他伸出手来。
“先谈第一个。他有用功的习惯，而且精力异常充沛。为了增加业务知识，为了做实验，为了许多事他都很刻苦。那么，他的工作是不是太多？”
“我看不多。他的心智特点也许正是特别需要有所寄托。这种情况一部分可能是出于天性，一部分也可能是因为痛苦。占领他心灵的健康的东西越少，转向不健康方向的危险就越大。他可能自己做了观察，发现了这一点。”
“你可以肯定他不是过度劳累么？”
“我很有把握。”
“亲爱的曼内特，若是他现在过度劳累——”
“我亲爱的罗瑞，过度劳累是否就那么容易，我表示怀疑。有一种压力往一个方向拉，就得有另一种力量去对消它。”
“我是个看问题执著的业务人员，请原谅。假定他确实有一段时间过度劳累，会不会重新引起这种混乱呢？”
“我想不会的，”曼内特医生自信地说，“我认为除了那一系列联想之外，其它的东西都不会重新引起混乱。我认为除非以后那根弦又受到异常严重的拨动，那病是不会发作的。在他已经发生上述情况又已恢复正常后，我觉得很难设想还会有什么东西能那么强烈地拨动那根弦了。我认为，也差不多是相信，可能引起发作的条件已经枯竭了。”
他说话时不大自信，因为他深知心灵的结构很微妙，即使最轻微的活动也能把它推翻，同时也十分自信，因为他亲身承受过苦难，逐渐产生了把握。罗瑞先生觉得不宜挫伤他的信心，便表示了大于实际感受的信心和鼓舞，然后转向了第二个也是最后一个问题，他心目中最棘手的问题。但是一回忆到星期天早上跟普洛丝小姐的谈话和自己这九天里观察到的情况，他知道他必须勉为其难面对它。
“在这次侥幸度过的病患的影响之下，患者恢复了一种职业活动，”罗瑞先生清了清嗓子，说，“我们可以把它叫作——铁匠活儿，就叫铁匠活儿吧！为了举例说明，我们可以说在他生病的时候已养成了在小熔炉边工作的习惯。这回他又出人意外地在他的小熔炉边干起活儿来。若是他还把那小熔炉保留起来，会不会令人遗憾呢？”
医生用手按住前额，一只脚紧张地敲着地板。
“他总把那炉子保留在身边，”罗瑞先生焦急地望望他的朋友说。“他若是把炉子扔掉会不会好一些呢？”
医生仍然按住前额，用脚紧张地敲着地板。
“你很为难，不好替我拿主意么？”罗瑞先生说。“这个问题很微妙，我明白，可我认为——”他摇摇头住了嘴。
“你看，”曼内特医生尴尬地过了一会儿才转向他说，“对这个可怜的人最深层的内心活动很难做前后一致的解释。他曾经严重地渴望那种职业活动，在它出现时他便非常欢迎。那无疑大大减轻了他的痛苦，因为它使他用手指上的忙碌代替了头脑里的煌惑，在更熟练之后又以手的灵巧代替了精神的折磨。因此一想到把那工具放到他所找不到的地方他就受不了。即使到了现在，虽然我也相信他比以前对自己有了更多的希望，甚至谈到自己也有了某种信心，但一想到他万一要从事往昔的活动而又找不到，便不禁突然感到恐怖。我们可以想象那正像一个迷了路的孩子。”
他抬起眼睛望着罗瑞先生的脸，那样子正像他用以举例的孩子。
“不过，对那工具的保留会不会造成对那种想法的保留呢？——请注意！我是以一个跟畿尼、先令、钞票之类物质的东西打交道的辛苦的业务工作者找你出主意的。若是那东西消失了，亲爱的曼内特，那恐惧可不可能随之消失呢？简而言之，保留那小熔炉是否是对那种顾虑的让步呢？”
又是一阵沉默。
“你也明白，”医生语低声颤地说，“那东西是个老伙伴呢！”
“我是不同意保留它的，”罗瑞先生摇摇头说；他见到医生感到不安，便愈加坚定了。“我要建议他拿它做牺牲。我只希望你授权给我。我相信那东西不会有好处。来！做个可爱的善人，授权给我吧！为了他女儿的缘故，亲爱的曼内特！”
观察他心里的斗争是一种很奇怪的经验。
“要是以他女儿的名义，那就照办吧。我批准，但我是不会当着他的面把那东西拿走的。还是趁他不在的时候办为好。让他离开再回来之后去怀念老朋友吧！”
罗瑞先生立即同意了，谈话就此结束。两人在乡下过了一天，医生完全正常了。随后的三天里也一直完全正常，到了第十四天他离开伦敦跟露西和他的丈夫会合了。罗瑞先生事先向他说明了他们为解释他没有去信所采取的预防措施，他便按那种解释去了信，女儿一点也没有怀疑。
他离开屋子的那天晚上，罗瑞先生拿了柴刀、锯子、钻子和锤子进了他的屋，普洛丝小姐掌着烛陪伴他。他们关上了门。罗瑞先生神秘地、惴惴不安地把皮匠的板凳劈成了几块,普洛丝小姐擎着烛火，仿佛是在协助搞一桩谋杀——实际上她那副凶狠的模样倒也并非不像那个角色。板凳立即在厨房的灶火里烧掉了（事先已劈成碎块）；工具、鞋和皮革则埋在了花园里。毁灭与秘密对诚实的心是十分邪恶的，罗瑞先生和普洛丝小姐在完成任务和消灭踪迹的时候几乎感到自己是在合谋进行一桩恐怖的谋杀。
Book 2 Chapter 20 A Plea
WHEN the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to offer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at home many hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity about him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay.
He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and of speaking to him when no one overheard.
`Mr. Darnay,' said Carton, `I wish we might be friends.' 
`We are already friends, I hope.'
`You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; hut, I don't mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be friends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.'
Charles Darnay--As was natural--Asked him, in all good-humour and good-fellowship, what he did mean?
`Upon my life,' said Carton, smiling, `I find that easier to comprehend in my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. You remember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than--than usual?'
`I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess that you had been drinking.'
`I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for I always remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day, when all days are at an end for me! Don't be alarmed; I am not going to preach.'
`I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you is anything but alarming to me.'
`Ah!' said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved that away. `On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, as you know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I wish you would forget it.'
`I forgot it long ago.'
`Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to me, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it, and a light answer does not help me to forget it.'
`If it was a light answer,' returned Darnay, `I beg your forgiveness for it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my surprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you on the faith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good Heaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to remember, in the great service you rendered me that day?'
`As to the great service,' said Carton, `I am bound to avow to you, when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap. I don't know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered It.--Mind! I say when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.'
`You make light of the obligation,' returned Darnay, `but I will not quarrel with your light answer.'
`Genuine truth, Mr. Darnay, trust me! I have gone aside from my purpose; I was speaking about our being friends. Now, you know me; you know I am incapable of all the higher and better flights of men. If you doubt it, ask Stryver, and he'll tell you so.'
`I prefer to form my own opinion, without the aid of his.'
`Well! At any rate you know me as a dissolute dog who has never done any good, and never will.'
`I don't know that you "never will."'
`But I do, and you must take my word for it. Well! If you could endure to have such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferent reputation, coming and going at odd times, I should ask that I might be permitted to come and go as a privileged person here; that I might be regarded as an useless (and I would add, if it were not for the resemblance I detected between you and me), an unornamental, piece of furniture, tolerated for its old service, and taken no notice of. I doubt if I should abuse the permission. It is a hundred to one if I should avail myself of it four times in a year. It would satisfy me, I dare say, to know that I had it.'
`Will you try?'
`That is another way of saying that I am placed on the footing I have indicated. I thank you, Darnay. I may use that freedom with your name?'
`I think so, Carton, by this time.'
They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. Within a minute afterwards, he was, to all outward appearance, as unsubstantial as ever.
When he has gone, and in the course of an evening passed with Miss Pross, the Doctor, and Mr. Lorry, Charles Darnay made some mention of this conversation in general terms, and spoke of Sydney Carton as a problem of carelessness and recklessness. He spoke of him, in short, not bitterly or meaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybody might who saw him as he showed himself.
He had no idea that this could dwell in the thoughts of his fair young wife; but, when he afterwards joined her in their own rooms, he found her waiting for him with the old pretty lifting of the forehead strongly marked.
`We are thoughtful to-night!' said Darnay, drawing his arm about her.
`Yes, dearest Charles,' with her hands on his breast, and the inquiring and attentive expression fixed upon him; `we are rather thoughtful to-night, for we have something on our mind to-night.'
`What is it, my Lucie?'
`Will you promise not to press one question on me, if I beg you not to ask it?'
"Will I promise? What will I not promise to my Love?'
What, indeed, with his hand putting aside the golden hair from the cheek, and his other hand against the heart that beat for him!
`I think, Charles, poor Mr. Carton deserves more consideration and respect than you expressed for him to-night.'
`Indeed, my own? Why so?'
`That is what you are not to ask me? But I think--I know--he does.'
`If you know it, it is enough. What would you have me do, my Life?'
`I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and very lenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding.'
`It is a painful reflection to me, said Charles Darnay, quite astounded, `that I should have done him any wrong. I never thought this of him.'
`My husband, it is so. I fear he is not to be reclaimed; there is scarcely a hope that anything in his character or fortunes is reparable now. But, I am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things, even magnanimous things.' 
She looked so beautiful in the purity of her faith in this lost man, that her husband could have looked at her as she was for hours.
`And, O my dearest Love!' she urged, clinging nearer to him, laying her head upon his breast, and raising her eyes to his, `remember how strong we are in our happiness, and how weak he is in his misery!'
The supplication touched him home. `I will always remember it, dear Heart! I will remember it as long as I live.'
He bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, and folded her in his arms. If one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets, could have heard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the drops of pity kissed away by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of that husband, he might have cried to the night--and the words would not have parted from his lips for the first time-- 
`God bless her for her sweet compassion!' 
新婚夫妇回家后第一个来祝贺的是西德尼.卡尔顿。他们抵家才几个小时他就出现了。他的习惯、外表或态度都没有什么改进，却带了一种粗鲁的忠诚的神气，那神气在查尔斯.达尔内眼中却是新鲜的。
他瞅着机会把达尔内拉到一个窗户角落，跟他说了几句不让旁人听见的话。
“达尔内先生，”卡尔顿说，“我希望我们能成为朋友。”
“我们已经是朋友了，我希望。”
“作为一种客套，你这说法倒是不错，不过，我指的并非礼貌上的说法。实际上我希望做的并不是那种意义上的朋友。”
查尔斯.达尔内自然要问他那是什么意思——问时很快活，也很亲切。
“我以生命发誓，”卡尔顿微笑说，“我觉得在自己心里懂得那意思要比传达到你的心里容易。不过，我愿意试一试。你记得我有一回酒后失态么？”
“我记得有一回你逼我承认说你喝醉了酒。”
“我也记得。酒醒之后那内疚总压在我心里，使我久久难忘。我希望有一天——在我的生命全部结束的时候——能做一番交代！别紧张，我并没有说教的打算。”
“我一点也不紧张。你的坦率从来不会令我紧张。”
“啊！”卡尔顿随意挥了挥手，好像要把那紧张挥走。“在我刚才说起的那次酒醉时，那一次（你知道那是我很多次中的一次）我在喜欢或是不喜欢你的问题上表现得很恶劣。我希望你把那件事忘掉。”
“我早就把它忘掉了。”
“又玩形式了不是！达尔内先生，要永远遗忘在我可不是那么容易的，并不像你所说的那么轻松。我没有忘记，轻描淡写的回答也不能帮助我忘记。”
“若是我那回答太轻描淡写，”达尔内回答，“我求你原谅。一件无足轻重的事我只能忘掉，可你却为它那么难过，这叫我非常意外。我以正直人的信念向你保证，我确实早就把那事忘光了。天啦，那样的事有什么值得计较的！你那天帮了我那么大的忙，难道不是我最不能忘记的大事么？”
“至于那个大忙，”卡尔顿说，“既然你说得那么郑重其事，我倒不能不向你发誓，那只不过是一种手法，为了耸人听闻而已。至于那对你会起什么作用，我当时并没放在心上。注意！我说的是在那时，指的是过去。”
“你是在贬低你对我的恩德，”达尔内回答，“不过我不愿跟你这样的贬低进行争辩。”
“十足的真话，达尔内先生，相信我！我已经扯到题外去了。我刚才谈的是我俩做朋友的事。我的为人你是知道的；你知道我不可能搞什么高贵超群的那一套。你要是不信，可以去问斯特莱佛，他会告诉你的。”
“我倒宁可不要他的帮助而形成自己的看法。”
“好了！总而言之，你知道我是个放纵的角色，从没干过好事，也决不会干好事。”
“我还从来不知道你那‘决不会’呢。”
“可是我知道，你得相信我。好了！如果你能容忍这样一个没出息的、名声不好的人偶然来坐坐，我倒希望你给我一点特权，让我不时来走动走动。我希望能被当作一件没有用的（若不是因为我对我俩外形的相似的发现，我倒想加一句话：不能为厅堂增色的）家具，因为多年使用，所以受到容忍，虽然并不受到注意。我怀疑自己说不定会辜负你的允诺。我怀疑我在一年之内会不会使用这种特权四次（那可能性我估计还不到百分之一）。但我敢说，只要你允许了我，我就心满意足了。”
“你会来吗？”
“你这话无异于答应了我所要求的地位。谢谢你，达尔内。我可以以你的名义享用这种自由了吗？”
“我此刻就同意，卡尔顿。”
他俩为此握了手，西德尼转身走掉了。此后不到一分钟他的神色又跟过去完全一样满不在乎了。
他离开之后，查尔斯.达尔内跟着洛丝小姐、医生和罗瑞先生一起度过了那个晚上。其间他一般地提起了这次谈话，并把西德尼.卡尔顿的问题看作是个稀里糊涂、鲁莽轻率的问题，但总的说来他的话对他并不尖刻，也无指责的意思，只按常人从他的外表所常持有的看法来看他。
他可没想到这话竟引起了他年轻美丽的妻子的一些想法。后来他在内室里跟她见面时便发现她漂亮地皱起了眉头，用她那一向引人注目的神态望着他。
“咱们今天晚上有心事了！”达尔内伸手搂住她。
“是的，最亲爱的查尔斯，”她用手抚着他的胸口，专注地、询问地凝望着他，“咱们今晚很有些心事呢，因为我感到沉重。”
“为什么，我的露西？”
“若是我求你不要问，你能答应决不逼我回答任何问题么？”
“我能答应么？我还有什么不能答应我的心肝的呢？”
的确，还有什么不能答应她的呢？他一只手从她脸上掠开了她的金发，另一只手抚住那一颗为他跳动的心。
“我认为可怜的卡尔顿先生应当得到更多的关心和尊堂。他比你今晚所说的强多了。”
“真的么，我的宝贝，为什么？”
“那正是你不能问我的。但是我认为一—我知道——他确实如此。”
“既然你知道，那就够了。你要我干什么呢，我的生命？”
“我想求你，我最亲爱的，对他永远要十分地宽厚慷慨，在他不在场的时候，对他的缺点也要非常地宽容。我要请求你相信他有一颗他绝少向人吐露的心，而且心里有沉重的创伤。我亲爱的，我曾见过他的心流血。”
“你这是在狠狠地斥责我呢，”查尔斯.达尔内十分震惊地说，“是说我委屈了他。我从来没有想到他竟是这样的。”
“我的丈夫，他是这样的。我担心他是无法改变的了。要想他的性格或命运改变怕是没有希望的。但是我相信他是可以做好事，做高贵的事，甚至超群绝伦的事的。”
她对这个迷路者的纯洁的信念使她变得非常美丽，她的丈夫可以像这样望着她，望上几个小时。
“而且，啊，我最亲爱的，”她更紧地靠着他，把头贴在他胸口，抬起眼睛望着他的眼睛叮嘱道，“记住，我们的幸福使我们多么健壮，而他的痛苦又使他多么孱弱。”
这个请求深深地打动了他。“我要永远记住你的话，亲爱的心肝！我一辈子也会记得的。”
他向那金发的头弯下腰去，把那玫瑰色的双唇贴向自己的双唇，并把她搂在怀里。如果有一个凄凉的漫游者此时正在黑暗的街头游荡，却听见了她那纯洁无瑕的倾诉，看到了被她的丈夫从她那挚爱的蓝眼睛上亲掉的眼泪，他也许会对着黑夜大叫的，而这话未必是第一次从他的嘴唇里绽出：
“为了她那甜蜜的同情之心，愿上帝保佑她！”
Book 2 Chapter 21 Echoing Footsteps 
A WONDERFUL corner for echoes, it has been remarked, that corner where the Doctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden thread which bound her husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress and companion, in a life of quiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years.
At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much. Fluttering hopes and doubts--hope, of a love as yet unknown to her: doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight--divided her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes, and broke like waves.
That time passed, and her little Lucie lay on her bosom. Then, among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet and the sound of her prattling words. Let greater echoes resound as they would, the young mother at the cradle side could always hear those coming. They came, and the shady house was sunny with a child's laugh, and the Divine friend of children, to whom in her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take her child in His arms, as He took the child of old, and made it a sacred joy to her.
Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together, weaving the service of her happy influence through the tissue of all their lives, and making it predominate nowhere, Lucie heard in the echoes of years none but friendly and soothing sounds.Her husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm and equal. Lo, Miss Pross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly charger, whip-corrected, snorting and pawing the earth under the plane-tree in the garden!
Even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were not harsh nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said, with a radiant smile, `Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave you both, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I must go!' those were not tears all of agony that wetted his young mother's cheek, as the spirit departed from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Suffer them and forbid them not. They see my Father's face. O Father, blessed words!
Thus, the rustling of an Angel's wings got blended with the other echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb were mingled with them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed murmur--like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore--as the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or dressing a doll at her mother's footstool, chattered in the tongues of the Two Cities that were blended in her life.
The echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of Sydney Carton. Some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of coming in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he had once done often. He never came there heated with wine. And one other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages.
No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him--an instinctive delicacy of pity for him. What fine hidden sensibilities are touched in such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. Carton was the first stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. The little boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. `Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!'
Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some great engine forcing itself through turbid water, and dragged his useful friend in his wake, like a boat towed astern. As the boat so favoured is usually in a rough plight, and mostly under water, so, Sydney had a swamped life of it. But, easy and strong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger in him than any stimulating sense of desert or disgrace, made it the life he was to lead; and he no more thought of emerging from his state of lion's jackal, than any real jackal may be supposed to think of rising to be a lion. Stryver was rich; had married a florid widow with property and three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about them but the straight hair of their dumpling heads.
These three young gentleman, Mr. Stryver, exuding patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore, had walked before him like three sheep to the quiet corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie's husband: delicately saying, `Halloa! here are three lumps of bread-and-cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!' The polite rejection of the three lumps of bread-and-cheese had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation, which he afterwards turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the pride of Beggars, like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the habit of declaiming to Mrs. Stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to `catch' him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in himself, madam, which had rendered him `not to be caught.' Some of his King's Bench familiars, who were occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie, excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it so often, that he believed it himself--which is surely such an incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any such offender's being carried off to some suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of the way.
These were among the echoes to which Lucie, sometimes pensive, sometimes amused and laughing, listened in the echoing corner, until her little daughter was six years old. How near to her heart the echoes of her child's tread came, and those of her own dear father's, always active and self-possessed, and those of her dear husband's, need not be told. Nor, how the lightest echo of their united home, directed by herself with such a wise and elegant thrift that it was more abundant than any waste, was music to her. Nor, how there were echoes all about her, sweet in her ears, of the many times her father had told her that he found her more devoted to him married (if that could be) than single, and of the many times her husband had said to her that no cares and duties seemed to divide her love for him or her help to him, and asked her `What is the magic secret, my darling, ofyour being everything to all of us, as if there were only one of us, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to have too much to do?' 
But, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled menacingly in the corner all through this space of time. And it was now, about little Lucie's sixth birthday, that they began to have an awful sound, as of a great storm in France with a dreadful sea rising.
On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, Mr. Lorry came in late, from Tellson's, and sat himself down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot, wild night, and they were all three reminded of the old Sunday night when they had looked at the lightning from the same place.
`I began to think,' said Mr. Lorry, pushing his brown wig back, `that I should have to pass the night at Tellson's. We have been so full of business all day, that we have not known what to do first, or which way to turn. There is such an uneasiness in Paris, that we have actually a run of confidence upon us! Our customers over there, seem not to be able to confide their property to us fast enough. There is positively a mania among some of them for sending it to England.'
`That has a bad look,' said Darnay.
`A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don't know what reason there is in it. People are so unreasonable! Some of us at Tellson's are getting old, and we really can't be troubled out of the ordinary course without due occasion.'
`Still,' said Darnay, `you know how gloomy and threatening the sky is.'
`I know that, to be sure,' assented Mr. Lorry, trying to persuade himself that his sweet temper was soured, and that he grumbled, `but I am determined to be peevish after my long day's botheration. Where is Manette?'
`Here he is,' said the Doctor, entering the dark room at the moment.
`I am quite glad you are at home; for these hurries and forebodings by which I have been surrounded all day long, have made me nervous without reason. You are not going out, I hope?'
`No; I am going to play backgammon with you, if you like,' said the Doctor.
`I don't think I do like, if I may speak my mind. I am not fit to be pitted against you to-night. Is the tea-board still there, Lucie? I can't see.'
`Of course, it has been kept for you.' 
`Thank ye, my dear. The precious child is safe in bed?' 
`And sleeping soundly.
`That's right; all safe and well! I don't know why anything should be otherwise than safe and well here, thank God; but I have been so put out all day, and I am not as young as I was! My tea, my dear! Thank ye. Now, come and take your place in the circle, and let us sit quiet, and hear the echoes about which you have your theory.'
`Not a theory; it was a fancy.'
`A fancy, then, my wise pet,' said Mr. Lorry, patting her hand. `They are very numerous and very loud, though, are they not? Only hear them!'
Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into anybody's life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the footsteps raging in Saint Antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in the dark London window.
Saint Antoine had been, that morning, a vast dusky mass of scarecrows heaving to and fro, with frequent gleams of light above the billowy heads, where steel blades and bayonets shone in the sun. A tremendous roar arose from the throat of Saint Antoine,and a forest of naked arms struggled in the air like shrivelled branches of trees in a winter wind: all the fingers convulsively clutching at every weapon or semblance of a weapon that was thrown up from the depths below, no matter how far off.
Who gave them out, whence they last came, where they began, through what agency they crookedly quivered and jerked, scores at a time, over the heads of the crowd, like a kind of lightning, no eye in the throng could have told; but, muskets were being distributed--so were cartridges, powder, and ball, bars of iron and wood, knives, axes, pikes, every weapon that distracted ingenuity could discover or devise. People who could lay hold of nothing else, set themselves with bleeding hands to force stones and bricks out of their places in walls. Every pulse and heart in Saint Antoine was on high-fever strain and at high-fever heat. Every living creature there held life as of no account, and was demented with a passionate readiness to sacrifice it.
As a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centre point, so, all this raging circled round Defarge's wine-shop, and every human drop in the caldron had a tendency to be sucked towards the vortex where Defarge himself, already begrimed with gunpowder andsweat, issued orders, issued arms, thrust this man back, dragged this man forward, disarmed one to arm another, laboured and strove in the thickest of the uproar.
`Keep near to me, Jacques Three,' cried Defarge; `and do you, Jacques One and Two, separate and put yourselves at the head of as many of these patriots as you can. Where is my wife?'
`Eh, well! Here you see me!' said madame, composed as ever, but not knitting to-day. Madame's resolute right hand was occupied with an axe, in place of the usual softer implements, and in her girdle were a pistol and a cruel knife.
`Where do you go, my wife?'
`I go,' said madame, `with you at present. You shall see me at the head of women, by-and-by.'
`Come, then!' cried Defarge, in a resounding voice. `Patriots and friends, we are ready! The Bastille!'
With a roar that sounded as if all the breath in France had been shaped into the detested word, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on depth, and overflowed the city to that point. Alarm-bells ringing, drums beating, the sea raging and thunderingon its new beach, the attack `begun.
Deep ditches, double drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. Through the fire and through the smoke--in the fire and in the smoke, for the sea cast him up against a cannon, and on the instant he became acannonier--Defarge of the wine-shop worked like a manful soldier, Two fierce hours.
Deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight at towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. One drawbridge down! `Work, comrades all, work! Work, Jacques , Jacques Two, Jacques One Thousand, Jacques Two Thousand, Jacques Five-and-Twenty Thousand; in the name of all the Angels or the Devils--which you prefer--work!' Thus Defarge of the wine-shop, still at his gun, which had long grown hot.
`To me, women!' cried madame his wife. `What! We can kill as well as the men when the place is taken!' And to her, with a shrill thirsty cry, trooping women variously armed, but all armed alike in hunger and revenge.
Cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, still the deep ditch, the single drawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers. Slight displacements of the raging sea, made by the falling wounded. Flashing weapons, blazing torches, smoking waggon-loads of wet straw, hard work at neighbouring barricades in all directions, shrieks, volleys, execrations, bravery without stint, boom, smash and rattle, and the furious sounding of the living sea; but, still the deep ditch, and the single drawbridge, and the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers, and still Defarge of the wine-shop at his gun, growndoubly hot by the service of Four fierce hours.
A white flag from within the fortress, and a parley--this dimly perceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible in it--suddenly the sea rose immeasurably wider and higher, and swept Defarge of the wine-shop over the lowered draw-bridge, past the massive stone outer walls, in among the eight great towers surrendered!
So resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on, that even to draw his breath or turn his head was as impracticable as if he had been struggling in the surf at the South Sea, until he was landed in the outer court-yard of the Bastille. There, against an angle of a wall, he made a struggle to look about him. Jacques Three was nearly at his side; Madame Defarge, still-heading some of her women, was visible in the inner distance, and her knife was in her hand. Everywhere was tumult, exultation, deafening and maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet furious dumb-show.
`The Prisoners!'
`The Records!'
`The secret cells!'
`The instruments of torture!'
`The Prisoners!'
Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherencies, `The Prisoners!' was the Cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if there were an eternity of people, as well as of time and space. When the foremost billows rolled past, bearing the prison officers with them, and threatening them all with instant death if any secret nook remained undisclosed, Defarge laid his strong hand on the breast of one of these men--a man with a grey head, who had a lighted torch in his hand--separated him from the rest, and got him between himself and the wall.
`Show me the North Tower!' said Defarge. `Quick!' 
`I will faithfully,' replied the man, `if you will come with me.
But there is no one there.'
`What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North Tower?' asked Defarge. `Quick!'
`The meaning, monsieur?'
`Does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? Or do you mean that I shall strike you dead?'
`Kill him!' croaked Jacques Three, who had come close up.
`Monsieur, it is a cell.'
`Show it me!'
`Pass this way, then.'
Jacques Three, with his usual craving on him, and evidently disappointed by the dialogue taking a turn that did not seem to promise bloodshed, held by Defarge's arm as he held by the turnkey's. Their three heads had been close together during this brief discourse, and it had been as much as they could do to hear one another, even then: so tremendous was the noise of the living ocean, in its irruption into the Fortress, and its inundation of the courts and passages and staircases. All around outside, too, it beat the walls with a deep, hoarse roar, from which, occasionally, some partial shouts of tumult broke and leaped into the air like spray.
Through gloomy vaults where the light of day had never shone, past hideous doors of dark dens and cages, down cavernous flights of steps, and again up steep rugged ascents of stone and brick, more like dry waterfalls than staircases, Defarge, the turnkey, and Jacques Three, linked hand and arm, went with all the speed they could make. Here and there, especially at first, the inundation started on them and swept by; but when they had done descending, and were winding and climbing up a tower, they were alone. Hemmed in here by the massive thickness of walls and arches, the storm within the fortress and without was only audible to them in a dull, subdued way, as if the noise out of which they had come had almost destroyed their sense of hearing.
The turnkey stopped at a low door, put a key in a clashing lock, swung the door slowly open, and said, as they all bent their heads and passed in:
`One hundred and five, North Tower!'
There was a small, heavily-grated, unglazed window high in the wall, with a stone screen before it, so that the sky could be only seen by stooping low and looking up. There was a small chimney, heavily barred across, a few feet within. There was a heap of old feathery wood-ashes on the hearth. There was a stool, and table, and a straw bed. There were the four blackened walls, and a rusted iron ring in one of them.
`Pass that torch slowly along these walls, that I may see them,' said Defarge to the turnkey.
The man obeyed, and Defarge followed the light closely with his eyes.
`Stop--Look here, Jacques!'
`A. M.!' croaked Jacques Three, as he read greedily.
`Alexandre Manette,' said Defarge in his ear, following the letters with his swart forefinger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. `And here he wrote ``a poor physician.'' And it was he, without doubt, who scratched a calendar on this stone. What is that in your hand? A crowbar? Give it me!'
He had still the linstock of his gun in his own hand. He made a sudden exchange of the two instruments, and turning on the worm-eaten stool and table, beat them to pieces in a few blows.
`Hold the light higher!' he said, wrathfully, to the turnkey. `Look among those fragments with care, Jacques. And see! Here is my knife,' throwing it to him; `rip open that bed, and search the straw. Hold the light higher, you!'
With a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon the hearth, and, peering up the chimney, struck and prised at its sides with the crowbar, and worked at the iron grating across it. In a few minutes, some mortar and dust came dropping down, which he averted his face to avoid; and in it, and in the old wood-ashes, and in a crevice in the chimney into which his weapon had slipped or wrought itself, he groped with a cautious touch.
`Nothing in the wood, and nothing in the straw, Jacques?' 
`Nothing.'
`Let us collect them together, in the middle of the cell. So! Light them, you!'
The turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed high and hot. Stooping again to come out at the low-arched door, they left it burning, and retraced their way to the court-yard; seeming to recover their sense of hearing as they came down, until they were in the raging flood once more.
They found it surging and tossing, in quest of Defarge himself. Saint Antoine was clamorous to have its wine-shop keeper foremost in the guard upon the governor who had defended the Bastille and shot the people. Otherwise, the governor would not be marched to the Hotel de Ville for judgment. Otherwise, the governor would escape, and the people's blood (suddenly of some value, after many years of worthlessness) be unavenged.
In the howling universe of passion and contention that seemed to encompass this grim old officer conspicuous in his grey coat and red decoration, there was but one quite steady figure, and that was a woman's. `See, there is my husband!' she cried, pointing him out. `See Defarge!' She stood immovable close to the grim old officer, and remained immovable close to him; remained immovable close to him through the streets, as Defarge and the rest bore him along; remained immovable close to him when he was got near his destination, and began to be struck at from behind; remained immovable close to him when the long-gathering rain of stabs and blows fell heavy; was so close to him when he dropped dead under it, that, suddenly animated, she put her foot upon his neck, and with her cruel knife-long `ready-hewed off his head.
The hour was come, when Saint Antoine was to execute his horrible idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show what he could be and do. Saint Antoine's blood was up, and the blood of tyranny and domination by the iron hand was down--down on the steps of the Hotel de Ville where the governor's body lay--down on the sole of the shoe of Madame Defarge where she had trodden on the body to steady it for mutilation. `Lower the lamp yonder!' cried Saint Antoine, after glaring round for a new means of death; `here is one of his soldiers to be left on guard!' The swinging sentinel was posted, and the sea rushed on.
The sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive upheaving of wave against wave, whose depths were yet unfathomed and whose forces were yet unknown. The remorseless sea of turbulently swaying shapes, voices of vengeance, and faces hardened in the furnaces of suffering until the touch of pity could make no mark on them.
But, in the ocean of faces where every fierce and furious expression was in vivid life, there were two groups of faces--each seven in number--so fixedly contrasting with the rest, that never did sea roll which bore more memorable wrecks with it. Seven faces of prisoners, suddenly released by the storm that had burst their tomb, were carried high overhead: all scared, all lost, all wondering and amazed, as if the Last Day were come, and those who rejoiced around them were lost spirits. Other seven faces there were, carried higher, seven dead faces, whose drooping eyelids and half-seen eyes awaited the Last Day. Impassive faces, yet with a suspended--not an abolished--expression on them; faces, rather, in a fearful pause, as having yet to raise the dropped lids of the eyes, and bear witness with the bloodless lips, `THOU DIDST IT!'
Seven prisoners released, seven gory heads on pikes, the keys of the accursed fortress of the eight strong towers, some discovered letters and other memorials of prisoners of old time, long dead of broken hearts,--such, and such-like, the loudly echoing footsteps of Saint Antoine escort through the Paris streets in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine. Now, Heaven defeat the fancy of Lucie Darnay, and keep these feet far out of her life! For, they are headlong, mad, and dangerous; and in the years so long after the breaking of the cask at Defarge's wine-shop door, they are not easily purified when once stained red.
前面说过，医生居住的街角是个听回音的绝妙处所。露西永远忙着用金丝缠裹着她的丈夫、父亲、自己和她的老管家老伙伴，让大家过着平静幸福的日子。她常坐在平静的反响着回音的安谧的屋子里听着岁月的脚步回响。
她虽然是个年轻的妻子，百分之百地幸福，但手里的活计有时也会落下，目光有时也会逐渐暗淡。因为，在回音之中有某种东西正在向她走来，某种辽远的、几乎还听不见的轻柔的东西太沉重地扣击着她的心。飘忽不定的希望和疑虑分裂着她的胸臆——希望，对一种她还不知道的爱的希望；疑虑，对她是否能留在世上享有那新的欢乐的疑虑——因此，在那杂者的回音之中便出现了她自已早夭的坟头上的脚步声；她想到她丈夫会凄凉地留在世上，为她过分哀悼，便不禁有万千思绪涌入眼里，并像浪花一样崩散。
那个时期过去，她的小露西躺在了她的怀里。于是，在前进的回音之中又有了孩子那小脚的脚步声和她的牙牙学语声。即使巨大的回音尽情震响，坐在摇篮边的年轻妈妈也总能听见那脚步和语声走来。它们来了，阴凉的屋子便因一个孩子的欢笑而阳光灿烂，而那儿童的神圣的朋友上帝——她在苦难时总向他倾诉——也似乎总把她的孩子抱在怀里，正如多少年前抱着另一个孩子。这便把这一切变作了她的一种神圣的欢乐。
露西永远忙着用金丝把他们缠绕到一起。她用她的辛勤织成幸福的影响，放它弥漫于他们的生活之中，不多不少，恰如其分。在多年的回音中她听见的都是友爱和安慰，在其中，她丈夫的脚步是健壮而兴旺的，她父亲的脚步是坚定而匀称的，喏，普洛丝小姐的脚步则是野性难驯的战马的回音，但她受到了金丝笼头的羁绊和鞭子的教育，也只能在小院的梧桐树下喷喷鼻息，刨刨泥土而已！
尽管也曾有过悲伤的声音，却并不刺耳也不凄惨。那时跟她相同的金发耷拉在枕上，像神灵的光圈一样围绕着一个小男孩憔悴的脸。那孩于灿烂地微笑着说，“亲爱的爸爸妈妈，我很难过，因为我要离开你们了，要离开美丽的姐姐了。但我得到了召唤，我必须去！”即使在那托付给她的灵魂离开她时，濡湿了她那年轻母亲的面颊的泪也不全是痛苦的。“让小孩儿到我这里来，不要禁止他，们。”他们见到了天父的脸。啊天父，你的受到祝福的话语呀！
这样，天使振动翅膀的声音便跟别的回声混合到了一起，那回声已不全是人世的声音，它混合了天国的气息。吹过一个小小花园墓地的风儿的叹息也混合在回音里，两者都只是低低的呢喃，有如夏日熟睡的沙岸旁的大海的呼吸。这些，露西都听得见——那时小露西正在滑稽地忙着早上的“工作”，或是坐在妈妈的脚凳上给玩偶穿衣服，用混合在她生活里的两大都市的语言叽叽喳喳地说着话儿。
回声很少反应西德尼.卡尔顿的实际脚步。他一年最多只有五六次使用不请自来的特权，来后也只在他们之间坐一个晚上，跟以往一样。他从不带着酒意来。回声的悄语里也反响着一种来自他的东西，那是真诚的回声，千百年来总要震荡反响的。
若是一个男性真正爱上了一个女性，失去了她，却还能在她做—了妻子和母亲之后准确无误地理解她，而且挚爱如初，她的孩子们对他总会有一种奇特的情感共鸣的——一种本能的微妙的爱怜。在这种情况下究竟是触动了一种什么样的隐藏的精微知觉，回声未曾解释。但情况正是如此。卡尔顿在这儿的情况也是如此。卡尔顿是小露西第一个向他伸出胖胖胳膊的陌生人。他在她成长的过程中总保持了这种地位。小男孩接近临终时也提到他。“可怜的卡尔顿！为我亲亲他！”
斯特莱佛先生像艘在汹涌的急流中破浪前进的大型汽轮在法学界横冲直撞，把他那很有用的朋友拖在身后，像拖了一只小船。受到这种宠爱的小船总是灾难重重，大部分时间都淹没在水里，因此西德尼只好过着倒霉的日子。但不幸的是，习惯是轻松而有力的。它在他身上比一切令人激动的成就感或羞辱感都更轻松，更有力。于是他便继续过着现在的日子，很少考虑摆脱他那狮子属下的豺狗的地位，正如真正的豺狗不会想到变成狮子一样。斯特莱佛有钱，又讨了个漂亮的寡妇，带来了一笔财富和三个男孩。三个孩子没有什么特别光辉的东西，只是几个汤团似的脑袋上长了满头直发。
斯特莱佛先生每一个细胞都洋溢着最令人气愤的施主气派。他曾像赶绵羊一样让这三位少爷走在他前面来到索霍区那平静的街角，要露西的丈夫收他们做学生。他挺关怀地说道，“嗬！这可是给你们夫妇野宴上增添三个奶酪面包呢，达尔内！”可这三个奶酪面包都被彬彬有礼地谢绝了。斯特莱佛先生很生气，此后在培养三位少爷时他便化愤怒为教育，要他们以后当心那个家庭教师的穷酸傲气。他还有个习惯，喜欢喝着美酒向斯特莱佛太太宣布达尔内太太当初曾玩过花招，要想“钓上”他，而他却有一套以金刚钻对金刚钻的招数，使自己“幸免上钩”。皇家法院的熟人偶然跟他一起喝酒，听他撒了这个谎，也都原谅了他，说他那谎话重复得太多，连自己也信以为真了。犯了错误，却又坚持不改，这种家伙若是叫人押到一个合适的僻静地方悄悄绞死倒是活该。
这些东西都是露西在她那回音角里时而沉思、时而忍不住微笑时听见的，一直听到她的女儿长到了六岁。孩子的脚步声、亲爱的父亲永远活跃而有节制的脚步声、亲爱的丈夫的脚步声，这一切不用说都跟她的心贴得很紧。她以她的才智和品德勤俭地维持着他们共同的家，过着富裕而没有浪费的生活。这个家的最轻微的回音不用说对她也都是音乐。还有，她四周的回声在她耳里不用说都很甜蜜。她的父亲曾多次告诉她，她在婚后比未婚时对他更孝顺了（如果那还有可能的话）。她的丈夫曾多次告诉她，家务的烦恼与责任似乎并没有分散她对他的爱和帮助，而且问道，“你对我们几个人都照顾得那么周到，仿佛我们只有一个人，却既不显得太忙，也不觉得太累。亲爱的，你有什么魔术一样的诀窍？”
但是在这整个时期，却也有别的回声在那街角气势汹汹地隆隆作响。而现在，在小露西六岁的生日那天，那隆隆的回声已开始变得可怕起来，仿佛法兰西那一场巨大的风暴正挟着汹涌的海涛奔袭而来。
一千七百八十九年七月中旬的一个晚上，罗瑞先生从台尔森来时已经很晚。他在黑暗的窗前的露西和她丈夫身边坐下了。那是一个炎热的风暴欲来的夜晚，三个人都回忆起多年前那一个星期天的晚上，那时他们三人也在同一个地点观望着闪电。
“我开始觉得我今晚应该在台尔森度过，”罗瑞先生把他的棕色假发往后一推，说。“白天我们忙得不知道该从何处入手，该干什么好。巴黎的政局十分动荡。我们的信托业务实际上应接不暇，那边的客户们似乎迫不及待地要把财产托付给我们。有些客户确实发了疯，还想把财产送到英格兰来。”
“情况似乎有些严重，”达尔内说。
“你是说似乎有些严重么，亲爱的达尔内？是的，但是我们不知道有什么理由严重。人们简直不可理喻！我们台尔森有些人年龄越来越大，这种平白无故的反常麻烦可叫我们吃不消。”
“可是，”达尔内说，“天空有多么阴暗，预示着风暴到临，你是知道的。”
“我确实知道，”罗瑞先生同意了，努力说服自己说他那和善的脾气发了酸，因此在嘟囔，“但是我心烦意乱了一整天，难免不发脾气。曼内特到哪儿去了？”
“在这儿，”这时医生正好踏进黑暗的屋里。
“我很高兴你在家，这种忙乱和不安缠了我一整天，弄得我无缘无故地神经紧张，我希望你不打算出去？”
“我不想出去。如果你乐意，我还想跟你掷骰子呢，”医生说。
“如果可以说说心里话，我并不想掷骰子。我今天晚上不适于跟你较量。茶盘还在那儿么，露西？我看不见。”
“当然为你准备着。”
“谢谢，我亲爱的。宝宝平安无事地上床了吧？”
“睡得很香呢。”
“那就好，一切清吉平安！我不知道这儿的一切有什么理由会不清吉平安，谢谢上帝。我可是烦了一整天，却又不如过去年轻力壮了！我的茶么，亲爱的？谢谢。来，来，坐到圈子里来，咱们静静地坐着，听听回声。你对回声还有你的理论呢。”
“不是理论，而是幻想。”
“那么，我聪明的宝贝，是幻想，”罗瑞先生拍拍她的手说，“可今晚的回声非常多，而且响亮，是么？你听听看！”
这一小圈人坐在伦敦那黑暗的窗前时，远处的圣安托万区却有疾速、疯狂、危险的脚步兴起，并闯进他人的生活。那脚步一染上猩红就不容易洗净。
那天上午，圣安托万区有黑压压的一大片衣衫褴褛的人潮水一般涌来涌去。在攒动的人头上不时有光芒闪过，那是熠耀在阳光下的战刀和刺刀。圣安托万的喉咙发出巨大的吼声，赤棵的手臂的森林在空中摇摆，有如冬季寒风中干枯的枝条，所有的手指都往武器或类似武器的东西抓去，无论它在多远的地方。武器是从下面的深处抛上来的。
是谁抛上来的，是从哪儿抛上来的，从哪儿开始抛的，是什么人经手抛的，人群中没有人看见。武器一次几十把，摇晃着、颤动着跳了出来，出现在人群的头上，有如电闪。跳出来的还有毛瑟枪、子弹、火药、炮弹、木棍、铁棍、刀子、斧子、长矛。总之，发了疯的创造精神所能搜寻到或设计出的一切武器都有。得不到别的东西的人们便用血淋淋的手从墙上挖出石头和砖块。圣安托万的每一次脉动和心跳都疾速而火热，像是发了高烧。那儿的每一个人都发了狂，都已把生死置之度外，火辣辣地准备拿出生命作牺牲。
翻腾的水的漩涡总有一个中心，眼前这纷乱的人群所围绕的中心就是德伐日的酒店。沸腾的锅里的每一滴水（每一个人）都受着漩涡中心的德伐日的吸引。此时为火药和汗水弄得满身脏污的德伐日正在发出命令，分配武器，把这个人往后推，把那个人往前拉，拿走一个人的武器交给另外一个人，正在震耳欲聋的喧哗中苦干着。
“别离开我身边，雅克三号，”德伐日叫道，“雅克一号，雅克二号，你们俩分头活动，把这些爱国者尽量多地聚集在身边。我老婆在哪儿？”
“呃，这儿，你看见的！”老板娘仍然跟任何时候一样镇定，只是没有织毛线。她那坚定的右手攥住的是一把斧头，而不是较为温和的常见工具，腰带上还插了一把手枪和一柄残忍的刀。
“你要到哪儿去，老婆？”
“我现在只跟着你，”老板娘说。“以后你会看见我走在妇女队伍最前面的。”
“那就来吧！”德伐日放开嗓门大叫。“爱国者们，朋友们！咱们已经作好了准备。到巴士底去！”
人潮开始动荡，发出一声怒吼，仿佛整个法兰西的喉咙都集中到了那一个令人憎恶的字眼上。人潮一浪接着一浪，越卷越高，淹没了城市，来到了那个地点。警钟响了，战鼓响了，人潮在新的海岸上发着狂，大声地咆哮着。攻击开始了。
深深的壕堑、双重的吊桥、厚重的石壁、八座巨大的塔楼。大炮、毛瑟枪、火焰与烟雾。酒店老板德伐日穿过了火焰，穿过了烟雾，又进入了火焰，进入了烟雾。人潮把他送向了一尊大炮，而他在转瞬之间已成了炮手。他像个英勇的士兵激战了两个小时。
深深的壕堑，单吊桥，厚重的石壁，八座巨大的塔楼。大炮、毛瑟枪、火焰与烟雾。座吊桥垮下来了！“干呀，同志们，干呀！干呀，雅克一号，雅克二号，雅克一千号，雅克二千号，雅克二万五干号；以所有的天使和魔鬼的名义——你愿用谁的名义都行，干呀！”酒店老板德伐日还在大炮前干着，大炮早烫手了。
“跟我来，妇女们！”他的妻子老板娘叫道，“干什么！拿下来之后，我们也可以像男人一样杀人的！”妇女们发出如饥似渴的尖叫，跟在她的身后。她们的武器各不相同，但是心中的饥渴与复仇的心情却一样。
大炮、毛瑟枪、火光与烟雾，但仍然是深深的壕堑、单吊桥、厚重的石壁和八个巨大的塔楼。有人受伤倒下了，汹涌的人潮作了不大的调整。闪亮的武器，通明的火炬，一车车潮湿的柴草冒着烟、四面八方的工事上的苦苦厮杀。尖叫、排炮、咒骂，奋不顾身的勇气，炮声、撞击声、叮当声，人潮的愤怒的咆哮。但仍然是深深的壕堑、仍然是单吊桥，厚重的石壁和那八座巨大的塔楼。酒店老板德伐日—还在他的炮前。大炮已激烈地打了四个小时，已经是双倍地发烫。
要塞里升起了白旗，谈判——白旗在战斗的风暴之间依稀可见，声音却听不见。人潮突然无法估量地扩展开来、汹涌起来，把酒店老板德伐日卷过了放下的吊桥，卷进了厚重的外层墙壁，卷进了投降了的八座塔楼。
席卷着他的人潮势不可当，就连吸一口气转一转头都困难，仿佛是在南太平洋的狂涛里挣扎。他终于来到巴士底监狱外面的场院里。他在那儿凭借了一堵墙的拐角的力量才挣扎着向四面看了看。雅克三号差不多就在他身边；德伐日太太仍然带着几个妇女，已离监狱不远，隐约可见，手里拿着刀。到处是骚动、兴奋、令人耳聋的疯狂的混乱，令人震惊的呼喊，却也有激怒的哑剧场面。
“囚徒！”
“记录！”
“秘密牢房！”
“刑具！”
“囚徒！”
在所有的呼喊声中，在一万个破碎的字句中“囚徒！”是为汹涌而入的人潮应和得最多的。仿佛有无穷的人在无穷的时间和空间里应和着。最早进入的人押着监狱的官员，并威胁说，若是有任何一个秘密角落没有公开就立即杀死他们。这阵人潮卷过之后，德伐日已把他结实的手放到一个监狱看守胸前——那人头发花白，手执火炬。他把他跟其他的人分开，逼到了墙壁面前。
“告诉我，北塔怎么走！”德伐日说，“快！”
“我会认真告诉你的，”那人回答，“如果你跟我走的话。不过那儿已没有人。”
“北塔一０五是什么意思？”德伐日问。“快！”
“意思么，先生？”
“那是囚徒还是牢房的名字？你想找死么？”
“杀死他！”雅克三号正走过来，叫道。
“是牢房的名字，先生。”
“带我去。”
“那就这边来。”
带着一向的渴望神情的雅克三号显然因为谈话并不往流血的方向发展而感到失望了。他抓紧了德伐日的手臂，也抓紧了看守的手臂。在这短暂的会谈里他们的三颗头攒在了一起——那时要想彼此能听见只能如此，因为人潮已冲进要塞，淹没了过道与阶梯，发出了激烈的喧嚣。外面，人潮也以一种深沉嘶哑的吼叫冲击着四面的墙壁；吼叫之中还不时有腾空而起的呐喊爆发，像是升到空中的浪花。
德伐日、看守和雅克三号手牵着手以最快的速度穿过了终年不见阳光的拱门，穿过了黑魃魃的洞窟的狰狞的窄门，走下了洞穴状的层层台阶，爬上了石头与砖块砌成的嶙绚而陡峭的石梯——那东西与其说像阶梯，倒不如说像干涸的瀑布。在某些地方人潮还从他们身边卷过，特别是刚开始的时候；但在他们下行了一段又上了一座塔楼之后，他们就孤独了。在这儿，夹在厚重的石壁和拱门之间，要塞内外的风暴在他们耳里只剩下了一种沉闷的压抑的声音，仿佛外面的噪音已经差不多破坏了他们的听觉。
看守在一道矮门边站住了。他把一把钥匙塞进了一个咔咔作响的锁里，馒慢推开了门，在他们低头进门时说：
“北塔一０五！”
墙壁高处有一个窗户，窗户上没有玻璃，铁栅森严，前面还有一道石屏挡住，要见到天空得弯下腰往上看。进门几步有一个小小的烟囱，烟囱进口也用沉重的铁栅封闭。壁炉上有—堆轻轻的陈年的柴灰。屋里有一张板凳、一张桌子、一张铺着草垫的床、熏黑了的四堵墙，一堵墙上还有一个生了锈的铁环。
“拿火炬慢慢照照这几堵墙壁，我还要看一看，”德伐日对看守说。
那人照办了，德伐日眼睛紧紧地跟着炬火观察。
“停！——看看这儿，雅克！”
“Ａ。Ｍ．！”雅克三号贪婪地读着，嗓门嘶哑。
“亚历山大.曼内特，”德伐日用他那沾满了火药的黝黑的手指画着那两个字母，对着他的耳朵说。“这儿他还写着‘一个不幸的医生’。而且，毫无疑问，在这块石头上划日历的也是他。你手上拿的是什么？撬棍么？给我。”
他手里还抓着放炮的火绳杆。他迅速换了工具，转向虫蛀的桌凳，几棍子把它们敲了个粉碎。
“火把照高一点！”他对看守怒气冲冲地说。“雅克，仔细检查一下这些破木片。喏！这儿有刀，”他把刀扔给他，“把床垫划开，搜查一下铺草。火把照高一点，你！”
他狠狠地盯了看守一眼，爬上了壁炉，从烟囱里往上看，用橇棍敲打着，拨弄着烟囱壁，捅着横在烟囱上的铁栅。几分钟之后掉下了一些灰泥和尘埃，他转过脸躲开了，然后便在烟囱里、陈年的柴灰堆里、在他那武器截穿的一道缝里仔仔细细地摸索。
“木头里、铺草里都没有么，雅克？”
“没有。”
“咱们把这些东西集中到牢房正中。好了！生火，你！”
看守点燃了这堆东西，火苗蹿得很高，也很热。他们让火堆燃烧，重新弯下身子从低矮的拱门走了出来，沿着原路回到了院子里。这时听觉也似乎重新恢复，他们又回到了汹涌澎湃的浪潮声里了。
他们发现人潮在起伏激荡，寻找着德伐日。圣安托万正叹叫着要求它的酒店老板去负责监押那死守巴士底狱、向人民开炮的要塞总监。没有德伐日那总监就无法被押到市政厅去受审，没有他那总监就会逃掉，人民的血就得不到报偿了（多少年来一文不值的血现在突然值钱了）。
那位冷酷的老军宫身穿灰色大氅，佩带红色勋章  ，站在那仿佛紧裹着他的气势汹汹的人潮中很为惹眼。可是在那无所不在的喧哗之中却有一个人泰然不动。那人是个妇女。“看，我的丈夫来了！”她指出了他，叫道。“看，德伐日！”她紧挨着那冷酷的老军官站着，不挪一下地方，而且，在德伐日等人押着他通过街道时也寸步不离；在他被押到了目的地有人从背后打他时她也寸步不离；在积聚了长期仇恨的刀子拳头狠狠地顶点般地落在他身上时， 她仍然寸步不离。等到他受了伤倒地死去之后，她却突然活跃起来，一脚踩在他脖子上，挥动她那早作好准备的残忍的刀把他的脑袋割了下来。
圣安托万执行他那可怕的设想的时刻到了。他要把人当作街灯一样挂起来，表现自己能够成为什么样的人，能干出什么样的事。圣安托万的血液沸腾了，暴虐与铁腕统治的血溅洒出来，溅在要塞总监尸体横陈的市政厅台阶上，溅在德伐日太太的鞋底上——为了把尸体砍作几块，她曾用脚踩在尸体上。“把那边那灯放下来！”圣安托万瞪大了眼四处寻找新的杀人工具，然后叫道，“他还有个兵士在这儿，让他给他站岗吧！”那个哨兵叫人晃里晃荡吊上了岗哨。人潮又往前涌。
黑色的气势汹汹的海涛，浪涛与浪涛间的破坏性的升腾与撞击，那撞击的深度那时还无法估量，其强力也还没有人知道。激烈地震荡着的毫不内疚的人的海洋，复仇的呼号，经过苦难的熔炉锻炼得僵硬的脸，在那脸上怜悯再也留不下痕迹。
人潮的面孔上活跃着各种各样狰狞的和狂怒的表情，其中却出现了两个集团，每个集团七人，跟别的面孔形成呆板的对比。海洋从来不曾冲刷出过比它们更加值得纪念的海难遗物。七个囚徒突然被冲破他们坟墓的风暴解放出来，被高高地举在众人头上。他们感到害伯、茫然、惶惑、惊讶，仿佛末日审判已经到来，而在他们周围欢天喜地的人们的灵魂都已无可救药。还有七张面孔被举得更高，那是七张死去的面孔，耷拉下的眼皮和半露出的眼睛等待着末日审判。面孔虽冷漠，却带着一种有所期待并未死心的表情，很像是作了一个可怕的停顿，准备着抬起垂下的眼帘，用没有血色的嘴唇作证：“是你杀了我！”
七个囚徒被释放了出来，七个血淋淋的人头插在了矛尖上，那受到诅咒的有八个堡垒的要塞的钥匙、某些被发现的信件、很久以前就怀着破碎的心死去的囚徒的遗物—一诸如此类的东西在一千七百八十九年七月中旬被圣安托万的震天动地的脚步声护送着通过了巴黎市街。现在，但愿上天击败露西.达尔内的幻想，不让那脚步侵入她的生活！因为那脚步疾速、疯狂，而且危险；而在德伐日酒店门前跌破了酒桶多年之后，那些脚步一旦染成红色是很难洗净的。
Book 2 Chapter 22 The Sea still Rises
HAGGARD Saint Antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with the relish of fraternal embraces an congratulations, when Madame Defarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers. Madame Defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of Spies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting themselves to the saint's mercies. The lamps had a portentously elastic swing with them. 
Madame Defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. In both, there were several knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense of power enthroned on their distress. The raggedest nightcap, awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: `I know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy life in you?' Every lean bare arm, that had been without work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike. The fingers of the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that they could tear. There was a change in the appearance of Saint Antoine; the hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the last finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.
Madame Defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was to be desired in the leader of the Saint Antoine women. One of her sisterhood knitted beside her. The short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had already earned the complimentary name of The Vengeance.
`Hark!' said The Vengeance. `Listen, then! Who comes?' 
As if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of the Saint Antoine Quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading murmur came rushing along. 
`It is Defarge,' said madame. `Silence, patriots!'
Defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked around him! `Listen, everywhere!' said madame again. `Listen to him!' Defarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open mouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had sprung to their feet.
`Say then, my husband. What is it?' 
`News from the other world!'
`How, then?' cried madame, contemptuously. `The other world?'
`Does everybody here recall old Foulon, who told the famished people that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?'
`Everybody!' from all throats. 
`The news is of him. He is among us!' 
`Among us!' from the universal throat again. `And dead?'
`Not dead! He feared us so much--and with reason--that he caused himself to be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. But they have found him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. I have seen him but now, on his way to the H?tel de Ville, a prisoner. I have said that he had reason to fear us. Say all! Had he reason?'
Wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he had never known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if he could have heard the answering cry.
A moment of profound silence followed. Defarge and his wife looked steadfastly at one another. The Vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drum was heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter.
`Patriots!' said Defarge, in a determined voice, `are we ready?' 
Instantly Madame Defarge's knife was in her girdle; the drum was beating in the streets, as if it and a drummer had flown together by magic; and The Vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks, and flinging her arms about her head like all the forty Furies at once, was tearing from house to house, rousing the women.
The men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with which they looked from windows, caught up what arms they had, and came pouring down into the streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the boldest. From such household occupations as their bare poverty yielded, from their children, from their aged and their sick crouching on the bare ground famished and naked, they ran out with streaming hair, urging one another, and themselves, to madness with the wildest cries and actions. Villain Foulon taken, my sister! Old Foulon taken, my mother! Miscreant Foulon taken, my daughter! Then, a score of others ran into the midst of these, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and screaming, Foulon alive! Foulon who told the starving people they might eat grass! Foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when I had no bread to give him! Foulon who told mybaby it might suck grass, when these breasts were dry with want! O mother of God, this Foulon! O Heaven, our suffering! Hear me, my dead baby and my withered father: I swear on my knees, on these stones, to avenge you on Foulon! Husbands, and brothers, and young men, Give us the blood of Foulon, Give us the head of Foulon, Give us the heart of Foulon, Give us the body and soul of Foulon, Rend Foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that grass may grow from him! With these cries, numbers of the women, lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking and tearing at their own friends until they dropped into a passionate swoon, and were only saved by the men belonging to them from being trampled under foot.
Nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! This Foulon was at the H?tel de Ville, and might be loosed. Never, if Saint Antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs! Armed men and women flocked out of the Quarter so fast, and drew even these last dregs after them with such a force of suction, that within a quarter of an hour there was not a human creature in Saint Antoine's bosom but a few old crones and the wailing children.
No. They were all by that time choking the Hall of Examination where this old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into the adjacent open space and streets. The Defarges, husband and wife, The Vengeance, and Jacques Three, were in the first press, and at no great distance from him in the Hall.
`See!' cried madame, pointing with her knife. `See the old villain bound with ropes. That was well done to tie a bunch of grass upon his back. Ha, ha! That was well done. Let him eat it now!' Madame put her knife under her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play.
The people immediately behind Madame Defarge, explaining the cause of her satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explaining to others, and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded with the clapping of hands. Similarly, during two or three hours of brawl, and the winnowing of many bushels of words, Madame Defarge's frequent expressions of impatience were taken up, with marvellous quickness, at a distance: the more readily, because certain men who had by some wonderful exercise of agility climbed up the external architecture to look in from the windows, knew Madame Defarge well, and acted as a telegraph between her and the crowd outside the building.
At length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope or protection, directly down upon the old prisoner's head. The favour was too much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had stood surprisingly long, went to the winds, and Saint Antoine had got him!
It was known directly, to the furthest confines of the crowd. Defarge had but sprung over a railing and a table, and folded the miserable wretch in a deadly embrace--Madame Defarge had but followed and turned her hand in one of the ropes with which he was tied--The Vengeance and Jacques Three were not yet up with them, and the men at the windows had not yet swooped into the Hall, like birds of prey from their high perches--when the cry seemed to go up, all over the city, `Bring him out! Bring him to the lamp!'
Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the building; now, on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back; dragged, and struck at, and stifled by the bunches of grass and straw that were thrust into his face by hundreds of hands; torn, bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of vehement agony of action, with a small clear space about him as the people drew one another back that they might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a forest of legs; he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the fatal lamps swung, and there Madame Defarge let him go--as a cat might have done to a mouse--and silently and composedly looked at him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the women passionately screeching at him all the time, and the men sternly calling out to have him killed with grass in his mouth. Once, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, and held him, and his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in the mouth for all Saint Antoine to dance at the sight of. Nor was this the end of the day's bad work, for Saint Antoine so shouted and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on hearing when the day closed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the people's enemies and insulters, was coming into Paris under guard five hundred strong, in cavalry alone. Saint Antoine wrote his crimes on flaring sheets of paper, seized him--would have torn him out of the breast of an army to bear Foulon company--set his head and heart on pikes, and carried the three spoils of the day, in Wolf-procession, through the streets.
Not before dark night did the men and women come back to the children, wailing and breadless. Then, the miserable bakers' shops were beset by long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad bread; and while they waited with stomachs faint and empty, they beguiled the time by embracing one another on the triumphs of the day, and achieving them again in gossip. Gradually, these strings of ragged people shortened and frayed away; and then poor lights began to shine in high windows, and slender fires were made in the streets, at which neighbours cooked in common, afterwards supping at their doors.
Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of most other sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused some nourishment into the flinty viands, and struck some sparks of cheerfulness out of them. Fathers and mothers who had had their full share in the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children; and lovers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and hoped.
It was almost morning, when Defarge's wine-shop parted with its last knot of customers, and Monsieur Defarge said to madame his wife, in husky tones, while fastening the door:
`At last it is come, my dear!' 
`Eh well!' returned madame. `Almost.'
Saint Antoine slept, the Defarges slept: even The Vengeance slept with her starved grocer, and the drum was at rest. The drum's was the only voice in Saint Antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. The Vengeance, as custodian of the drum, could have wakened him up and had the same speech out of him as before the Bastille fell, or old Foulon was seized; not so with the hoarse tones of the men and women in Saint Antoine's bosom.  
形容憔悴的圣安托万只欢喜了一个礼拜。他用美味的友谊拥抱和庆祝使他那又硬又苦的面包尽可能地松软了些。德伐日太太又照常坐到她的柜台后接待着顾客，只是头上不戴玫瑰花了，因为密探们深厚的兄弟之情已在短短的一周之间转化为异常的警惕，不敢把自己送上门去让圣安托万发落。那儿路面的街灯正带着一种不祥的弹性摇晃着呢！
德伐日太太双手抄在胸前坐在清晨的光与热里，研究着酒店和街道，酒店里和街道上都有几拨又肮脏又痛苦的闲汉，但在他们的苦难之上现在却高踞着一种明显的权力感。歪放在最倒霉的脑袋上的最破烂的睡帽都带着这样一种桀骜不驯的意思：“戴破帽的我知道过日子有多困难，但是你可知道戴破帽的我要你的命又有多容易？”以前没有工作的瘦骨伶仃的光胳膊现在随时准备好干活，因为它可以出击。干编织活的妇女手指很毒辣，她们已有过抓拉撕扯的经验。丝安托万换了副模样；几百年的锤打把他敲成了一种模样，可最后这几锤的作用却最为巨大，把他锤出了另一副表情。
德伐日太太带着圣安托万的妇女领袖那种含而不露的赞赏之意坐在那儿观察。她那女界同胞之一在她身边编织着。这个妇女很矮而颇胖，是一个饥饿的杂货小贩的妻子和两个孩子的母亲。这位副手已经赢得了“复仇女神”的美誉。
“听！”复仇女神说，“注意！有谁来了？”
一阵迅速传递的嘟哝声飞快传了过来，有如从圣安托万区边缘直牵到酒店门口的一连串鞭炮突然爆炸。
“是德伐日，”老板娘说，“安静，爱国者们！”
德伐日气喘吁吁地跑进屋子，拉下了头上的红便帽，四面看了看。“各处人员注意！”老板娘又说，“听他说话！，德伐日站在那儿喘着气，背对着门外急切的眼睛和张开的嘴；酒店里的人全都跳起身来。
“说吧，当家的，什么事？”
“从另外一个世界来的消息！”
“怎么回事？”老板娘轻蔑地叫道，“另外一个世界？”
“这儿的人还想得起老家伙富伦吗？他曾说过挨饿的人可以吃草。他不是已经死了，进地狱了么？”
“想得起！”所有的嗓子都说。
“是关于他的消息。他还跟我们在一起呢。”
“跟我们在一起！”所有的喉咙都吼叫了起来。“死了还跟我们在一起么？”，
“没有死！他非常害怕——他有理由害怕——于是设法装作已经死了，搞了个假出殡。但是有人发现他还活着，躲在乡下，便把他抓了起来。我刚才还看见他往市政厅去，已经作了俘虏。我说过，他有理由害怕我们。你们大家说！他有理由害怕不？”
那七十多岁的不幸的罪人若是听见了这众口一声的回答，即使不明白自己有什么理由害怕也会从内心深处害怕了。
随之而来是一阵深沉的静默。德伐日和他的妻子彼此凝视了一会儿。复仇女神弯下了身子，有大鼓的响动传出，那是她从柜台后自己脚边把它搬了出来。
“爱国者们！”德伐日以坚定的声音说，“准备好了没有？”
德伐日太太的刀立即插进了腰带；大鼓在街上响起，仿佛有魔法让大鼓和鼓手一起飞了出去；复仇女神发出可怕的尖叫，双臂在头顶上挥舞，仿佛有四十个复仇女神集于她一身，冲进了一间间的屋子，去鼓动妇女们上街。
男人们很可怕，他们怀着要想流血的愤怒，从窗口上瞧了一下便抓起自己所能到手的武器，潮水一样上了街。妇女们的样子能让最勇敢的人也心里发冷。她们丢开了赤贫生活带来的家务，丢开了孩子，丢开了趴在光秃秃的地板上的饥饿、赤裸的老人和病人，披头散发地跑了出来，此呼彼应，以最野性的呼喊和行为投入了疯狂的活动“姐姐，坏蛋富伦给抓住了！”“妈妈，恶棍富伦给抓住了！”“女儿呀，无赖富伦给抓住了！”然后，又有二十来个妇女加入了她们的行列。她们敲着胸脯，扯着头发，尖声地叫道，“富伦还活着。”“富伦，三家伙告诉饿肚子的人说他们可以吃草。”“富伦，在我没有面包给我爸爸吃的时候，那家伙却说他可以吃草。”“富伦，我这奶里因为穷，没有了奶水，他却说我的娃娃可以吃草。”“啊，圣母呀，这个富伦。”“啊，天呐，我们的苦难呀。”“听着，我死去的孩子和我病弱的爸爸：我跪在地上，跪在石头上起誓，我要为你们向富伦报仇！丈夫们，弟兄们，小伙子们，给我们富伦的血。”“给我们富伦的头，给我们富伦的心。”“给我们富伦的身子和灵魂。”“把富伦碎尸万段，埋到泥土里去，让青草从他身上长出来！”这样叫着，许多妇女便发起狂来，忘记了一切，打着旋儿，跟朋友们殴打撕扯，直闹得晕了过去，全靠家里的男人救助，才没有被人踩在脚下。
可是，她们却一点时间也没有浪费，一点也没有！这富伦此时正在市政厅，有可能被释放。只要圣安托万还没有忘记他们所受过的苦难、羞辱和冤屈，就绝不能释放他。拿起武器的男人和妇女从圣安托万区一哄而出，跑得飞快，并以极大的吸引力把最后的人都带了去。不到一刻钟，圣安托万的心脏除了皱巴巴的老太婆和哭闹着的儿童之外就再也没有人了。
再也没有人了。他们此时已挤满了那个丑陋、邪恶的老头儿所在的审判厅，并往外面漫溢，进入了附近的场地和街道。德伐日夫妇、复仇女神和雅克三号第一批到达，站在大厅里距离那老头儿不远处。
“看呀：”老板娘用刀指着叫道，“看那老流氓捆在那几。对，在他背上捆上一捆草。哈！哈！捆得好。现在就让他吃草！”老板娘把刀夹在腋下好像看戏似地鼓起掌来。
德伐日太太背后的人把她满意的理由告诉了自己背后的人，他们背后的人又向别人解释，别人又再向别人解释，于是附近的街道便也响起了掌声。同样，在两三个钟头的吵闹中筛了不知道几大箩的话里，德伐日太太常有些不耐烦的意见曾以惊人的速度在远处得到响应，因为有几个身手矫捷得惊人的人爬到了建筑物外面，从窗上往里瞧。他们很熟悉德伐日太太，便充当了她跟外面的人群之间的活电报。
最后，太阳升高了，把一道慈祥的希望或保护的光直射到那老囚徒的头上。这样的恩宠太过分了，不能容忍。那些留在他身边碍手碍脚为时太久的废物全都给轰走了，圣安托万抓住了他！
这事立即直接传到了最辽远地区的人群里。德伐日刚刚跳过一道栏杆和一张桌子把那倒霉的可怜虫死死抱住、德伐日太太刚跟上去一把抓住捆紧他的一根绳子、复仇女神和雅克三号还没来得及跟上、窗户上的人还没来得及像猛禽扑下栖木一样窜下、一片呐喊便已掀起，似乎吼遍了全城，“把他抓出来！抓他到街灯下去！”
跌倒了，爬起来，头冲下摔在大厅外的台阶上；一时跪下，一时站起；一时刻在地上，一时被拖了走；挨揍，被几百只手塞到脸上的一把把的干草、青草噎个半死；被扯，被揪，伤痕累累，喘气，流血，总在哀告，总在乞怜；有时奋力抗拒，满是痛苦。人们便你拉我扯让出一小片地方，看他表演；有时成了一块死木头从森林股的腿丛里拖出。他就像这样被抓到了最近的街角，那儿挂着一盏要命的灯。德伐日太太在那儿对他撒了手——猫对耗子可以撒手——然后一声不响平平静静地望着他，等着别人作准备；而他却向她哀求。妇女们一直对他尖声乱叫，男人们则凶狠地叫着要在他嘴里塞进青草再杀死他。第一次，把他吊了上去，绳子断了，他尖号着被抓住。第二次，把他吊了上去，绳子断了，他尖号着被抓住。然后绳子发了慈悲，把他吊住了。他的头立即插在了一枝矛尖上，嘴里塞了足够的青草，可以让整个圣安托万的人看得手舞足蹈。
可这还不是这一天坏事的结束。圣安托万已经因呐喊与舞蹈而血脉怒张，所以在黄昏时又再次热血沸腾，愤怒起来。那是因为听说被处置了的那人的女婿，另一个欺压百姓的人民公敌，已带了一支由五百名骑兵组成的卫队进入了巴黎市。圣安托万用大幅的纸张公布了他的罪恶，然后抓住了他一—哪怕他有一支庞大军队保护他也会把他抓去跟富伦作伴的——并把他的头和心脏插在矛尖上。圣安托万带了这一天的三个战利品形成了一支豺狼的队伍在街上游行。
男人和女人直到深夜才回到哭喊着的、没有面包的孩子们身边。然后可怜的面包店就受到一长串人的包围，他们耐心地等着买蹩脚的面包。在他们空着有气无力的肚子排着班时便互相拥抱，庆祝当天的胜利，用以消磨时间，并在闲聊中堂温胜利的喜悦。几个褴褛的长串逐渐缩短，终于消失。高高的窗户上透出了微弱的灯光，街头生起了小火，几个邻居一起在火上烹调着，然后在门口吃起了晚饭。
晚饭不多，量不足，没有肉，也没有别的佐料，只有劣质的面包。然而人和人的友谊却给这硬邦邦的食物加上了营养，从人和人之间碰撞出了几星快乐的火花。参与了那天最凶狠的活动的父母跟他们的瘦弱的孩子们温情地说着话；情人们在周围和眼前这样的世界里爱恋着，怀着希望。
德伐日酒店跟最后一批客人分手时已经快天亮了。德伐日先生一边关着门，一边哑着嗓子对妻子说：
“这一天终于到来了，亲爱的！”
“呃，不错！”老板娘回答。“差不多到了。”
圣安托万睡着了，德伐日夫妇睡着了，就连复仇女神也跟她的杂货小贩睡着了，大鼓也休息了。大鼓的声音是唯一不曾为流血与忙乱而改变的声音。作为大鼓保管人的复仇女神还可以把鼓叫醒，让它发出跟巴士底狱陷落或老富伦被抓之前相同的声音，可圣安托万怀里的男男女女的嗓子都哑了。
Book 2 Chapter 23 Fire Rises
THERE was a change on the village where the fountain fell, and where the mender of roads went forth daily to hammer out of the stones on the highway such morsels of bread as might serve for patches to hold his poor ignorant soul and his poor reduced body together. The prison on the crag was not so dominant as of yore; there were soldiers to guard it, but not many; there were officers to guard the soldiers, but not one of them knew what his men would do--beyond this: that it would probably not be what he was ordered.
Far and wide lay a ruined country, yielding nothing but desolation. Every green leaf, every blade of grass and blade of grain, was as shrivelled and poor as the miserable people. Everything was bowed down, dejected, oppressed, and broken. Habitations, fences, domesticated animals, men, women, children, and the soil that bore them--all worn out.
Monseigneur (often a most worthy individual gentleman) was a national blessing, gave a chivalrous tone to things, was a polite example of luxurious and shining life, and a great deal more to equal purpose; nevertheless, Monseigneur as a class had, somehow or other, brought things to this. Strange that Creation, designed expressly for Monseigneur, should be so soon wrung dry and squeezed out! There must be something short-sighted in the eternal arrangements, surely Thus it was, however; and the last drop of blood having been extracted from the flints, and the last screw of the rack having been turned so often that its purchase crumbled, and it now turned and turned with nothing to bite, Monseigneur began to run away from a phenomenon so low and unaccountable.
But, this was not the change on the village, and on many a village like it. For scores of years gone by, Monseigneur had squeezed it and wrung it, and had seldom graced it with his presence except for the pleasures of the chase--now, found in hunting the people; now, found in hunting the beasts, for whose preservation Monseigneur made edifying spaces of barbarous and barren wilderness. No. The change consisted in the appearance of strange faces of low caste, rather than in the disappearance of the high-caste, chiseled, and otherwise beatified and beatifying features of Monseigneur.
For, in these times, as the mender of roads worked, solitary, in the dust, not often troubling himself to reflect that dust he was and to dust he must return, being for the most part too much occupied in thinking how little he had for supper and how much more he would eat if he had it--in these times, as he raised his eyes from his lonely labour, and viewed the prospect, he would see some rough figure approaching on foot, the like of which was once a rarity in those parts, but was now a frequent presence. As it advanced, the mender of roads would discern without surprise, that it was a shaggy-haired man, of almost barbarian aspect, tall, in wooden shoes that were clumsy even to the eyes of a mender of roads, grim, rough, swart, steeped in the mud and dust of many highways, dank with the marshy moisture of many low grounds, sprinkled with the thorns and leaves andmoss of many byways through woods.
Such a man came upon him, like a ghost, at noon in the July weather, as he sat on his heap of stones under a bank, taking such shelter as he could get from a shower of hail.
The man looked at him, looked at the village in the hollow, at the mill, and at the prison on the crag. When he had identified these objects in what benighted mind he had, he said, in a dialect that was just intelligible:
`How goes it, Jacques?'
`All well, Jacques.'
`Touch then!'
They joined hands, and the man sat down on the heap of stones.
`No dinner?'
`Nothing but supper now,' said the mender of roads, with a hungry face.
`It is the fashion,' growled the man. `I meet no dinner anywhere.'
He took out a blackened pipe, filled it, lighted it with flint and steel, pulled at it until it was in a bright glow: then, suddenly held it from him and dropped something into it from between his finger and thumb, that blazed and went out in a puff of smoke.
`Touch then.' It was the turn of the mender of roads to say it this time, after observing these operations. They again joined hands.
`To-night?' said the mender of roads.
`To-night,' said the man, putting the pipe in his mouth. 
`Where?' 
`Here.'
He and the mender of roads sat on the heap of stones looking silently at one another, with the hail driving in between them like a pigmy charge of bayonets, until the sky began to clear over the village.
`Show me!' said the traveller then, moving to the brow of the hill.
`See.' returned the mender of roads, with extended finger. `You go down here, and straight through the street, and past the fountain---
`To the Devil with all that!' interrupted the other, rolling his eye over the landscape. `I go through no streets and past no fountains. Well?'
`Well! About two leagues beyond the summit of that hill above the village.'
`Good. When do you cease to work?' 
`At sunset.'
`Will you wake me, before departing? I have walked two nights without resting. Let me finish my pipe, and I shall sleep like a child. Will you wake me?'
`Surely.'
The wayfarer smoked his pipe out, put it in his breast, slipped off his great wooden shoes, and lay down on his back on the heap of stones. He was fast asleep directly.
As the road-mender plied his dusty labour, and the hail-clouds, rolling away, revealed bright bars and streaks of sky which were responded to by silver gleams upon the landscape, the little man (who wore a red cap now, in place of his blue one) seemed fascinated by the figure on the heap of stones. His eyes were so often turned towards it, that he used his tools mechanically, and, one would have said, to very poor account. The bronze face, the shaggy black hair and beard, the coarse woollen red cap, the rough medley dress of home-spun stuff and hairy skins of beasts, the powerful frame attenuated by spare living, and the sullen and desperate compression of the lips in sleep, inspired the mender of roads with awe. The traveller had travelled far, and his feet were footsore, and his ankles chafed and bleeding; his great shoes, stuffed with leaves and grass, had been heavy to drag over the many long leagues, and his clothes were chafed into holes, as he himself was into sores. Stooping down beside him, the road-mender tried to get a peep at secret weapons in his breast or where not; but, in vain, for he slept with his arms crossed upon him, and set as resolutely as his lips. Fortified towns with their stockades, guard-houses, gates, trenches, and drawbridges, seemed to the mender of roads, to be so much air as against this figure. And when he lifted his eyes from it to the horizon and looked around, he saw in his small fancy similar figures, stopped by no obstacle, tending to centres all over France.
The man slept on, indifferent to showers of hail and intervals of brightness, to sunshine on his face and shadow, to the pattering lumps of dull ice on his body and the diamonds into which the sun changed them, until the sun was low in the west, and the sky was glowing. Then, the mender of roads having got his tools together and all things ready to go down into the village, roused him.
`Good!' said the sleeper, rising on his elbow. `Two leagues beyond the summit of the hill?'
`About.' 
`About. Good!'
The mender of roads went home, with the dust going on before him according to the set of the wind, and was soon at the fountain, squeezing himself in among the lean kine brought there to drink, and appearing even to whisper to them in his whispering to all the village. When the village had taken its poor supper, it did not creep to bed, as it usually did, but came out of doors again, and remained there. A curious contagion of whispering was upon it, and also, when it gathered together at the fountain in the dark, another curious contagion of looking expectantly at the sky in one direction only. Monsieur Gabelle, chief functionary of the place, became uneasy; went out on his house-top alone, and looked in that direction too; glanced down from behind his chimneys at the darkening faces by the fountain below, and sent word to the sacristan who kept the keys of thechurch, that there might be need to ring the tocsin by-and-by.
The night deepened. The trees environing the old chateau, keeping its solitary state apart, moved in a rising wind, as though they threatened the pile of building massive and dark in the gloom. Up the two terrace flights of steps the rain ran wildly, and beat at the great door, like a swift messenger rousing those within; uneasy rushes of wind went through the hall, among the old spears and knives, and passed lamenting up the stairs, and shook the curtains of the bed where the last Marquis had slept. East, West, North, and South, through the woods, four heavy-treading, unkempt figures crushed the high grass and cracked the branches, striding on cautiously to come together in the courtyard. Four lights broke out there, and moved away in different directions, and all was black again.
But, not for long. Presently, the chateau began to make itself strangely visible by some light of its own, as though it were growing luminous. Then, a flickering streak played behind the architecture of the front, picking out transparent places, and showing where balustrades, arches, and windows were. Then it soared higher, and grew broader and brighter. Soon, from a score of the great windows, flames burst forth, and the stone faces awakened, stared out of fire.
A faint murmur arose about the house from the few people who were left there, and there was a saddling of a horse and riding away. There was spurring and splashing through the darkness, and bridle was drawn in the space by the village fountain, and the horse in a foam stood at Monsieur Gabelle's door. `Help, Gabelle! Help, every one!' The tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if that were any) there was none. The mender of roads, and two hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with folded arms at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. `It must be forty feet high,' said they, grimly; and never moved.
The rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam, clattered away through the village, and galloped up the stony steep, to the prison on the crag. At the gate, a group of officers were looking at the fire; removed from them, a group of soldiers. `Help, gentlemen-officers! The chateau is on fire; valuable objects may be saved from the flames by timely aid! Help, help!' The officers looked towards the soldiers who looked at the fire; gave no orders; and answered, with shrugs and biting of lips, `It must burn.'
As the rider rattled down the hill again and through the street, the village was illuminating. The mender of roads, and the two hundred and fifty particular friends, inspired as one man and woman by the idea of lighting up, had darted into their houses, and were putting candles in every dull little pane of glass. The general scarcity of everything, occasioned candles to be borrowed in a rather peremptory manner of Monsieur Gabelle; and in a moment of reluctance and hesitation on that functionary's part, the mender of roads, once so submissive to authority, had remarked that carriages were good to make bonfires with, and that post-horses would roast.
The chateau was left to itself to flame and burn. In the roaring and raging of the conflagration, a red-hot wind, driving straight from the infernal regions, seemed to be blowing the edifice away. With the rising and falling of the blaze, the stone faces showedas if they were in torment. When great masses of stone and timber fell, the face with the two dints in the nose became obscured: anon struggled out of the smoke again, as if it were the face of the cruel Marquis, burning at the stake and contending with the fire.
The chateau burned; the nearest trees, laid hold of by the fire, scorched and shrivelled; trees at a distance, fired by the four fierce figures, begirt the blazing edifice with a new forest of smoke. Molten lead and iron boiled in the marble basin of the fountain; the water ran dry; the extinguisher tops of the towers vanished like ice before the heat, and trickled down into four rugged wells of flame. Great rents and splits branched out in the solid walls, like crystallisation; stupefied birds wheeled about and dropped into the furnace; four fierce figures trudged away, East, West, North, and South, along the night-enshroudedroads, guided by the beacon they had lighted, towards their next destination. The illuminated village had seized hold of the tocsin, and, abolishing the lawful ringer, rang for joy.
Not only that; but the village, light-headed with famine, fire, and bell-ringing, and bethinking itself that Monsieur Gabelle had to do with the collection of rent and taxes--though it was but a small instalment of taxes, and no rent at all, that Gabelle had got in those latter days--became impatient for an interview with him, and, surrounding his house, summoned him to come forth for personal conference. Whereupon, Monsieur Gabelle did heavily bar his door, and retire to hold counsel with himself The result of that conference was, that Gabelle again withdrew himself to his house-top behind his stack of chimneys; this time resolved, if his door was broken in (he was a small Southern man of retaliative temperament), to pitch himself head foremost over the parapet, and crush a man or two below.
Probably, Monsieur Gabelle passed a long night up there, with the distant chateau for fire and candle, and the beating at his door, combined with the joy-ringing, for music; not to mention his having an ill-omened lamp slung across the road before his posting-house gate, which the village showed a lively inclination to displace in his favour. A trying suspense, to be passing a whole summer night on the brink of the black ocean, ready to take that plunge into it upon which Monsieur Gabelle had resolved But, the friendly dawn appearing at last, and the rush-candles of the village guttering out, the people happily dispersed, and Monsieur Gabelle came down bringing his life with him for that while.
Within a hundred miles, and in the light of other fires, there were other functionaries less fortunate, that night and other nights,whom the rising sun found hanging across once-peaceful streets, where they had been born and bred; also, there were othervillagers and townspeople less fortunate than the mender of roads and his fellows, upon whom the functionaries and soldiery turned with success, and whom they strung up in their turn. But, the fierce figures were steadily wending East, West, North, and South, be that as it would; and whosoever hung, fire burned. The altitude of the gallows that would turn to water and quench it, no functionary, by any stretch of mathematics, was able to calculate successfully. 
有泉水泻下的那个村子发生了变化。补路工每天仍去那儿大路上敲石头赚几块面包糊口，让他那无知的灵魂不致离开他那消瘦的身体。悬崖顶上的监狱不像以前那么威风凛凛了。还有士兵守卫，但人数少了；还有军官管着士兵，但不知道士兵们会干什么—一只知道他们也许会干出一些并没有命令他们干的事。
残破的农村四面伸展；除了荒凉之外再也生产不出什么。每一片绿叶，每一片青草，每一片庄稼的叶子都跟苦难的人民—样萎缩、可怜。每一件东西都躬着腰，颓废、受压、气息奄奄。住宅、篱笆、家畜、男人、女人、孩子和承担着他们的土地——全都精疲力尽了。
曾是最高贵的君子的爵爷大人们也曾是国家的祥瑞。他们是豪华灿烂的生活的彬彬有礼的典范，他们给一切都带来骑士的风采，在其它类似的问题上也起过巨大的作用。作为一个阶级，爵爷大人们曾以种种形式给旅华的生活增添了光彩。奇怪的是，专为爵爷大人们设计的大千世界竟然会那么快就被绞尽了、榨干了！永恒的安排无疑是患了目光短浅的毛病！可是实际情况就是如此。一无所有的人已被榨干了最后的一滴血，刑具的最后的螺丝已经多次使用，受刑者已经崩溃，现在那螺丝转来转去，再也咬不住什么了。大人们只好离开这样今人丧气而又无法解释的现象，逃得远远的。
但是这座村子和许多类似的村子的变化并不在此。数十上百年来大人原本只对这村子进行挤压绞榨，很少亲自光临，只有狩猎寻乐时例外——他有时猎取的是人，有时猎取的是兽。而为了蕃息野兽，大人为它们的生长留出了大片土地，让它荒废。不，不，村子的变化不在于少了那身分高贵、雕像般漂亮、受福也赐福的面孔，而在于多了些身分低下的陌生面孔。
这个时期，补路工在灰尘里孤独地干活。他很少费脑筋去思考自己是从尘土中来，也必归尘土的道理。他花时间过多考虑的倒是晚饭太少，若是有吃的他可以吃下多少的问题——在这个时期，他从他那孤独的劳动中一抬起头来往前面一望，总会看见一个粗野的人影步行着走上前来。这在这一带以前是罕见的，可现在却已习以为常。那人影走上前来，补路工便会毫不意外地发现，那是一个几乎像野人一样毛挺毵毵的高个儿，脚上的木鞋就连补路工看去也嫌太累赘。那人凶猛、粗犷、黝黑，浸渍了多少大路上的风尘和泥浆，漏染了多少低地沼泽的潮气，身上粘满了森林僻路上的荆棘、树叶和苔藓。
那个七月天的正午就有这样一个人像鬼怪般向他走来。那时，他正坐在一道陡壁下的石堆上想方设法躲避着一场冰雹。
那人看了看他，望了望山谷里的村子、风磨和悬崖顶上的监狱，在他那不明情况的心里认清了这些目标之后便用一种勉强听得懂的方言说：
“情况如何，雅克？”
“良好，雅克。”
“握手吧，那就！”
两人握了手。那人在石堆上坐下。
“没有午饭？”
“现在只有晚饭了，”补路工露出饥饿的样子说。
“现在时兴不吃午饭，”那人咕噜道，“我在哪儿见到的人都不吃午饭。”
他拿出一个黑糊糊的烟斗，装上烟，用火镰点着了，叭叭地抽出红光，突然拿开，用拇指和食指撮了个东西进去，那东西燃起了火苗，随即化作了一缕青烟。
“握手吧，那就，”看完了这个动作，轮到补路工说话了。两人再度握手。
“今晚么？”补路工说。
“今晚，”那人把烟斗送到嘴里，说。
“哪儿？”
“这儿。”
他和补路工都坐在石头上，彼此默默地望着。冰雹在他们之间洒落，仿佛是小人国的刺刀在袭击。村子上空的天终于放晴了。
“指给我看！”于是旅人来到山顶，说。
“看！”补路工回答，伸出了手指。“从这儿下去，对直穿过街道，经过泉水——”
“通通见鬼去！”那人打断了他的话，眼珠对着景物骨碌碌地转。“我不从街上走，也不从泉水过。那该怎么走？”
“那么！村边山顶那一面，大约两个里格。”
“好的。你什么时候下班？”
“太阳下山。”
“你下班之前叫醒我好吗？我已经走了两个晚上没有休息了。我抽完烟，就会像个娃娃一样睡着的。你愿叫醒我吗？”
“没问题。”
旅客抽完了那锅烟，把烟斗揣在怀里，脱掉大木鞋，躺倒在石头堆上，立即睡着了。
补路工干起他那尘雾弥漫的活儿来。这时含着冰雹的云翻滚着散开了，露出了一道道青天，景物也随之闪出一道道银辉。现在用红帽代替了蓝帽的小个子补路工似乎被石堆上的人形迷住了，眼睛常朝他转过去，手上的工具虽机械地干着活，看来已没有多大作用。那人那青铜色的皮肤、乱蓬蓬的须发、粗糙的红色羊毛帽、家织呢和野兽皮混杂凑成的粗劣衣服、因为生活困苦而消瘦的健壮的个儿、睡着时那愠怒而凶狠地抿紧的嘴唇，这些都使补路工肃然起敬。旅客走了许多地方，脚已磨破，足踝上有伤，流着血；他那巨大的木鞋塞满了树叶和草。走了那么遥远的路，这鞋实在太沉重。他的衣服磨出了许多洞，身上也有许多伤。补路工弯下腰想看看他掖在胸口或其它地方的秘密武器，但是没看见，因为他睡觉时双臂合抱在胸前，捂得紧紧的，很像他那根紧的双唇。在补路工眼里，深沟高垒的城市的栅栏、哨所、大门、壕堑、吊桥在这个人面前都如烟云一样容易消散。等到他抬头看看地平线和四周时，他那小小的幻想之中有许多跟此人类似的人影正在所向披靡地扑向法兰西各个中心城市。
这人继续酣睡。冰雹一阵阵洒落，阳光与阴影在他脸上交替，冰珠打在他身上噗噗地响，又被太阳化作粒粒的金刚钻，可他全然不理会。太阳终于落了山，映出了一片晚霞，补路工收拾起工具打算下山回村了，这才叫醒了他。
“好！”睡觉的人用手肘撑起身子说。“山顶那边两个里格么？”
“大约两个。”
“大约两个。好！”
补路工回家去了，灰尘因为风向的缘故在他前面飞卷。他很快来到了泉水边，挤进牵到那儿喝水的瘦牛群里，向满村的人耳语着，似乎连牛也通了消息。村里人吃完了可怜的晚餐并不按平时的习惯爬上床去，而是走出门来呆在那几悄悄传播着一个离奇的消息。等到村里的人在黑暗中到泉水边会集时，又有一种离奇的观望动作传播开来：大家都往同一个方向的天空眺望，似乎等待着什么。当地的主要官员加伯尔先生不放心了，一个人爬上自己的屋顶，也往那个方向看；他又躲在烟囱后偷看屋下泉水边黑暗中的面孔，同时通知了掌管教堂钥匙的圣器保管员，说不定过一会儿需要敲钟。
夜色渐浓，刮起了风，围绕着并孤立了古老的府第使之变得幽深的树林开始在风前摇摆，仿佛在对那黑魃魃的巍峨的建筑发出恫吓。雨点像个急脚信使疯狂地跑上了那两排台阶，敲打着巨大的门，仿佛要唤醒屋里的人。一阵阵不安的风刮进了大厅，刮过了古老的矛和刀，再呜咽着刮上了楼梯，吹拂着最后的侯爵睡过的床边帏幔，四个步履沉重须发零乱的人穿过东西南北的树林，踏倒了长草，碰断了枯枝，小心翼翼地来到了院子里，在那儿点起了四把火，然后四散分开。于是一切又归于黑暗。
但这黑暗并不长久，府邸立即以它自己的光离奇地照亮了自己，仿佛正要变成一个发光体。然后一道火花四射的烈焰在前排建筑物的背后燃烧了起来，从透光处显露，照亮了栏杆、拱门和窗户，接着火焰便越燃越高，四面扩展，越发明亮了。很快，二十来扇大窗户都爆出了火焰，唤醒了石雕人面，一个个从火里往外瞪着眼。
留在庄园里的少数人在一阵嘁嚓低语之后备了马，有人骑着马跑掉了。驱马声、溅水声穿过了黑暗，在村里的泉水边停住了。那马喷着白沫站在加伯尔先生的大门口，“加伯尔先生，救火呀！叫大家来救火呀！”警钟紧急地敲着，却没有别的救援出现（即使有，也没有来）。补路工和他那二百五十个铁哥儿们都在泉水边交叉着双臂，望着天上的火柱。“肯定有四十英尺高，”他们冷淡地说，却一动也不动。
从宅邸来的骑马人和喷着白沫的马穿过村庄嗒嗒嗒冲上石梯来到峭壁上的监牢门前。一群军官在门前看火，一群士兵离他们远远的。“长官，长官，救火呀！庄园烧起来了，早点去还可以抢救出些值钱的东西！救火呀！救火呀！”军官望望士兵，士兵却望着火。没有谁下命令，大家耸了耸肩，抿了抿嘴，“只好烧了！”
骑马的人嗒嗒嗒跑下山穿过街道时，村子照了个通亮。补路工和二百五十个铁哥儿们产生了一男一女常有的灵感：燃起蜡烛来庆贺。他们便都进了屋子，在每一扇昏暗的小玻璃窗后面点起了蜡烛。这儿物品普遍匮乏，大家便颇不客气地去向加伯尔先生借。那位宫员很不情愿，稍一犹豫，过去在权威面前十分恭顺的补路工这时却说：“砸了马车烧篝火倒也好玩，驿马也能烧烤了吃呢！”
那府第便径自腾起大火燃烧下去。烈火呼啸着发起狂来，炙热的风从地狱般的火海里刮出来，似乎要把这座华厦刮个灰飞烟灭。白炽的火苗跳跃飞腾，照出石雕人面似乎在忍受着折磨。大块大块的石材木料崩塌。鼻于上有小窝的石雕人面被埋掉了，可随后又从烟火里露了出来，俨然成了那残酷的侯爵的脸——他正在火刑柱上挨烧，在烈火中辗转挣扎。
府第燃烧着；附近的树木一让火舌舔到便干焦萎缩；远处的森林被那四个凶恶的人点燃之后又用一道新的烟雾的森林把那烧得白炽的华厦包围起来。熔化的铅和铁在喷泉的大理石盆里沸腾，烧干了泉水；灭烛器似的塔楼尖顶在高温前像冰一样熔化，滴落下来变作了四个奇形怪状的火池；坚实的墙壁以结晶的纹样作树枝形迸裂，迸出了巨大的豁口和裂缝。鸟儿们吓昏了，在空中打着旋儿栽进大熔炉里。四个凶猛的形象在他们造成的灯塔光里大步地沿着为黑暗所包裹的道路向东西南北四面走去，走向新的目标。火光照耀的村子已夺走了警钟，赶走了法定敲钟人，自己欢乐地敲了起来。
这还不够，被饥馑、大火和钟声冲昏了头脑的村子想起了加伯尔先生还要收租税，便急于要跟他谈判，尽管加伯尔先生近来只收了一点分期交纳的赋税，而地租房租则分文未收。他们包围了他的房子，传唤他出来当而交谈。加伯尔先生只好把大门死死关闭，躲起来考虑办法。考虑的结果是重新躲到那排烟囱背后的屋顶上去。这回他下定了决心，若是门被闯开，他便从雉堞顶上栽下去抓住一两个人同归于尽（他是个南方人，个子虽小，复仇心却很重）。
加伯尔先生在屋顶度过了一个漫长的黑夜。他很可能是把远处的府第当作了蜡烛，把打门声和快活的钟声当作了音乐的。至于摇晃在他那驿站门前街道边的不祥的路灯就更不用提了，村里人曾大呼小叫要拿他去跟路灯交换地位呢。他在黑漆漆的死亡的边缘整整度过了一个夏夜，随时准备照既定的决心栽下去！那提心吊胆的滋味是很考验入的。可是友善的黎明终于到来，村型的灯心草蜡烛也噼噼啪啪地熄灭了，人们快活地分散开去。加伯尔先生暂时抢得一条性命，下到了地面。
那天晚上和另外一些晚上，一百英里之内还烧起过许多处大火。那里的官员有些却未必那么幸运。太阳出山时，他们已被吊在曾经很平静的街道上——他们原是在那儿出生和成长的。也有的农村或城市的居民不如补路工和他的伙伴们那么幸运。官员和士兵们进行了反扑，也把他们吊了起来。但是凶狠的人们仍然不顾一切，坚定地在东西南北四处活动。无论绞死了谁，火照样放。官员们无论用什么数学公式计算，也算不出绞架要造多高才能变成水，把那场大火扑灭。
Book 2 Chapter 24 Drain to the Loadstone Rock
In such risings of fire and risings of sea--the firm earth shaken by the rushes of an angry ocean which had now no ebb, but was always on the flow, higher and higher, to the tenor and wonder of the beholders on the shore--three years of tempest were consumed. Three more birthdays of little Lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peaceful tissue of the life of her home.
Many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes in the corner, with hearts that failed them when they heard the thronging feet. For, the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a people, tumultuous under a red flag andwith their country declared in danger, changed into wild beasts, by terrible enchantment long persisted in.
Monseigneur, as a class, had dissociated himself from the phenomenon of his not being appreciated: of his being so little wanted in France, as to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it, and this life together. Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devil with infinite pains, and was so terrified at the sight of him that he could ask the Enemy no question, but immediately fled; so, Monseigneur, after boldly reading the Lord's Prayer backwards for a great number of years, and performing many other potent spells for compelling the Evil One, no sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels.
The shining Bull's Eye of the Court was gone, or it would have been the mark for a hurricane of national bullets. It had never been a good eye to see with--had long had the mote in it of Lucifer's pride, Sardanapalus's luxury, and a mole's blindness--but it had dropped out and was gone. The Court, from that exclusive inner circle to its outermost rotten ring of intrigue, corruption, and dissimulation, was all gone together. Royalty was gone; had been besieged in its Palace and `suspended,' when the last tidings came over.
The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two was come, and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.
As was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place of Monseigneur, in London, was Tellson's Bank. Spirits are supposed to haunt the places where their bodies most resorted, and Monseigneur without a guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be. Moreover, it was the spot to which such French intelligence as was most to be relied upon, came quickest. Again: Tellson's was a munificent house, and extended great liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate. Again: those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time, and anticipating plunder or confiscation, had made provident remittances to Tellson's, were always to be heard of there by their needy brethren. To which it must be added that every new comer from France reported himself and his tidings at Tellson's, almost as a matter of course. For such variety of reasons,Tellson's was at that time, as to French intelligence, a kind of High Exchange; and this was so well known to the public, and the inquiries made there were in consequence so numerous, that Tellson's sometimes wrote the latest news out in a line or so and posted it in the Bank windows, for all who ran through Temple Bar to read.
On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. The penitential den once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news-Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within half an hour or so of the time of closing.
`But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,' said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, `I must still suggest to you---'
`I understand. That I am too old?' said Mr. Lorry.
`Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.'
`My dear Charles,' said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, you touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. It is safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard upon four-score when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our House here to our House there, who knows the city and the business, of old, and is in Tellson's confidence. As to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson's, after all these years, who ought to be?'
`I wish I were going myself,' said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud.
`Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!' exclaimed Mr. Lorry. `You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? You are a wise counsellor.'
`My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that the thought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passed through my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had some sympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something to them,' he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, `that one might be listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint. Only last night, after you had left us, when I was talking to Lucie---'
`When you were talking to Lucie,' Mr. Lorry repeated. `Yes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were going to France at this time of day!'
`However, I am not going,' said Charles Darnay, with a smile. `It is more to the purpose that you say you are.'
`And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles,' Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, `you can have no conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. The Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to numbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Paris is not set a-fire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selection from these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or otherwise getting of them out of harm's way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And shall I hang back, when Tellson's knows this and says this--Tellson's, whose bread I have eaten thesesixty years--because I am a little stiff about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!'
`How I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. Lorry.'
`Tut! Nonsense, sir!--And, my dear Charles,' said Mr. Lorry, glancing at the House again, `you are to remember, that getting things out of Paris at this present time, no matter what things, is next to an impossibility. Papers and precious matters were this very day brought to us here (I speak in strict confidence; it is not business-like to whisper it, even to you), by the strangest bearers you cap imagine, every one of whom had his head hanging on by a single hair as he passed the Barriers. At another time, our parcels would come and go, as easily as in business-like Old England; but now, everything is stopped.'
`And do you really go to-night?'
`I really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit of delay.'
`And do you take no one with you?'
`All sorts of people have been proposed to me, but I will have nothing to say to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. Jerry has been my body-guard on Sunday nights for a long time past, and I am used to him. Nobody will suspect Jerry of being anything but an English bull-dog, or of having any design in his head but to fly at anybody who touches his master.'
`I must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry and youthfulness.'
`I must say again, nonsense, nonsense! When I have executed this little commission, I shall, perhaps, accept Tellson's proposal to retire and live at my ease. Time enough, then, to think about growing old.'
This dialogue had taken place at Mr. Lorry's usual desk, with Monseigneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do to avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. It was too much the way of Monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was much too much the way of native British orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible Revolution as if it were the one only harvest ever known under the skies that had not been sown--as if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be done, that had led to it--as if observers of the wretched millions in France, and of the misused and perverted resources that should have made them prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, and had not in plain words recorded what they saw. Such vapouring, combined with the extravagant plots of Monseigneur for the restoration of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself, and worn out Heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be endured without some remonstrance by any sane man who knew the truth. And it was such vapouring all about his ears, like a troublesome confusion of blood in his own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, which had already made Charles Darnay restless, and which still kept him so.
Among the talkers, was Stryver, of the King's Bench Bar, far on his way to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme: broaching to Monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up and exterminating them from the face of the earth, and doing without them: and for accomplishing many similar objects akin in their nature to the abolition of eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race. Him, Darnay heard with a particular feeling of objection; and Darnay stood divided between going away that he might hear no more, and remaining to interpose his word, when the thing that was to be went on to shape itself out.
The House approached Mr. Lorry, and laying a soiled and unopened letter before him, asked if he had yet discovered any traces of the person to whom it was addressed? The House laid the letter down so close to Darnay that he saw the direction--the more quickly because it was his own right name. The address, turned into English, ran:
`Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evrémonde, of France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson and Go., Bankers, London, England.'
On the marriage morning, Dr. Manette had made it his one urgent and express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of this name should be--unless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligation--kept inviolate between them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had no suspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none.
`No,' said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; `I have referred it, I think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this gentleman is to be found.'
The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the Bank, there was a general set of the current of talkers past Mr. Lorry's desk. He held the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the person of this plotting and indignant refugee; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and This, That, and The Other, all had something disparaging to say, in French or in English, concerning the Marquis who was not to be found.
`Nephew, I believe--but in any case degenerate successor--of the polished Marquis who was murdered,' said one. `Happy to say, I never knew him.'
`A craven who abandoned his post,' said another--this Monseigneur had been got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay--`some years ago.'
`Infected with the new doctrines,' said a third, eyeing the direction through his glass in passing; `set himself in opposition to the last Marquis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left them to the ruffian herd. They will recompense him now, I hope, as he deserves.'
`Hey?' cried the blatant Stryver. `Did he though? Is that the sort of fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. D--n the fellow!'
Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr. Stryver on the shoulder, and said:
`I know the fellow.'
`Do you, by Jupiter?' said Stryver. `I am sorry for it.' 
`Why?'
`Why, Mr. Darnay? D'ye hear what he did? Don't ask, why, in these times.'
`But I do ask why.'
`Then I tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I am sorry for it. I am sorry to hear you putting any such extraordinary questions. Here is a fellow, who, infected by the most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilry that ever was known, abandoned his property to the vilest scum of the earth that ever did murder by wholesale, and you ask me why I am sorry that a man who instructs youth knows him? Well, but I'll answer you. I am sorry because I believe there is contamination in such a scoundrel. That's why.'
Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty checked himself, and said: `You may not understand the gentleman.'
`I understand how to put you in a corner, Mr. Darnay,' said Bully Stryver, `and I'll do it. If this fellow is a gentleman, I don't understand him. You may tell him so, with my compliments. You may also tell him, from me, that after abandoning his worldly goods and position to this butcherly mob, I wonder he is not at the head of them. But, no, gentlemen,' said Stryver, looking all round, and snapping his fingers, `I know something of human nature, and I tell you that you'll never find a fellow like this fellow, trusting himself to the mercies of such precious protégés. No, gentlemen; he'll always show `em a clean pair of heels very earlyin the scuffle, and sneak away.'
With those words, and a final snap of his fingers, Mr. Stryver shouldered himself into Fleet-street, amidst the general approbation of his hearers. Mr. Lorry and Charles Darnay were left alone at the desk, in the general departure from the Bank.
`Will you take charge of the letter?' said Mr. Lorry. `You know where to deliver it?'
`I do.'
`Will you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have been addressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it, and that it has been here some time?'
`I will do so. Do you start for Paris from here?' 
`From here, at eight.' 
`I will come back, to see you off.'
Very ill at ease with himself, and with Stryver and most other men, Darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the Temple, opened the letter, and read it. These were its contents:
`Prison of the Abbaye, Paris.
June 21, 1792.
MONSIEUR HERETOFORE THE MARQUIS,
`After having long been in danger of my life at the hands of the village, I have been seized, with great violence and indignity, and brought a long journey on foot to Paris. On the road I have suffered a great deal. Nor is that all; my house has been destroyed--razed to the ground.
`The crime for which I am imprisoned, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, and for which I shall be summoned before the tribunal, and shall lose my life (without your so generous help), is, they tell me, treason against the majesty of the people, in that I have acted against them for an emigrant. It is in vain I represent that I have acted for them, and not against, according to your commands. It is in vain I represent that, before the sequestration ofemigrant property, I had remitted the imposts they had ceased to pay; that I had collected no rent; that I had had recourse to no process. The only response is, that I have acted for an emigrant, and where is that emigrant?
`Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is that emigrant? I cry in my sleep where is he? I demand of Heaven, will he not come to deliver me? No answer. Ah Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears through the great bank of Tilson known at Paris!
`For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, to succour and release me. My fault is, that I have been true to you. Oh Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I pray you be you true to me!
`From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.
`Your afflicted
`GABELLE' 
The latent uneasiness in Darnay's mind was roused to vigorous life by this letter. The peril of an old servant and a good one, whose only crime was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him so reproachfully in the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the Temple considering what to do, he almost hid his face from the passers-by.
He knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culminated the bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his resentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his conscience regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed to uphold, he had acted imperfectly. He knew very well, that in his love for Lucie, his renunciation of his social place, though by no means new to his own mind, had been hurried and incomplete. He knew that he ought to have systematically worked it out and supervised it, and that he had meant to do it, and that it had never been done.
The happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of being always actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the time which had followed on one another so fast, that the events of this week annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events of the week following made all new again; he knew very well, that to the force of these circumstances he had yielded :--not without disquiet, but still without continuous and accumulating resistance. That he had watched the times for a time of action, and that they had shifted and struggled until the time had gone by, and the nobility were trooping from France by every highway and byway, and their property was in course of confiscation and destruction, and their very names were blotting out, was as well known to himself as it could be to any new authority in France that might impeach him for it.
But, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so far from having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relinquished them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with no favour in it, won his own private place there, and earned his own bread. Monsieur Gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to give--such fuel as the heavy creditors would let them have in the winter, and such produce as could be saved from the same grip in the summer--and no doubt he had put the fact in plea and proof, for his own safety, so that it could not but appear now.
This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make, that he would go to Paris.
Yes. Like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams had driven him within the influence of the Loadstone Rock, and it was drawing him to itself, and he must go. Everything that arose before his mind drifted him on, faster and faster, more and more steadily, to the terrible attraction. His latent uneasiness had been, that bad aims were being worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments, and that he who could not fail to know that he was better than they, was not there, trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assert the claims of mercy and humanity. With this uneasiness half stifled, and half reproaching him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison of himself with the brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong; upon that comparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers of Monseigneur, which had stung him bitterly, and those of Stryver, which above all were coarse and galling, for old reasons. Upon those, had followed Gabelle's letter: the appeal of an innocent prisoner, in danger of death, to his justice, honour, and good name.
His resolution was made. He must go to Paris.
Yes. The Loadstone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until he struck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. The intention with which he had done what he had done, even although he had left it incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect that would be gratefully acknowledged in France on his presenting himself to assert it. Then, that glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds, arose before him, and he even saw himself in the illusion with some influence to guide this raging Revolution that was running so fearfully wild.
As he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered that neither Lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone. Lucie should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, always reluctant to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old, should come to the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not in the balance of suspense and doubt. How much of the incompleteness of his situation was referable to her father, through the painful anxiety to avoid reviving old associations of France in his mind, he did not discuss with himself. But, that circumstance too, had had its influence in hiscourse.
He walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time to return to Tellson's and take leave of Mr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in Paris he would present himself to this old friend, but he must say nothing of his intention now.
A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry was booted and equipped.
`I have delivered that letter,' said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. `I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?'
`That I will, and readily,' said Mr. Lorry, `if it is not dangerous.'
`Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.'
`What is his name?' said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.
`Gabelle.'
`Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?'
`Simply, "that he has received the letter, and will come."' 
`Any time mentioned?' 
`He will start upon his journey to-morrow night.' 
`Any person mentioned?' 
`No.'
He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into the misty air of Fleet-street. `My love to Lucie, and to little Lucie,' said Mr. Lorry at parting, `and take precious care of them till I come back.' Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled, as the carriage rolled away.
That night--it was the fourteenth of August--he sat up late, and wrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length, the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could become involved in no personal danger there; the other was to the Doctor, confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling on the same topics with the strongest assurances. To both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of his safety, immediately after his arrival.
It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the first reservation of their joint lives on his mind. It was a hard matter to preserve the innocent deceit of which they were profoundly unsuspicious. But, an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him resolute not to tell her what impended (he had been half moved to do it, so strange it was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly away. Early in the evening he embraced her, and her scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that he would return by-and-by (an imaginary engagement took him out, and he had secreted a valise of clothes ready), and so he emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy streets, with a heavier heart.
The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all the tides and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He left his two letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hour before midnight, and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began his journey. `For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name!' was the poor prisoner's cry with which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him, and floated away for the Loadstone Rock.
三年的疾风暴雨就在这样的烈火熊熊、人潮汹涌中过去了一一愤怒的海洋一浪高过一浪，冲击着坚实的地面，永远向前奔腾，从不后退，让岸上的入看得心惊胆战，目眩神骇。小露西的三个生日的金丝又织进了她家庭生活的平静的经纬里。
那屋里的人曾在多少个日日夜夜里谛听过街角的回声，他们听见众多的杂沓脚步声便总不禁心慌意乱。因为那种声音在他们心里已成了一个民族的脚步声，它在一面红色旗帜之下奔腾激荡，宣布他们的国家处于危急之中，并被一种旷日持久的魔法变作了疯狂的野兽。
老爷们已经没有人欣赏。他们在法兰西已没有人需要，因此大有被全部赶走的危险，甚至连性命也难保，可是老爷们作为一个阶级又已摆脱了跟这种现象的关系。正如寓言中那个乡巴佬一样，煞费力气请出了魔鬼，却叫魔鬼吓得魂不附体，立即逃之夭夭，再也不敢向他提出问题了。老爷们也是这样，在大胆地倒着念主祷文多年之后，在使用了许多召唤魔鬼的强力符咒之后，终于见到了魔鬼的狰狞形象，却只好撒开高贵的脚丫子逃掉。
当年宫廷里珠光宝气的牛眼明灯已经不见了，否则全国的子弹风暴准会给它们穿上许多窟窿。明灯从来不可信，不能靠他们照亮问题。他们有毛病，有路西福的骄傲，萨丹纳帕拉斯的奢侈和鼹鼠的盲目——可是他们已经落伍了，消失了。宫廷，从排他性的核心到最外层的阴险、贪婪、骄奢淫逸的腐朽圈子，也全都消失了。王权消失了：先在宫殿里受到围困，而在最后的消息到达时，它便被“暂停”了。
一千七百九十二年八月到了，老爷们此刻已经风流云散，逃到了天涯海角。
老爷们把他们在伦敦的首脑部和会议厅设在台尔森银行乃是顺理成章的事。据说鬼魂喜欢在生前常到的地方出没，因此没有了钱的老爷们也常在他们过去存钱的地方出没。何况那儿有关法国的消息来得最快，又最为可靠。再有，台尔森银行是个最慷慨大方的地方，对于从高位跌落的老主顾常给予阔绰的援助。而那些及时预见到即将来临的风暴、看出会有抢掠和没收的危险而事先把钱汇到台尔森银行的贵族们，总有他们手头拮据的弟兄们来打听消息。还必须加上一条，每一个从法国来的人都几乎理所当然地要到台尔森报到，同时报告自己的行踪。由于诸如此类的原因，台尔森银行那时简直就成了法国情报的高级交换站。由于此事已是众所周知，所以前来打听消息的人络绎不绝，台尔森有时便把最新消息扼要写出，贴在银行墙壁上，让路过伦敦法学会的人观看。
一个雾气沉沉的郁闷的下午，罗瑞先生坐在办公桌边，查尔斯.达尔内靠桌站着跟他低声谈话。这几是当年的悔罪室，后来作过“银行当局”的接待室，现在变成了新闻交换站，人多得挤不下。离关门时间已不到半小时。
“可是，即使你是世界上最年轻的人，”查尔斯.达尔内相当犹豫地说，“我仍然要建议你一—”
“我明白。你是想说我年纪太大？”罗瑞先生说。
“气候多变，路又远，旅行工具又没有把握，再加上一个四分五裂的国家、一个就连你去怕也不安全的城市。”
“我亲爱的查尔斯，”罗瑞先生快活而自信地说，“你正好说中了我应该去，而不是不该去的理由。我去是安全的。那儿有那么多值得干扰的人，谁会来干扰我这个快八十岁的老头子呢！至于说城市混乱，要不是因为城市混乱，这边银行干吗往那边银行派人呢—一那得是台尔森信得过的人，而且了解那边城市和业务的一贯情况的人。至于路远、车船困难和冬天的气候，我在台尔森这么多年，银行有了困难我不去谁去？”
“我倒希望我能去，”查尔斯.达尔内略觉不安地说，好像是在自言自语。
“够呛！给你出主意，或是要反对你，实在太困难！”罗瑞先生叫了起来。“你是在法国出生的，可你竟想去？你可真会出主意！”
“我亲爱的罗瑞先生，正因为我出生在法国，我才常有这种想法（不过我并不曾打算在这儿细谈）。我对受苦受难的人民有一定的同情，还放弃了一些东西给他们，因此也就不禁以为别人会听我的话，我可能有力量劝说他们掌握好分寸，”说到这儿他恢复了一向的深思态度说，“就在昨天晚上你离开之后，我还跟露西谈起一一”
你跟露西谈起，”罗瑞重复他的话，“是的。我真不明白你提起露西的名字怎么会不脸红！在这种时候竟然想到法国去！”
“可是，我并没有去，”查尔斯.达尔内微笑着说。“是因为你说起要到法国去，我才说的。”
“可我确实要去法国。事实是，亲爱的查尔斯，”罗瑞先生瞟了一眼远处的“银行当局”，放低了嗓子，“你想象不出我们做业务有多么困难，那边的帐册文件又有多么大的危险。上帝才知道，若是我们某些文件被抢走或毁掉，会造成多么严重的后果。而那是很可能的。因为，你知道，谁也难以保证巴黎城今天就不会毁于大火，明天就不会遭到洗劫！现在必须不失时机地对这些帐册文件进行准确选择，把它们埋到地下或藏到安全的地方去。而能办好这事一—如果还有人能办到的话——却又不致浪费宝贵的时间的就只有我，别的人都不行。台尔森知道这一点，而且提出了要求，我能退缩么？我吃台尔森的面包已经六十年了！只因为我的关节有点僵硬就退缩么？唉，在这几这半打古里古怪的老头子面前我还是个娃娃呢！”
“我真佩服你老当益壮的侠义精神，罗瑞先生。”
“咄！废话，先生——我亲爱的查尔斯，”罗瑞先生又瞥了“银行当局”一眼。“你得记住，在目前情况下，不论想把什么东西运出巴黎都几乎是不可能的。就在这几天还有些你难以想象的怪人给我们带来了文件和珍贵的东西。每个人通过关卡时脑袋都是挂在一根头发丝上的。（我对你说的这话要绝对保密，就是悄悄提起也违背了办业务的规矩呢）换个时候我们的包裹是可以自由通行的，跟在经营商业的英格兰一样，可是现在办不到。”
“你今晚真要走么？”
“真要走，因为情况紧急，不容耽误。”
“不带人么？”
“向我建议过各种各样的人，但我对他们不愿发表意见。我打算带杰瑞去。很久以来杰瑞就是我星期日晚上的保镖，习惯了。没有人会怀疑杰瑞除了是头英国獒犬之外还会是别的什么，除了扑向侵犯他主人的人之外，脑子里还会有别的念头。”
“我必须再说一遍，我衷心佩服你老当益壮的侠义精神。”
“我必须再说一遍，废话，废话！等我完成了这桩小小的任务，也许会接受台尔森的建议，退休下来享几天清福。那时侯再思考人生易老的问题也不为晚。”
这一番话是在罗瑞先生平时的办公桌前说的，那时贵族老爷们就在桌前一两码远处成群结队地挤来挤去，夸口说不久就要对那些流氓进行惩罚。当了难民的倒霉老爷们和英格兰当地的正统派都觉得这场可怕的革命是普天之下仅有的一次并未播种却竟出现了的恶果。这是他们一贯的思路，仿佛这场革命并非是因为干了什么，或是没干什么而引起的；仿佛并不曾有人在多年前就预言过革命必然到来似的（那些人对法国千百万人民所受的苦难和原可为人民谋福利的资源的浪费与滥用早有认识）；仿佛他们并不曾用明白的话语记录下自己的观察所得似的。这样的胡说八道，还有老爷们种种异想天开的计划（他们企图重新实施当年闹得民穷财尽天怒人怨的计划），任何头脑清醒明白真象的人也难以忍受而不表异议。查尔斯.达尔内此时满耳朵就是这样的论调，它们使他感到仿佛脑袋里的血流已经乱成了一团，再加上早已使他不安的隐藏的内疚，他益发心乱如麻了。
说话的人中还有皇家高等法院律师斯特莱佛，此时他正是春风得意，话匣子一开，嗓门就特别大。他正在向老爷们阐述自己的计划：如何对人民进行爆炸，把他们从地球表面消灭，然后不靠他们照样过日子。还加上一些类似于在尾巴上撒盐以消灭老鹰的设想。达尔内对他的话特别反感。正当达尔内考虑是走掉不听，还是留下插嘴时，注定要发生的事发生了。
“银行当局”来到了罗瑞先生身边，把一封肮脏的没有拆开的信放到了他的面前，问他是否发现了收信人的任何线索。那信放得离达尔内很近，他看到了姓名地址——一眼就看清楚了，因为那正是他的原名。那封面译成英语是
“特急。英国伦敦台尔森公司烦转法国前圣埃佛瑞蒙德侯爵先生收。”
结婚那天早晨，曼内特医生曾向查尔斯.达尔内提出严格的特殊要求：有关这个姓氏的秘密必须继续保持，不能泄漏，除非医生同意取消保密。因此别的人谁也不知道那是他的姓，他的妻子不会怀疑，罗瑞先生更不会怀疑。
“没有，”罗瑞先生对“当局”回答，“我已向这儿的每个人打听过，没有人能告诉我这位先生的地址。”
时钟指针接近了关门时间，一大群人谈着话从罗瑞先生的办公桌前走过，罗瑞先生便拿出信来向他们打听。这一个满肚子阴谋和怒气的老爷难民看了看，那一个老爷难民看了后，再一个，又一个，每一个都用英语或法语说了些有关这位失踪侯爵的难听的话。
“侄子，我相信是——总之是个堕落的继承人——被暗杀了的漂亮的侯爵的侄于，”一个说。“幸好，我不认识他。”
“一个放弃了自己岗位的胆小鬼，”另一个说——说活的大人是藏在一车干草里脚朝天离开巴黎的，几乎给憋死了——“是几年前的事了。”
“中了时髦理论的毒，”第三个人透过眼镜顺便望了望收信人的姓名地址，“跟最后一个侯爵作对，该继承庄园时却放弃了，把它交给了暴徒。现在他们会报复他了，我希望。活该。”
“嗨？”粗喉咙大嗓门的斯特莱佛叫了起来，“他真放弃了么？他是那种入么？我们来看看这个丢脸的名字，该死的家伙！”
达尔内再也控制不住自己了，他碰了碰斯特莱佛的肩头说：
“我知道这人。”
“你知道么，天呀？”斯特莱佛说，“我感到遗憾。”
“为什么？”
“为什么，达尔内先生？你听见他干了什么事么？在这样的时代，你就别问为什么了吧！”
“可我很想问问。”
“那我就再告诉你一遍，达尔内先生：我感到遗憾。因为你提出了这种反常的问题而遗憾。有这么一个人，因为受到了人世间最险恶最亵渎的魔鬼信条的传染，竟然把财产放弃给了世界上最坏的杀人如麻的流氓，而一个教育青年的人竟然会认识他。对此你却要来回我为什么感到遗憾，好吧，我来回答你。我是因为相信这样的坏人会传播毒素而遗憾的，这就是我的理由。”
达尔内考虑到保密的需要，竭尽全力克制住了自己说，“你可能并不了解这位先生。”
“可我懂得怎样驳倒你，达尔内先生，”一贯居高临下的斯特莱佛说，“我讲给你听。若是这家伙也算是正人君子，我是怎么也想不通的。你可以当面告诉他这话——并代我向他致意。你还可以代替我转告他，我不明白他把自己在人间的财富和地位全放弃给了这些杀人暴徒之后为什么没有当上个草头王。可是，不，先生们，”斯特莱佛四面望了望，打了—个响指，“我对人性略知一二，我可以告诉你们，像他那样的人是决不会把自己交给这样的宝贝部下支配的。不会的，先生们，他总是一有风吹草动，老早就溜之大吉，脚板底下一向纤尘不染。”
说完这话斯特莱佛先生又打了最后一个响指，在听众的一片赞扬声中横冲直撞挤出门去，踏上了舰队街。罗瑞先生和查尔斯.达尔内在人群离开银行之后单独留在了桌旁。
“你愿意负责交这封信么？”罗瑞先生说。“你知道交信的地方么？”
“知道。”
“你能不能向收信人解释一下，我们估计这信是因为希望我们能转交才文到这几来的，在这儿实际上己放了相当久了。”
“我会解释的。你是从这儿出发去巴黎么？”
“从这儿。八点出发。”
“我马上回来给你送行。”
达尔内怀着对自己、对斯特莱佛和大部分其他的人的不安心情，尽快地走到法学会一个安静角落，拆开信读了起来，信的内容是这样的：
巴黎，修道院监狱，
１７９２年６月
前候爵先生，
在长期冒着被村里的人杀死的危险之后我终于被抓住了，遭到了残酷的虐待和侮辱，然后被押着长途步行列了巴黎，沿途备受折磨。这还不够，我的房子也给毁掉了一—夷为平地。
前侯爵先生，他们告诉我，使我受到拘禁、还要受到审判、甚至丢掉性命（若是得不到你的慷慨援救的话）的罪恶，是因为我为一个外逃贵族效劳，反对了人民，背叛了人民的权威。我申辩说，我是按照你的命令为他们办事的，并没有反对他们，可是没有用。我申辩说我早在没收外逃贵族财产之前就已豁免了他们欠纳的捐税，没有再收租，也没有诉诸法律，但仍然没有用。他们唯一的回答是，我既然是为外逃贵族办事的，那么，那外逃贵族在哪儿？
啊，最仁慈的前侯爵先生，那外满贵族在哪儿？我在梦里哭世，他在哪儿？我抬头问天，他会不会来解救我？可是没有回答。啊，前候爵先生，我把我孤苦无告的哀泣送到海外，但愿它能通过名驰巴黎的了不起的台尔森银行到达你的耳里！
看在对上天、对正义、对慷慨无私、对你高贵的姓氏的爱的分上，我恳求你，前侯爵先生，快来帮助我，解救我。我的错误是对你的真诚。啊，前侯爵先生，我祈祷你也以真诚待我！
我从这可怖的监狱里保证为你竭尽我悲惨不幸的绵薄之力，尽管我每一小时都在走向毁灭，前侯爵先生。
你受到摧残的加伯尔
这封信把达尔内隐藏在心里的不安变作了强烈的内疚。一个善良的老家人，唯一的罪过是对他和他的家庭的忠诚。他所遭到的危险此时似乎正带着怨怼瞪眼望着他。因此，当他在法学会内徘徊踌躇思考着办法时几乎不敢正视过往的行人。
他很明白，尽管他对使得他那古老家族的劣迹和丑名达于顶点的行为深恶痛绝，尽管他满心僧恶地怀疑他的叔父，尽管他的良心使他厌恶那个说来应由他支持的破落家庭，他的做法却并不彻底。他很明白，虽然放弃自己的地位并非当时新出现的想法，但是由于他爱上了露西，行动便不免仓促匆忙，浅涉即止。他明白应当作出系统安排并亲自监督完成，但却只是想想而已，并没有做到。
他所选择的这个英国家庭所带给他的幸福和永远积极工作的需要，还有时代的迅速变化、层出不穷的麻烦——这一周的计划推翻了上一周未成熟的计划，下一周的事件又要求作新的部署，这样的局面使他随波逐流了。这一点他很清楚，也并非没有感到不安，只是没有对它作持续的、不断加强的抵制。他曾关注时局，想找个行动的时机，时局却变化着纠缠着拖了下去。然后贵族们便开始经过法国的阳关大道和偏僻小径大批逃亡。贵族们的财产陆陆续续被没收，被毁灭，连姓氏也快给抹掉了。这一切他都知道，法国的每个可能要追究他的新政权他也都知道。
但他没有压迫过人，没有关押过人。他不但远离了横征暴敛，而且主动放弃了自己那份收入，投入了一个不会偏袒他的世界，在那儿找到了自己的地位，赚来了自己的面包。加伯尔先生按照他的书面指示处理了他那衰败困顿的庄园财产。他要加伯尔体恤百姓，能给的都给他们——冬天给他们还了高利贷后留下的柴禾，夏天给他们还了高利贷后留下的农产品。加伯尔先生为了自己的安全毫无疑问早已提出过这些事实和证据为自己辩护，现在只好把这一切公诸于世了。
这个想法促使查尔斯.达尔内下定了破釜沉舟的决心：到巴黎去。
是的，正如在古老故事里的老水手一样，海风和洋流已把他送进了磁礁的磁力圈，那礁石正把他不容抗拒地吸引过去。他心里出现的每一并事都在越来越迅速有力地把他推向那可怕的磁力。他心里隐藏的不安是：在他自己不幸的国土上某些坏人正在追求邪恶的目标。他明知自己比他们强，却并不在那几努力制止流血、坚持仁爱和人道的要求。他一半是压抑这种不安，一半又受这种不安的谴责，禁不住把自己跟那个责任感很强的勇敢老人作了个尖锐的对比。这种不利的对比立即令他感到侯爵大人在冷笑，那冷笑今他无地自容。他也感到斯特莱佛在冷笑，他那根据陈旧的理由所发出的冷笑尤其粗野、令人难堪。何况还有加伯尔的信：一个无辜的囚徒，有了生命危险，要求他给予正义、荣誉和切实的名分。
他下定了决心：他必须到巴黎去。
是的，磁力礁吸引着他，他必须扬帆前进，直至触礁为止。他并不守道有礁石，也看不出有什么危险。他已做过的事虽说不上完美，意图却根明显，因而他感到，若是他在法国露面承认有那种意图，他是会受到感激的。于是，他面前升起了种种行善光荣的幻想，那是多少志士仁人的乐观的海市蜃楼。他甚至有了，一种幻觉：自己能产生某种影响，把目前肆无忌惮的革命引上轨道，
虽然下了决心，他还在那儿徘徊。他觉得在他离开之前这事既不能让露西知道，也不能让她爸爸知道。他不能让露西承受离别之苦，而往事对她父亲又是个讳莫如深的危险问题，因此只能让他接受既成事实，而不必让他承受提心吊胆、迟疑不决的痛苦。至于对自己处境的不利因索究竟应当让她的父亲知道多少，他也没有多加考虑，因为他吃力地避免着在老人心里唤起法国的旧事。这也是他不辞而别的原因之一。
他来回地踱着步，匆忙地思考着，直到应当回银行跟罗瑞先生告别的时候。他打算一到巴黎就去见这位老朋友，可现在对自己的打算却只能只字不提。
银行门口有一辆马车，马已备好，杰瑞也已穿好皮靴，一切齐备。
“那封信我已经交到了，”查尔斯.达尔内告诉罗瑞。“我不同意让你带书面的答复去，不过，请你带个口信也汾是可以的吧？”
“可以，我很乐意，”罗瑞先生说，“要是没有危险的话。”
“一点危险也没有，虽然是带给修道院监狱一个囚犯的。”
“他叫什么名字？”罗瑞先生拿着打开的笔记本说。
“加伯尔。”
“加伯尔。要我给关在牢里的不幸的加伯尔带什么口信？”
“很简单：‘信己收到，他立即赶来。’”
“他告诉了你时候么？”
“他明天晚上就出发。”
“提到什么人没有？”
“没有。”
他帮助罗瑞先生穿上好几层短衣和外套，裹得厚厚的，陪着他从古老的银行温暖的空气里走了出来，进入舰队街的薄雾里。“向露臣和小露西转达我的爱，”老罗瑞在分手时说，“好好照顾她们，等我回来。”查尔斯.达尔内在马车离开时摇摇头，意义不明地笑了笑。
八月十四日晚他熬夜写了两封热情洋溢的信。一封给露西，说明他有重大任务必须去巴黎一趟，并向她详细解释了他深信在那儿不会有危险的理由。另一封信是给医生的，请他代为照顾露西和他们亲爱的孩子，也谈了上面的问题，并竭力保证不会出意外。对两人他都答应一到巴黎立即来信报告平安。
那一天好难熬一一他跟父女俩在一起，心里却保留了共同生活以来的第一次秘密。要对坦诚相待、毫无芥蒂的他们进行清白的欺骗，确实今人难受。他满怀柔情地望着快活地忙碌着的妻子，心里更认定了不能把即将发生的事告沂她（他曾几乎想对她和盘托出，因为没有她无言的帮助，他做任何事都感到别扭）。这一天匆匆过去了。黄昏时他拥抱了她，也拥抱了跟她同名也同样可爱的宝宝，装作马上就会回来的样子（他借口有约会外出，导巴收拾了一箱衣物偷存在外面）。他便这样进入了沉重街道的沉重的雾里，带着一颗比那雾还要沉重的心。
那看不见的力量正吸引着他迅速前去，而漫天的怒潮与狂飙也都往那儿飞卷。他把两封信交给了一个可靠的看门人，要他晚上十一点半送去，不能更早些，这才骑上去多佛的马，开始了旅行。“看在对上天、对正义、对慷慨无私、对你高贵姓氏的爱的分上！”这是那可怜的囚徒的呼唤。他就是用这呼唤鼓起勇气，抛开了他在这世上所爱的一切，向那磁礁漂流而去的。
Book 3 Chapter 1 In Secret 
THE traveller fared slowly on his way, who fared towards Paris from England in the autumn of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two. More than enough of bad roads, bad equipages, and bad horses, he would have encountered to delay him, though the fallen and unfortunate King of France had been upon his throne in all his glory; but, the changed times were fraught with other obstacles than these. Every town-gate and village taxing-house had its band of citizen-patriots, with their national muskets in a most explosive state of readiness, who stopped all comers and goers, cross-questioned them, inspected their papers, looked for their names in lists of their own, turned them back, or sent them on, or stopped them and laid them in hold, as their capricious judgment or fancy deemed best for the dawning Republic One and Indivisible, of Liberty, Equality,Fraternity, or Death.
A very few French leagues of his journey were accomplished, when Charles Darnay began to perceive that for him along these country roads there was no hope of return until he should have been declared a good citizen at Paris. Whatever might befall now, he must on to his journey's end. Not a mean village closed upon him, not a common barrier dropped across the road behind him, but he knew it to be another iron door in the series that was barred between him and England. The universal watchfulness so encompassed him, that if he had been taken in a net, or were being forwarded to his destination in a cage, he could not have felt his freedom more completely gone.
This universal watchfulness not only stopped him on the highway twenty times in a stage, hut retarded his progress twenty times in a day, by riding after him and taking him back, riding before him and stopping him by anticipation, riding with him and keeping him in charge. He had been days upon his journey in France alone, when he went to bed tired out, in a little town on the high road, still a long way from Paris.
Nothing but the production of the afflicted Gabelle's letter from his prison of the Abbaye would have got him on so far. His difficulty at the guard-house in this small place had been such, that he felt his journey to have come to a crisis. And he was, therefore, as little surprised as a man could be, to find himself awakened at the small inn to which he had been remitted until morning, in the middle of the night.
Awakened by a timid local functionary and three armed patriots in rough red caps and with pipes in their mouths, who sat down on the bed.
`Emigrant,' said the functionary, `I am going to send you on to Paris, under an escort.'
`Citizen, I desire nothing more than to get to Paris, though I could dispense with the escort.'
`Silence!' growled a red-cap, striking at the coverlet with the butt-end of his musket. `Peace, aristocrat!'
`It is as the good patriot says,' observed the timid functionary. `You are an aristocrat, and must have an escort-and must pay for it.'
`I have no choice,' said Charles Darnay.
`Choice, Listen to him!' cried the same scowling red-cap. `As if it was not a favour to be protected from the lamp-iron!'
`It is always as the good patriot says,' observed the functionary. `Rise and dress yourself, emigrant.'
Darnay complied, and was taken back to the guard-house, where other patriots in rough red caps were smoking, drinking, and sleeping, by a watch-fire. Here he paid a heavy price for his escort, and hence he started with it on the wet, wet roads at three o'clock in the morning.
The escort were two mounted patriots in red caps and tricoloured cockades, armed with national muskets and sabres, who rode one on either side of him. The escorted governed his own horse, but a loose line was attached to his bridle, the end of which one of the patriots kept girded round his wrist. In this state they set forth with the sharp rain driving in their faces: clattering at a heavy dragoon trot over the uneven town pavement, and out upon the mire-deep roads. In this state they traversed without change, except of horses and pace, all the mire-deep leagues that lay between them and the capital.
They travelled in the night, halting an hour or two after daybreak, and lying by until the twilight fell. The escort were so wretchedly clothed, that they twisted straw round their bare legs, and thatched their ragged shoulders to keep the wet off Apart from the personal discomfort of being so attended, and apart from such considerations of present danger as arose from one of the patriots being chronically drunk, and carrying his musket very recklessly, Charles Darnay did not allow the restraint that was laid upon him to awaken any serious fears in his breast; for, he reasoned with himself that it could have no reference to the merits of an individual case that was not yet stated, and of representations, confirmable by the prisoner in the Abbaye, that were not yet made.
But when they canto to the town of Beauvais--which they did at eventide, when the streets were filled with people--he could not `conceal from himself that the aspect of affairs was very alarming. An ominous crowd gathered to see him dismount at the posting-yard, and many voices called out loudly, `Down with the emigrant!'
He stopped in the act of swinging himself out of his saddled and, resuming it as his safest place, said:
`Emigrant, my friends! Do you not see me here, in France, of my own will?'
`You are a cursed emigrant,' cried a farrier, making at him In a furious manner through the press, hammer in hand; `and you are a cursed aristocrat!'
The postmaster interposed himself between this man and the rider's bridle (at which he was evidently making), and soothingly said, `Let him be; let him be! He will be judged at Paris.'
`Judged!' repeated the farrier, swinging his hammer. `Ay! and condemned as a traitor.' At this the crowd roared approval.
Checking the postmaster, who was for turning his horse's head to the yard (the drunken patriot sat composedly in his saddle looking on, with the line round his wrist), Darnay said, as soon as he could make his voice heard:
`Friends, you deceive yourselves, or you are deceived. I am not a traitor.'
`He lies!' cried the smith. `He is a traitor since the decree. His life is forfeit to the people. His cursed life is not his own!'
At the instant when Darnay saw a rush in the eyes of the crowd, which another instant would have brought upon him, the postmaster turned his horse into the yard, the escort rode in close upon his horse's flanks, and the postmaster shut and barred the crazy double gates. The farrier struck a blow upon them with his hammer, and the crowd groaned; but, no more was done.
`What is this decree that the smith spoke of?' Darnay asked the postmaster, when he had thanked him, and stood beside him in the yard.
`Truly, a decree for selling the property of emigrants.'
`When passed?'
`On the fourteenth.'
`The day I left England!'
`Everybody says it is but one of several, and that there will be others--if there are not already--banishing all emigrants, and condemning all to death who return. That is what he meant when he said your life was not your own.'
`But there are no such decrees yet?'
`What do I know!' said the postmaster, shrugging his shoulders; `there may be, or there will be. It is all the same. What would you have?'
They rested on some straw in a loft until the middle of the night, and then rode forward again when all the town was asleep. Among the many wild changes observable on familiar things which made this wild ride unreal, not the least was the seeming rarity of sleep. After long and lonely spurring over dreary roads, they would come to a cluster of poor cottages, not steeped in darkness, but all glittering with lights, and would find the people, in a ghostly manner in the dead of the night, circling hand in hand round a shrivelled tree of Liberty, or all drawn up together singing a Liberty song. Happily, however, there was sleep in Beauvais that night to help them out of it, and they passed on once more into solitude and loneliness: jingling through the untimely cold and wet, among impoverished fields that had yielded no fruits of the earth that year, diversified by the blackened remains of burnt houses, and by the sudden emergence from ambuscade, and sharp reining up across their way, of patriot patrols on the watch on all the roads.
Daylight at last found them before the wall of Paris. The barrier was closed and strongly guarded when they rode up to it.
`Where are the papers of this prisoner?' demanded a resolute-looking man in authority, who was summoned out by the guard.
Naturally struck by the disagreeable word, Charles Darnay requested the speaker to take notice that he was a free traveller and French citizen, in charge of an escort which the disturbed state of the country had imposed upon him, and which he had paid for.
`Where,' repeated the same personage, without taking any heed of him whatever, `are the papers of this prisoner?'
The drunken patriot had them in his cap, and produced them. Casting his eyes over Gabelle's letter, the same personage in authority showed some disorder and surprise, and looked at Darnay with a close attention.
He left escort and escorted without saying a word, however, and went into the guard-room; meanwhile, they sat upon their horses outside the gate. Looking about him while in this state of suspense, Charles Darnay observed that the gate was held by amixed guard of soldiers and patriots, the latter far outnumbering the former; and that while ingress into the city for peasants carts bringing in supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy enough, egress, even for the homeliest people, was very difficult. A numerous medley of men and women, not to mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was waiting to issue forth; but, the previous identification was so strict, that they filtered through the barrier very slowly. Some of these people knew their turn for examination to be so far off, that they lay down on the ground to sleep or smoke, while others talked together, or loitered about. The red cap and tricolour cockade were universal, both among men and women.
When he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking note of these things, Darnay found himself confronted by the same man in authority, who directed the guard to open the barrier. Then he delivered to the escort, drunk and sober, a receipt for the escorted, and requested him to dismount. He did so, and the two patriots, leading his tired horse, turned and rode away without entering the city.
He accompanied his conductor into a guard-room, smelling of common wine and tobacco, where certain soldiers and patriots, asleep and awake, drunk and sober, and in various neutral states between sleeping and waking, drunkenness and sobriety, were standing and lying about. The light in the guard-house, half derived from the waning oil-lamps of the night, and half from the overcast day, was in a correspondingly uncertain condition. Some registers were lying open on a desk, and an officer of a coarse, dark aspect, presided over these.
`Citizen Defarge,' said he to Darnay's conductor, as he took a slip of paper to write on. `Is this the emigrant Evrémonde?'
`This is the man.'
`Your age, Evrémonde?'
`Thirty-seven.'
`Married, Evrémonde?'
`Yes.'
`Where married?'
`In England.'
`Without doubt. Where is your wife, Evrémonde?'
`In England.'
`Without doubt. You are consigned, Evrémonde, to the prison of La Force.'
`Just Heaven!' exclaimed Darnay. `Under what law, and for what offence?'
The officer looked up from his slip of paper for a moment.
`We have new laws, Evrémonde, and new offences, since you were here.' He said it with a hard smile, and went on writing.
`I entreat you to observe that I have come here voluntarily, in response to that written appeal of a fellow-countryman which lies before you. I demand no more than the opportunity to do so without delay. Is not that my right?'
`Emigrants have no rights, Evrémonde,' was the stolid reply. The officer wrote until he had finished, read over to himself what he had written, sanded it, and handed it to Defarge, with the words `In secret.'
Defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he must accompany him. The prisoner obeyed, and a guard of two armed patriots attended them.
`Is it you,' said Defarge, in a low voice, as they went down the guard-house steps and turned into Paris, `who married the daughter of Doctor Manette, once a prisoner in the Bastille that is no more?'
`Yes,' replied Darnay, looking at him with surprise.
`My name is Defarge, and I keep a wine-shop in the Quarter Saint Antoine. Possibly you have heard of me.'
`My wife came to your house to reclaim her father? Yes!'
The word `wife' seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder to Defarge, to say with sudden impatience, `In the name of that sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine, why did you come to France?'
`You heard me say why, a minute ago. Do you not believe it is the truth?'
`A bad truth for you,' said Defarge, speaking with knitted brows, and looking straight before him.
`Indeed I am lost here. All here is so unprecedented, so changed, so sudden and unfair, that I am absolutely lost. Will you render me a little help?'
`None.' Defarge spoke, always looking straight before him.
`Will you answer me a single question?'
`Perhaps. According to its nature. You can say what it is.'
`In this prison that I am going to so unjustly, shall I have some free communication with the world outside?'
`You will see.'
`I am not to be buried there, prejudged, and without any means of presenting my case?'
`You will see. But, what then? Other people have been similarly buried in worse prisons, before now.
`But never by me, Citizen Defarge.'
Defarge glanced darkly at him for answer, and walked on in a steady and set silence. The deeper he sank into this silence, the fainter hope there was--or so Darnay thought--of his softening in any slight degree. He, therefore, made haste to say:
`It is of the utmost importance to me (you know, Citizen, even better than I, of how much importance), that I should be able to communicate to Mr. Lorry of Tellson's Bank, an English gentleman who is now in Paris, the simple fact, without comment, that I have been thrown into the prison of La Force. Will you cause that to be done for me?'
`I will do,' Defarge doggedly rejoined, `nothing for you. My duty is to my country and the People. I am the sworn servant of both, against you. I will do nothing for you.'
Charles Darnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, and his pride was touched besides. As they walked on in silence, he could not but see how used the people were to the spectacle of prisoners passing along the streets. The very children scarcely noticed him. A few passers turned their heads, and a few shook their fingers at him as an aristocrat; otherwise, that a man in good clothes should be going to prison, was no more remarkable than that a labourer in working clothes should be going to work. In one narrow, dark, and dirty street through which they passed, an excited orator, mounted on a stool, was addressing an excited audience on the crimes against the people, of the king and the royal family. The few words that he caught from this man's lips, first made it known to Charles Darnay that the king was in prison, and that the foreign ambassadors had one and all left Paris. On the road (except at Beauvais) he had heard absolutely nothing. The escort and the universal watchfulness had completely isolated him.
That he had fallen among far greater dangers than those which had developed themselves when he left England, he of course knew now. That perils had thickened about him fast, and might thicken faster and faster yet, he of course knew now. He couldnot but admit to himself that he might not have made this journey, if he could have foreseen the events of a few days. And yet his misgivings were not so dark as, imagined by the light of this later time, they would appear. Troubled as the future was, it was the unknown future, and in its obscurity there was ignorant hope. The horrible massacre, days and nights long, which, within a few rounds of the clock, was to set a great mark of blood upon the blessed garnering time of harvest, was as far out of his knowledge as if it had been a hundred thousand years away. The `sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine,' was hardly known to him, or to the generality of people, by name. The frightful deeds that were to be soon done, were probably unimagined at that time in the brains of the doers. How could they have a place in the shadowy conceptions of a gentle mind?
Of unjust treatment in detention and hardship, and in cruel separation from his wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or the certainty; but, beyond this, he dreaded nothing distinctly. With this on his mind, which was enough to carry into a dreary prison court-yard, he arrived at the prison of La Force.
A man with a bloated face opened the strong wicket, to whom Defarge presented `The Emigrant Evrémonde.'
`What the Devil! How many more of them!' exclaimed the man with the bloated face.
Defarge took his receipt without noticing the exclamation, and withdrew, with his two fellow-patriots.
`What the Devil, I say again!' exclaimed the gaoler, left with his wife. `How many more!'
The gaoler's wife, being provided with no answer to the question, merely replied, `One must have patience, my dear!' Three turnkeys who entered responsive to a bell she rang,, echoed the sentiment and one added, `For the love of Liberty; which sounded in that place like an inappropriate conclusion.
The prison of La Force was a gloomy prison, dark and filthy, and with a horrible smell of foul sleep in it. Extraordinary how soon the noisome flavour of imprisoned sleep, becomes manifest in all such places that are ill cared for!
`In secret, too,' grumbled the gaoler, looking at the written paper. `As if I was not already full to bursting!'
He stuck the paper on a file, in an ill-humour, and Charles Darnay awaited his further pleasure for half an hour: sometimes, pacing to and fro in the strong arched room: sometimes, resting on a stone seat: in either case detained to be imprinted on the memory of the chief and his subordinates.
`Come!' said the chief, at length taking up his keys, `come with me, emigrant.'
Through the dismal prison twilight, his new charge accompanied him by corridor and staircase, many doors clanging and locking behind them, until they came into a large, low, vaulted chamber, crowded with prisoners of both sexes. The women were seated at a long table, reading and writing, knitting, sewing, and embroidering; the men were for the most part standing behind their chairs, or lingering up and down the room.
In the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime and disgrace, the new comer recoiled from this company. But the crowning unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once rising to receive him, with every refinement of manner known to the time, and with all the engaging graces and courtesies of life.
So strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners and gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor and misery through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand in a company of the dead. Ghosts all! The ghost of beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the ghost of pride, the ghost of frivolity, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all waiting their dismissal from the desolate shore, all turning on him eyes that were changed by the death they had died in coming there.
It struck him motionless. The gaoler standing at his side, and the other gaolers moving about, who would have been well enough as to appearance in the ordinary exercise of their functions, looked so extravagantly coarse contrasted with sorrowing mothers and blooming daughters who were there with the apparitions of the coquette, the young beauty, and the mature woman delicately bred--that the inversion of all experience and likelihood which the scene of shadows presented, was heightened to its utmost. Surely, ghosts all. Surely, the long unreal ride some progress of disease that had brought him to these gloomy shades!
`In the name of the assembled companions in misfortune,' said a gentleman of courtly appearance and address, coming forward, `I have the honour of giving you welcome to La Force, and of condoling with you on the calamity that has brought you among us. May it soon terminate happily! It would be an impertinence elsewhere, but it is not so here, to ask your name and condition?'
Charles Darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, in words as suitable as he could find.
`But I hope,' said the gentleman, following the chief gaoler with his eyes, who moved across the room, `that you are not in secret?'
`I do not understand the meaning of the term, but I have heard them say so.'
`Ah, what a pity! We so much regret it! But take courage; several members of our society have been in secret, at first, and it has lasted but a short time.' Then he added, raising his voice, `I grieve to inform the society--in secret.
There was a murmur of commiseration as Charles Darnay crossed the room to a grated door where the gaoler awaited him, and many voices--among which, the soft and compassionate voices of woman were conspicuous--gave him good wishes and encouragement. He turned at the grated door, to render the thanks of his heart; it closed under the gaoler's hand; and the apparitions vanished from his sight for ever.
The wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. When they had ascended forty steps (the prisoner of half an hour already counted them), the gaoler opened a low black door, and they passed into a solitary cell. It struck cold and damp, but was not dark.
`Yours,' said the gaoler.
`Why am I confined alone?'
`How do I know!'
`I can buy pen, ink, and paper?'
`Such are not my orders. You will be visited, and can ask then. At present, you may buy your food, and nothing more.'
There were in the cell, a chair, a table, and a straw mattress. As the gaoler made a general inspection of these objects, and of the four walls, before going out, a wandering fancy wandered through the mind of the prisoner leaning against the wall oppositeto him, that this gaoler was so unwholesomely bloated, both in face and person, as to look like a man who had been drowned and filled with water. When the gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, `Now am I left, as if I were dead.' Stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he turned from it with a sick feeling, and thought, `And here in these crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death.'
`Five paces by four and a half five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half.' The prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like muffled drums with a wild swell of voices added to them. `He made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes.' The prisoner counted the measurement again, and paced faster, to draw his mind with him from that latter repetition. `The ghosts that vanished when the wicket closed. There was one among them, the appearance of a lady dressed in black, who was leaning in the embrasure of a window, and she had a light shining upon her golden hair, and she looked like * * * * Let us ride on again, for God's sake, through the illuminated villages with the people all awake! * * * * He made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes. * * * * Five paces by four and a half.' With such scraps tossing and rolling upward from the depths of his mind, the prisoner walked faster and faster, obstinately counting and counting; and the roar of the city changed to this extent-that it still rolled in like muffled drums, but with the wail of voices that he knew, in the swell that rose above them. 
一千七百九十二年秋，那从英格兰去法兰西的旅客在途中缓缓前进。即使在现己被推翻的不幸的法王还高踞宝座的全盛时期，旅客们也会遇到太多的麻烦阻碍他们的行程：糟糕的道路、糟糕的没备、糟糕的马匹，何况此时势易时移，还有了新的障碍：每一个市镇的大门和乡村税务所都有一群爱国公民，他们手中那国民军的毛瑟枪早以最大的爆炸力准备好了发射。他们挡住过往行人进行盘问，查验证件，在自己的名单上找寻他们的名字，然后或放行、或挡回、或扣押，一切取决于他们那反复无常的判断或想象，一切为了那还在曙光中的共和国的最大利益——那统—不可分割的自由、平等、博爱或死亡的共和国。
查尔斯.达尔内刚在法国走了不到几法里便开始明白，除非自己在巴黎被宣布为良好公民，否则，便再也没有通过这些乡村公路回家的希望。现在他已是无论如何非到巴黎不可了。他明白，每一个不起眼的村落在他身后关上的大门、每一道落下的普通的路障都是一道横亘在他和英格兰之间的铁闸。他从四面八方所受到的极其严密的监视使他感到，即使被收在网里或关在笼里送往巴黎，自己所失去的自由也不会比这更彻底。
这种无所不在的监视，不但在—段旅程上要阻拦他二十次，而且在一天之内还要耽误他二十次。有时是骑马赶来把他追了回去，有时是赶到前面挡住他的去路，有时又是骑马同行看管着他。那天他在公路上一个小镇筋疲力竭地躺下时，已只身在法国旅行了许多日子，可距离巴黎还是很远。
若不是随时想到受难的加伯尔从修道院监狱发出的信，他是再也没有力量继续前进深入重地的。他在这个小地方的警卫室所遇到的严重麻烦使他感到自己的旅途上已出现了危机。因此当他半夜三更从被指定过夜的小客找叫醒的时候，并不太惊惶失措。
叫醒他的是一个畏畏缩缩的地方官员，还有三个戴着粗糙的红便帽、衔着烟斗的武装爱国者。他们在床边坐了下来。
“外逃分子，”那官员说，“我要把你送到巴黎去，还派人护送。”
“公民，我没有别的愿望，只想去巴黎，护送倒可不必。”
“住口！”一个红帽子用毛瑟抢枪托敲打着被子吼道。“别吵，贵族分子。”
“正如这位好心的爱国者所说，”那怯生生的官员说道，“你是个贵族公子，因此必须有人护送——还必须交护送费。”
“我别无选择，”查尔斯达尔内说。
“选择！你听他说些什么！”刚才那凶狠的红帽子说，“护送你，不让你吊在路灯杆上，这难道还不好么！”
“这位好心的爱国者说的话总是对的，”那官员说。“起来，穿上衣服，外逃分子。”
达尔内照办了，然后被带回了警卫室。那儿还有些戴粗糙的红便帽的爱国者。他们正守在篝火旁吸烟、喝酒、睡觉。他在那儿付了一大笔保护费，便在凌晨三时跟护送人一起踏上了泥泞不堪的道路。
护送人是两个骑着马的爱国者，戴着缀有三色徽章的红便帽，背着国民军的毛瑟抢，挎着马刀，一边一个陪着他走着。被护送者控制着自己的马，但他的缰绳上却松松地系了另一根绳子，那一头挽在一个爱国者的手腕上。他们就像这样冒着打在面颊上的急雨出发了。马蹄踏着龙骑兵式的沉重步伐在市镇的凹凸不平的街道上和市外深深的泥泞里吧哒吧哒走着。就这样走完了通向首都的泥泞的路，除了马匹要换、速度不一之外再没有什么变化。
他们在夜里走路，破晓后一两个小时便休息睡觉，黄昏又再出发。护送人穿得极破烂，用干草裹着赤裸裸的双腿，也用它披在褴褛的肩上挡雨。这样叫人押着旅行，使他感到很不舒服。有一个爱国者又常喝得醉醺醺的，粗心大意地提着枪，也使他随时感到威胁。除此之外查尔斯.达尔内并没让种种不便在胸中唤起过任何严重的恐惧。因为他经过了反复思考，认定这种情况跟一桩还不曾审理的案子的是非无关。到他提出申辩时，那修道院监狱的囚犯可以证实。
但是等到他们黄昏来到波维城发现街上挤满了人的时候，他却不能不承认形势十分严峻了。一群阴森森的人围了过来，看着他在即站院子里下了马，许多喉咙大叫道，“打倒外逃分子！”
他正要飞身下马，却立即停住，重新坐好了，把马背当作最安全的地方，说：
“什么外逃分子，朋友们！你们不是亲眼看见我是自己回法国来的么？”
“你是个该死的外逃分子，”一个钉马掌工人手拿郎头暴跳加雷地穿过人群向他奔来，“你还是个该死的贵族分子！”
驿站长插身到那人和骑马人的缰绳之间（那人显然想去拉马缰）劝解说，“让他去，让他去，他到了巴黎会受到审判的。”
“受审判！”马掌工摇晃着郎头说，“好！判他个卖国罪，杀头。”人群一听便大喊大叫，表示赞成。
驿站长正要把他的马往院于里牵，达尔内却挡住了他（这时那醉醺醺的爱国者手上还挽住达尔内的缰绳的一端，坐在马鞍上没动），等到听得见他说话了，才说道：
“朋友们，你们误会了，再不就是受了欺骗。我不是卖国贼。”
“他撒谎！”那铁匠叫道，“自从法令公布之后，他就成了卖国贼。他的生命已交由人民处理。他那受到诅咒的生命已不是他的了！”
此时此刻达尔内在人群的眼里看到了一种冲动，仿佛他们马上就要扑到他的身上来。驿站长急忙把他的马牵进了院子，护送者的两匹马紧挨着他，把他夹在中间。驿站长关上了那摇摇晃晃的双扇门，并上了杠。钉马掌的在门上砸了—郎头，人们嘟哝了一会儿，却再也没做刊什么。
“那铁匠说起的是什么法令？”达尔内向驿站长道了谢，跟他一起站在院子里时问道。
“有那么回事，是出售外逃人员财产的法令。”
“什么时候通过的？”
“十四日。”
“我离开英国就是那天。”
“大家都说这只是其中之一，还会有其它的法令出台——即使是现在还没有——，要放逐所有的外逃分子，外逃回国的人也一律处死。那人说你的命不是自己的，就是这个意思。”
“可是现在还没有这些法令吧？”
“我能知道什么！”驿站长耸耸肩说。“可能现在就有，也可能以后才有，都一样。你能希望什么？”
他们在阁楼里的干草上休息到半夜，等到全城都入睡之后再骑马前进。在这次荒唐的骑马旅行中他发现许多日常事物发生了近于虚幻的荒唐变化，睡眠很少似乎并不是其中最小的变化。在荒凉的路上经过了寂寞的长途跋涉之后，他们往往会来到几间可怜的村舍面前。村舍不是沉浸在黑暗里，而是闪耀着火光，村民们在半夜三更像幽灵一样手牵着手围着一株枯萎的自由树转着圈子，或是挤在一起唱赞颂自由的歌。所幸在波维城的那天晚上人们睡觉去了，否则他们是难以脱身的。他们继续前进，走向孤独与寂寞，叮叮当当地穿过提前来到的寒冷与潮湿，穿过全年没有收获的变得贫瘠的土地。土地上出现的变化是：烧掉的房屋的黑色废墟和爱国者巡逻队的突然出现——他们在所有的道路上执勤，猛然从隐蔽处钻出来，收紧缰绳站住。
清晨的阳光终于在巴黎的城墙前照到了他们身上。他们走近的时候路障关闭着，并有重兵把守。
“这个囚犯的证件在哪儿？”卫兵叫来的一个神色坚毅的负责人间。
达尔内听到“囚犯”这个难听的字眼当然不高兴，便请求对方注意他是法国公民，自由的旅客，是因为时局动荡被人硬派绘了保卫人员的，而且为此付了费。
“这个囚犯的证件，”那人根本没听他说的话，仍然问道，“在哪儿？”
证件在醉醺醺的爱国者帽子里，他把它拿了出来。那人看了看加伯尔的信，表现出几分惊诧和意外，仔细地打量了达尔内一会几。
那人一言不发离开了护送队和被护送的人，走进了警卫室，这三个人骑着马等在城外，查尔斯.达尔内提心吊胆地望了望四周，发现城门是由警卫队和爱国者共同守卫的，后者比前者要多得多。他又发现虽然运送给养的农民大车和那一类的车辆及商贩进城很容易，出城却十分困难，哪怕是最不起眼的人也很难。等着出城的有一大群各色各样的男男女女，自然还有牲口和车辆。对人的检查很严格，因此人们通过路障十分缓慢。有的人知道距离检查到自己的时间还长，便索性倒在地上睡觉，或是抽烟。其他的人则有的谈话，有的步来走去。他们无论男女，都一律戴着红便帽，缀着三色帽徽。
达尔内在马背上观察着这一切，等了大约半个小时之后，发现自己站到了那个负责的人面前。那人指示誓卫队打开路障，给了那醉酒的和清醒的护送队员一张收到被护送者的收条，然后要他下马。他下了马，两个爱国者牵着他那匹疲倦的马，掉转马头走了，没有进城。
他随着引路者走进了一间警卫室。那里有一股劣质酒和烟叶的气味，士兵们和爱国者们有的睡着，有的醒着；有的醉了，有的没醉，还有的处于睡与醒之间、醉与未醉之间的种种中间状态，或站着或躺着。警卫室的光线一半来自越来越暗的油灯，一半来自阴沉的天空，也处于一种相应的暖昧状态。办公桌上公开放着表册，一个相貌粗鲁、皮肤黝黑的军官负责着这一切。
“德伐日公民，”军官对带领达尔内的人说，同时拿起一张纸准备书写。“这个外逃分子是埃佛瑞蒙德么？”
“是他。”
“你几岁了，埃佛瑞蒙德？”
“三十七。”
“结婚了没有，埃佛瑞蒙德？”
“结婚了。”
“在哪儿结的？”
“在英国。”
“理所当然，埃佛瑞蒙德，你的妻子在哪？”
“在英国。”
“理所当然，埃佛瑞蒙德，我们要把你送到拉福斯监狱。”
“天呐！”达尔内惊叫起来。“你们凭什么法律关我，我犯了什么罪？”
军官抬起头来望了望。
“你离开法国以后我们有了新的法律，埃佛瑞蒙德，和新的定罪标准。”他严峻地笑了笑，继续写下去。
“我请你注意，我是自觉到这儿来的，是应一个同胞的书面请求来的，那封信就在你面前。我只要求给我机会办事，不能耽误。这难道不是我的权利么？”
“外逃分子没有权利可言，埃佛瑞蒙德。”回答是麻木的。军官写完公文，重读了一遍，撒上沙吸了墨水，递给了德伐日，上面写着“密号”。
德伐日用公文对囚犯招了招手，要他跟着走。囚犯服从了，两个武装的爱国者形成一支卫队跟了上去。
“跟曼内特医生的女儿结婚的，”他们走下警卫室台阶往巴黎城方向走去，德伐日低声问道，“就是你么？那医生原来在巴士底狱做过囚犯的。”
“是的，”达尔内惊诧地望着他，回答道。
“我叫德伐日，在圣安托万区开酒店。你也许听说过我吧？”
“我的妻子就是到你家去接他父亲的，是么？”
“妻子”一词好像提醒了德伐日什么不愉快的事，他突然不耐烦地说，“以法兰西的新生儿、锋利的断头台小姐的名义说话，你是为什么回到法国来的？”
“我一分钟以前作了回答，你是听见的。你不相信我说的是真话么？”
“是对你很不利的真话，”德伐日皱紧了眉头，眼睛笔直望着前面说。
“在这儿我的确给弄糊涂了。这儿的一切我都从来没见过。变化很大，很突然，很不公正，我完全给弄糊涂了。你能帮帮我的忙么？”
“不行，”德伐日说，总是笔直望着前面。
“我只问你一个问题，你能回答么？”
“也许能，但得看是什么问题。说吧！”
“在我被这样冤枉送进去的监狱里，我能跟外面自由通信么？”
“你以后就知道了。”
“不会不让我申诉就预先定罪把我埋葬在那儿吧？”
“你以后就知道了。可那又怎么样？以前别人不也同样在更恶劣的监狱里被埋葬过么？”
“可并不是我埋葬的，德伐日公民。”
德伐日只阴沉地看了他一眼作为回答，然后便坚持沉默，继续往前走。他像这样陷入沉默越深，要他略微软化的希望便越少一—也许那是达尔内的想法。因此他赶快说：
“我必须通知现在在巴黎的一位绅士台尔森银行的罗瑞先生，告诉他一个简单的事实，我已经被投入拉福斯监狱。不加评论。这事对我极为重要，这一点你比我更明白，公民。你能设法办到么？”
“我不能替你办任何事，”德伐日固执地回答，“我只对我的国家和人民尽义务，我发过誓要为他们工作，反对你们。我不愿意为你办事。”
达尔内感到再恳求他己是枉然，自尊心也受到了伤害。他们默默地走着，他不能不感到老百姓对押着囚犯在街上走已经习以为常，连孩子们也几乎没注意他。几个过路人转过脑袋看了看；几个人向他摇晃指头，表示他是贵族。衣着考究的人进监狱，已不比穿着工装的工人上工厂更为罕见了。在他们经过的一条狭窄、黑暗和肮脏的街道上，有一个激动的演说家站在板凳上向激动的听众讲述国王和王族对人民犯下的罪恶。他从那人嘴里听到的几句话里第一次知道了国王已被软禁，各国使节已离开巴黎——除了在波维之外，他在路上什么消息也没听到。护卫队和普遍的警惕把他完全孤立了。
他现在当然知道自己所陷入的危险要比他离开英国时严重得多，也当然知道周围的危险正在迅速增加，而且增加的速度越来越快。他不能不承认当初若能作几天预测，他也许便不会来了。其实他从刚才的情况推测所产生的担心还远不如后来的实情那么严重。前途虽然险恶，毕竟还不知道，正因为不知道，所以还糊里糊涂抱着希望。只等时针再转上几圈，那历时几天儿夜的惨绝人寰的大屠杀将给收获季节涂上了一个巨大的血印。那才是远远出乎他的意料之外的呢，有如十万年前的事一样。对那“新生的锋利的女儿断头台”他还几乎连名字也不知道，一般的老百姓也不知道。那马上就要出现的恐怖活动也许连后来参预的人也还难以想象。温和的心灵即使作最阴暗的估计，也很难猜想出那样的局面。
他很担心受到不公正的待遇，受到痛苦，会跟妻女惨痛分离，甚至认为那已无法避免。可是更进一步他却再无明显的畏惧。他就是怀着这样难堪的不安来到了拉福斯监狱，进入了阴森的监狱大院的。
一个面部浮肿的人打开了一道结实的小门，德伐日把“外逃分子埃佛瑞蒙德”交绘了他。
“见鬼！外逃分子怎么这么多呀！”面部浮肿的人叫道。
德伐日没有理会他的叫喊，取了收条，带着他的两个爱国者伙伴走掉了。
“我再说一遍，真他妈见鬼！”典狱长单独跟他的妻子在一起时说道，“还要送来多少！”
典狱长的老婆不知道该怎么回答，只说了一句，“要有耐心，亲爱的！”她按铃叫来的三个看守都响应这钟情绪，一个说，“因为热爱自己呗。”在那样的地方作出这样的结论，可真有些不伦不类。
拉福斯监狱是个阴森森的地方。黑暗、肮脏，因为肮脏，到处散发着被窝难闻得可怕的臭气。由于管理不善竟会那么快就把全监狱都弄得那么臭，真是奇特。
“又是密号！”典狱长看看公文嘟哝，“好像我这儿还没有胀破似的！”
他把公文怒气冲冲往卷宗里—贴，查尔斯.达尔内只好等了半个钟头让他消气。达尔内有时在尽有拱门的十分牢固的屋子里踱踱步，有时在一个石头座位上休息休息，总之无法在长宫和他的部下的记忆里产生印象。
“来！”长官终于拿起了钥匙串，“跟我来，外逃分子。”
在牢狱凄清的微光中他的新负责人陪着他走过了走廊和台阶，几道门在他们身后哐哐地关上，最终走到了一个有着低矮的拱顶的屋子，屋里满是男男女女的囚犯，女囚犯坐在一张长桌边后书、写字、打毛线、缝纫和刺绣，大部分男囚犯则站在椅子后，或是在屋里闲踱。
由于把囚犯跟可耻的罪恶和羞辱本能地作了联想，新来的人在人群前畏缩了。但是在他那离奇的长途跋涉之后却出现了最离奇的经历：那些人立即全部站了起来，用那个时代最彬彬有礼的态度和生活中最迷人的风雅与礼仪接待了他。
监狱的幽暗和监狱的行为奇怪地笼罩了人们优雅的动作，使它在与之不相称的肮脏和痛苦的环境中显得不像在人间。查尔斯.达尔内仿佛进入了死人的行列。满眼是幽灵！美丽的幽灵、庄严的幽灵、高雅的幽灵、浮华的幽灵、机智的幽灵、青年的幽灵、老年的幽灵，全都在荒凉的河岸上听候处置，全都向他转过因为死亡而变了样的眼睛——他们是死了才来到这儿的。
他一时吓呆了，站着一动不动。站在他身边的典狱长和行动着的看守在一般执行任务时虽也看得过去，但跟这些悲伤的母亲和妙龄的女儿一对比，跟芳姿绰约的佳丽、年轻的少妇和受过优秀教养的成熟的妇女等人的幽灵一对比，便显得异常粗鄙。在他一切的经历之中，这个充满幽暗身影的场面使他的沧桑之感达到了极点。毫无疑问，这全是幽灵；毫无疑问，那漫长的荒唐旅行不过是一种日益加重的沉疴，是它带他到了这阴暗的地方的。
“我以在此处相逢的不幸的伙伴们的名义，”一个气派谈吐都雍容华贵的先生走上前来，“荣幸地欢迎你来到拉福斯，并对你因受到灾祸落入了我们的行列深表慰问。但愿你早日化险为夷。在其它的场合若是打听您的姓氏和情况恐怕失于冒昧，但在这儿能否有所不同？”
查尔斯.达尔内集中起注意力，字斟句酌地作了回答。
“但愿你不是密号？”那人说，一面望着在屋里走动的典狱长。
“我不知道这个词的意思，但我听见他们这样叫我。”
“啊，太不幸了！太遗憾了！不过，要有勇气，我们这里有几个人起初也是密号，可是不久也就改变了。”然后他放开了嗓门说，“我遗憾地转告诸位一一密号。”
一阵喁喁私语表示着同情，查尔斯.达尔内穿过屋子来到一道铁栅门前，典狱长已在那几等候。这时许多声音向他表示良好的祝愿和鼓励，其中妇女们轻柔的关切声最为明显。他在铁栅门前转过身子，表示衷心感谢。铁栅门在典狱长手下关上了，幽灵们从此在他眼里永远消失。
小门通向一道上行的石梯。他们一共走了四十步（坐了半小时牢的囚犯计了数）。典狱长打开一道低矮的黑门，他们进入了一个孤立的囚室。那几又冷又潮，寒气袭人，却不黑暗。
“你的，”典狱长说。
“我为什么要单独监禁？”
“我怎么知道。”
“我能买笔、墨水和纸么？”
“给我的命令中没有这一条。会有人来探望你的，那时你可以提出要求。现在你可以买食物，但别的不能买。”
牢房里有一张椅子，一张桌子和一床草荐。典狱长在出门前对这些东西和四堵墙壁做了一般的检查。这时面对着他靠在墙上的囚犯心里忽然闪过一种飘忽的幻想：那典狱长面部浮肿，全身浮肿，肿得吓人，像个淹死了、泡胀了的尸体。典狱长离开之后，他仍然飘飘忽忽想着，“我也好像是死了，扔在这儿了。”他在草荐前站住，低下头看了看，带着恶心之感想道，“死去之后身子就跟这些爬来爬去的活物为伍！这就是死的第一种状态吧！”
“五步长，四步半宽，五步长四步半宽，五步长四步半宽。”囚徒在牢房里走来走去，数着步子。城市的怒吼像捂住的鼓声，夹杂着阵阵狂呼传来：“他做过鞋，他做过鞋，他做过鞋。”囚徒继续丈量，只是加快了步伐，想让他的心灵跟着身子一起回避那句重复的话。“小门关掉之后便消失的幽灵群。其中之一是一个穿黑衣的少妇，靠在窗户的漏斗状斜面上，一道光照着她的金发……为了上帝的缘故，咱们骑上马继续去吧！从还有灯光照亮的人们还没有睡觉的村子穿过去！……他做过鞋，他做过鞋，他做过鞋……五步长四步半宽。”种种零乱的思想从心的深处跳了出来，翻腾起伏。囚徒越走越快，他顽强地计着数，计着数，城市的吼声有了变化——仍像捂着的鼓隆隆地响，但在升起的声浪中，他听见熟悉的声音在哭号。
Book 3 Chapter 2 The Grindstone
TELLSON'S BANK, established in the Saint Germain Quarter of Paris, was in a wing of a large house, approached by a court-yard and shut off from the street by a high wall and a strong gate. The house belonged to a great nobleman who had lived in it until he made a flight from the troubles, in his own cook's dress, and got across the borders. A mere beast of the chase flying from hunters, he was still in his metempsychosis no other than the same Monseigneur, the preparation of whose chocolate for whose lips had once occupied three strong men besides the cook in question.
Monseigneur gone, and the three strong men absolving themselves from the sin of having drawn his high wages, by being more than ready and willing to cut his throat on the altar of the dawning Republic one and indivisible of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, Monseigneur's house had been first sequestrated, and then confiscated. For, all things moved so fast, and decree followed decree with that fierce precipitation, that now upon the third night of the autumn month of September, patriot emissaries of the law were in possession of Monseigneur's house, and had marked it with the tricolour, and were drinkingbrandy in its state apartments.
A place of business in London like Tellson's place of business in Paris, would soon have driven the House out of its mind and into the Gazette. For, what would staid British responsibility and respectability have said to orange-trees in boxes in a Bank court-yard, and even to a Cupid over the counter? Yet such things were. Tellson's had whitewashed the Cupid, but he was still to be seen on the ceiling, in the coolest linen, aiming (as he very often does) at money from morning to night. Bankruptcy must inevitably have come of this young Pagan, in Lombard street, London, and also of a curtained alcove in the rear of the immortal boy, and also of a looking-glass let into the wall, and also of clerks not at all old, who danced in public on the slightest provocation. Yet, a French Tellson's could get on with these things exceedingly well, and, as long as the times held together, no man had taken fright at them, and drawn out his money.
What money would be drawn out of Tellson's henceforth, and what would lie there, lost and forgotten; what plate and jewels would tarnish in Tellson's hiding-places, while the depositors rusted in prisons, and when they should have violently perished; how many accounts with Tellson's never to be balanced in this world, must be carried over into the next; no man could have said, that night, any more than Mr. Jarvis Lorry could, though he thought heavily of these questions. He sat by a newly-lighted wood fire (the blighted and unfruitful year was prematurely cold), and on his honest and courageous face there was a deeper shade than the pendent lamp could throw, or any object in the room distortedly reflect--a shade of horror.
He occupied rooms in the Bank, in his fidelity to the House of which he had grown to be a part, like a strong root-ivy. It chanced that they derived a kind of security from the patriotic occupation of the main building, but the true-hearted old gentleman never calculated about that. All such circumstances were indifferent to him, so that he did his duty. On the opposite side of the court-yard, under a colonnade, was extensive standing for carriages--where, indeed, some carriages of Monseigneur yet stood. Against two of the pillars were fastened two great flaring flambeaux, and in the light of these, standing out in the open air, was a large grindstone: a roughly mounted thing which appeared to have hurriedly been brought there from some neighbouring smithy, or other workshop. Rising and looking out of window at these harmless objects, Mr. Lorry shivered, and retired to his seat by the fire. He had opened, not only the glass window, but the lattice blind outside it, and he had closed both again, and he shivered through his frame.
From the streets beyond the high wall and the strong gate, there came the usual night hum of the city, with now and then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to Heaven.
`Thank God,' said Mr. Lorry, clasping his hands, `that no one near and dear to me is in this dreadful town to-night. May He have mercy on all who are in danger!'
Soon afterwards, the bell at the great gate sounded, and he thought, `They have come back!' and sat listening. But, there was no loud irruption into the court-yard, as he had expected, and he heard the gate clash again, and all was quiet.
The nervousness and dread that were upon him inspired that vague uneasiness respecting the Bank, which a great change would naturally awaken, with such feelings roused. It was well guarded, and he got up to go among the trusty people who were watching it, then his door suddenly opened, and two figures rushed in, at sight of which he fell back in amazement.
Lucie and her father! Lucie with her arms stretched out to him, and with that old look of earnestness so concentrated and intensified, that it seemed as though it had been stamped upon her face expressly to give force and power to it in this one passage of her life.
`What is this?' cried Mr. Lorry, breathless and confused. `What is the matter? Lucie! Manette! What has happened? What has brought you here? What is it?'
With the look fixed upon him, in her paleness and wildness, she panted out in his arms, imploringly, `O my dear friend! My husband!'
`Your husband, Lucie?'
`Charles.'
`What of Charles?'
`Here.'
`Here, in Paris?'
`Has been here some days--three or four--I don't know how many--I can't collect my thoughts. An errand of generosity brought him here unknown to us; he was stopped at the barrier, and sent to prison.'
The old man uttered an irrepressible cry. Almost at the same moment, the bell of the great gate rang again, and a loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the court-yard.
`What is that noise?' said the Doctor, turning towards the window.
`Don't look!' cried Mr. Lorry. `Don't look out! Manette, for your life, don't touch the blind!'
The Doctor turned, with his hand upon the fastening of the window, and said, with a cool bold smile:
`My dear friend, I have a charmed life in this city. I have been a Bastille prisoner. There is no patriot in Paris--in Paris? In France--who, knowing me to have been a prisoner in the Bastille, would touch me, except to overwhelm me with embraces, or carry me in triumph. My old pain has given me a power that has brought us through the barrier, and gained us news of Charles there, and brought us here. I knew it would be so; I knew I could help Charles out of all danger; I told Lucie so.--What is that noise?' His hand was again upon the window.
`Don't look!' cried Mr. Lorry, absolutely desperate. `No, Lucie, my dear, nor you!' He got his arm round her, and held her. `Don't be so terrified, my love. I solemnly swear to you that I know of no harm having happened to Charles; that I had no suspicion even of his being in this fatal place. What prison is he in?'
`La Force!'
`La Force! Lucie, my child, if ever you were brave and serviceable in your life--and you were always both--you will compose yourself now, to do exactly as I bid you; for more depends upon it than you can think, or I can say. There is no help for you in any action on your part to-night; you cannot possibly stir out. I say this, because what I must bid you to do for Charles's sake, is the hardest thing to do of all. You must instantly be obedient, still, and quiet. You must let me put you in a room at the back here. You must leave your father and me alone for two minutes, and as there are Life and Death in the world you must notdelay.'
`I will be submissive to you. I see in your face that you know I can do nothing else than this. I know you are true.'
The old man kissed her, and hurried her into his room, and turned the key; then, came hurrying back to the Doctor, and opened the window and partly opened the blind, and put his hand upon the Doctor's arm, and looked out with him into the court-yard.
Looked out upon a throng of men and women: not enough in number, or near enough, to fill the court-yard: not more than forty or fifty in all. The people in possession of the house had let them in at the gate, and they had rushed in to work at the grindstone; it had evidently been set up there for their purpose, as in a convenient and retired spot.
But, such awful workers, and such awful work!
The grindstone had a double handle, and, turning at it madly were two men, whose faces, as their long hair flapped back when the whirlings of the grindstone brought their faces up, were more horrible and cruel than the visages of the wildest savages in their most barbarous disguise. False eye-brows and false moustaches were stuck upon them, and their hideous countenances were all bloody and sweaty, and all awry with howling, and all staring and glaring with beastly excitement and want of sleep. As these ruffians turned and turned, their matted locks now flung forward over their eyes, now flung backward over their necks, some women held wine to their mouths that they might drink; and what with dropping blood, and what with dropping wine, and what with the stream of sparks struck out of the stone, all their wicked atmosphere seemed gore and fire. The eye could not detect one creature in the group free from the smear of blood. Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone, were men stripped to the waist, with the stain all over their limbs and bodies; men in all sorts of rags, with the stain upon thoserags; men devilishly set off with spoils of women's lace and silk and ribbon, with the stain dyeing those trifles through and through. Hatchets, knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be sharpened, were all red with it. Some of the hacked swords were tied to the wrists of those who carried them, with strips of linen and fragments of dress: ligatures various in kind, but all deep of the one colour. And as the frantic wielders of these weapons snatched them from the stream of sparks and tore away into the streets, the same red hue was red in their frenzied eyes;--eyes which any unbrutalised beholder would have given twenty years of life, to petrify with a well-directed gun.
All this was seen in a moment, as the vision of a drowning man, or of any human creature at any very great pass, could see a world if it were there. They drew back from the window, and the Doctor looked for explanation in his friend's ashy face.
`They are,' Mr. Lorry whispered the words, glancing fearfully round at the locked room, `murdering the prisoners. If you are sure of what you say; if you really have the power you think you have--as I believe you have--make yourself known to these devils, and get taken to La Force. It may be too late, I don't know, but let it not be a minute later!'
Doctor Manette pressed his hand, hastened bareheaded out of the room, and was in the court-yard when Mr. Lorry regained the blind.
His streaming white hair, his remarkable face, and the impetuous confidence of his manner, as he put the weapons aside like water, carried him in an instant to the heart of the concourse at the stone. For a few moments there was a pause, and a hurry, and a murmur, and the unintelligible sound of his voice; and then Mr. Lorry saw him, surrounded by all, and in the midst of a line of twenty men long, all linked shoulder to shoulder, and hand to shoulder, hurried out with cries of--'Live the Bastille prisoner! Help for the Bastille prisoner's kindred in La Force! Room for the Bastille prisoner in front there! Save the prisonerEvrémonde at La Force!' and a thousand answering shouts.
He closed the lattice again with a fluttering heart, closed the window and the curtain, hastened to Lucie, and told her that her father was assisted by the people, and gone in search of her husband. He found her child and Miss Pross with her; but, it never occurred to him to be surprised by their appearance until a long time afterwards, when he sat watching them in such quiet as the night knew.
Lucie had, by that time, fallen into a stupor on the floor at his feet, clinging to his hand. Miss Pross had laid the child down on his own bed, and her had had gradually fallen on the pillow beside her pretty charge. O the long, long night, with the moans of the poor wife! And O the long, long night, with no return of her father and no tidings!
Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded, and the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled and spluttered. `What is it?' cried Lucie, affrighted. `Hush! The soldiers' swords are sharpened there,' said Mr. Lorry. `The place is national property now, and used as a kind of armoury, my love.'
Twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and fitful. Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly detached himself from the clasping hand, and cautiously looked out again. A man, so besmeared that he might have been a sorely wounded soldier creeping back to consciousness on a field of slain, was rising from the pavement by the side of the grindstone, and looking about him with a vacant air. Shortly, this worn-out murderer descried in the imperfect light one of the carriages of Monseigneur, and, staggering to that gorgeous vehicle, climbed in at the door, and shut himself up to take his rest on its dainty cushions.
The great grindstone, Earth, had turned when Mr. Lorry looked out again, and the sun was red on the court-yard. But, the lesser grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away. 
台尔森银行设在巴黎圣日耳曼区，是一幢大厦的侧翼，由一个院落与外面相通，用一堵高墙和一道结实的门跟街道隔断。这幢大厦本属于一个大贵族，他原先住在这儿，是避难时穿上他家厨师的衣服越过边界逃掉的。现在他已成了个逃避着猎人追捕的野兽。可是在他“轮回转世”之前他却不是别人，正是那个当初要用四个精壮汉子给他的嘴准备巧克力的大人，刚才提到的那位厨师的服侍还在外。
大人逃掉了，那四个精壮大汉便以时刻准备好心甘情愿地割开大人的喉咙来洗清拿过他高薪的罪行，那是要奉献到曙光中的共和国祭坛上去的——统一不可分割的，自由、平等、博爱或死亡的共和国。大人的住宅当初只是暂时查封，后来就没收了。因为形势发展极快，一个法令跟着一个法令迅猛下达，到了秋季九月三日的夜里，执行法律的爱国者委员们已占领了大人的大厦，给它挂上了三色徽记，在华美的大厅里喝着白兰地。
若是在伦敦的台尔森银行有了幢巴黎的台尔森银行那样的大厦，那是会气得负责人发疯、在报纸上弄得他声名狼籍的，因为银行的院子里若是有了栽着桔树的箱子、柜台头顶上若是有了长着翅膀的小爱神，那责任感强烈而且极重体面的不列颠负责人将如何解释？可是那些东西又是的确存在的。台尔森把小爱神用白粉涂掉了，但天花板上还有一个小爱神穿着凉爽的薄绡，从早到晚望着银钱（这倒是他的一贯行径）。这个异教徒娃娃和他身后的挂了帏幅的神态，嵌在墙壁里的镜子，和那些年龄还不算大、稍受诱惑就在公共场合跳舞的职员，若是在伦敦的隆巴底街难免会弄得银行破产。可是法国的台尔森银行尽管有着这些东西，却照常生意兴隆；只要时局平静，不会有人见了便大惊小怪抽走存款的。
今后哪些钱会从台尔森银行取走？哪些钱会永远留在那儿，再也没人想起？哪些金银器皿和珠宝饰物会在台尔森的仓库里失去光泽，而它的寄存人则在监牢里憔悴或是横死？有多少台尔森银行的帐目在人世会无法结算，只好转到另一个世界去处理？那天晚上没有人能说清楚，贾维斯.罗瑞先生也说不清楚。他怀着这些问题苦苦思索了许久。他坐在新燃起的木柴火边（那年遭灾歉收，偏又冷得很早），他那诚实而勇敢的面庞上有一种阴影，那阴影比头顶上摇晃的灯光所能投射的、比屋里一切所能扭曲反射的都要深沉—一是恐怖的阴影。
他在银行里住了几间房。他对银行当局的忠诚使他变成了银行的一部分，像一株结实的长春藤。偶然的机会使他们从爱国者那儿对大厦主楼的占领获得了某种保证，但是耿直的老人对此却从不寄予希望。院落对面的游廊之下有一个宽大的停车场，那位大员的几部马车居然还停在那儿。两根廊柱上固定有两支火炬，正火光熊熊地燃烧着。火光下外面的空地上有一个巨大的磨刀石。那东西草草安装，似乎是从附近的铁匠铺或其它车间匆匆搬来的。罗瑞先生站起身来望着窗外，看到这些无害的东西，不禁打了个寒噤，又回到了炉火边的座位上去。他原先不但打开了玻璃窗，而且打开了外面的横格百叶窗，这时他又把两层窗户都关上。他已冻得全身发抖了。
高大的墙与结实的门外传来了城市常有的嗡嗡之声，偶然插进一种难以描述的铃声，那铃声妖异、鬼气，仿佛是某种性质特别的反常的东西正往天上飞升。
“谢谢上帝，”罗瑞先生交叉着双手说，“幸好我在这个可怕的城市里没有亲人。愿上帝怜惜危险中的人们！”
大门的门铃立即响了。他想，“是那些人回来了！”便坐在那儿静听。可是并没有他所预料的冲进院子的喧嚣，大门反倒砰的一声关上了，一切又归于平静。
心里的紧张与害伯刺激了他，使他为银行担起心来。形势的剧变自然会令人担心，也使人紧张害怕，不过他那地方倒是门卫森严。他站了起来，想去找保卫大楼的可靠的人，这时他的门却突然开了，闯进来两个人。一见来人他大吃一惊，倒退了回来。
是露西和她的父亲！露西向他伸出了双臂，脸上带着常有的集中而紧张的真诚，仿佛是造物主有意印到她的脸上，要她在这个生命的重要关头表现出力量似的。
“怎么回事？”罗瑞先生弄糊涂了，喘不过气来。“出了什么事了？露西！曼内特！究竟是什么事？为什么到这儿来了？是怎么回事？”
她脸色苍白，神情慌张，死死地盯住他的脸，在他的怀里喘着气，求他说，“啊，亲爱的朋友！我的丈夫……”
“你的丈夫，露西？”
“查尔斯。”
“查尔斯怎么了？”
“在这儿。”
“在这儿，在巴黎？”
“到这儿好几天了——三四天吧——我不知道是几天——我方寸太乱。一桩善行使他不辞而别，来到了这儿。他在城门边给逮捕了，送到牢里去了。”
老人忍不住发出了一声大叫，几乎同时，大门的门铃再次响了，一阵喧嚣的脚步声和话语声冲进了院子。，
“有什么事，这么喧闹？”医生说，转身向着窗户。
“别看！”罗瑞先生叫道，“别后外面！曼内特，有生命危险，别碰百叶窗。”
医生转过身子，手还在窗户上，带着一个勇敢的冷笑说：
“我亲爱的朋友，在这城市的生活里我有一张护身符呢！我曾是巴士底的囚徒。在巴黎——不仅是在巴黎，在法国——无论是谁，只要知道我曾是巴士底的囚徒，都是不会碰我的。他们只会拥抱我，怀着胜利的感情把我抬起来，热情得叫我受不了。我往日的痛苦给了我一种力量，让我能顺利通过一切路障，让我知道了查尔斯的下落，而且把我送到了这儿。我知道会这样的；我知道我能帮助查尔斯摆脱一切危险。我就是这样告诉露西的。——那是什么闹声？”他的手又放到了窗户上。
“别看！”罗瑞先生迫不及待地叫道。“不，露西，亲爱的，你也不能看！”他伸出手搂住她。“别那么害怕，亲爱的。我向你们庄严宣誓，我并不知道查尔斯受到了伤害，甚至没有想到他已来到了这个要命的地方。他在哪个监狱？”
“拉福斯。”
“拉福斯。露西，我的孩子，你办事一向勇敢能干，现在必须镇静，并严格按照我的要求办，因为有许多你想不到、我也说不出的问题要靠镇静才能解决。今天晚上采取任何行动都已无济于事，因此你决不能出门。我这样说，是因为为了查尔斯我必须要求你做的事是极其困难的。你必须立即服从，不能动，不能出声。你必须让我把你送到后面的屋子里去，好让我跟你父亲单独谈两分钟。这事生死攸关，你千万不能耽误。”
“我服从。我从你脸上看得出来我只能照办，没有别的办法。我明白你的真诚。”
老头儿亲了亲她，催她进了他的房间，锁上了门，然后匆匆回到医生面前，打开了窗户和一部分百叶窗，把手搭到他手臂上，跟他一起往院子里望去。
他们看到一大群男女：人数不多，没有挤满院子，总共不到四十或五十人，距离也不近。是占领大厦的人让他们从大门进来使用磨刀石的；他们安装那东西就是为了这个。这地方方便而且僻静。
可是，那是些多么可怕的人！干的又是多么可怕的工作呀！
磨刀石有一对把手。两个男人疯狂地摇着。磨盘一转动他们便扬起脸，长发往后耷拉，那样子比涂得满面狰狞的最可怕的野蛮人还更恐怖，更残忍。他们装上了假眉毛和假八字胡，狰狞的脸上满是血污和汗渍，由于狂呼大叫而弄得面部歪扭，由于兽性的兴奋和睡眠不足瞪得眼睛骨碌碌转。两个暴徒不断地摇着，粘结的头发时而甩下来遮在眼睛上，时而甩回去挂在后脑上。几个妇女把酒递到他们嘴边，让他们喝。血在洒落，酒在洒落，磨刀石的火花在洒落，形成了一片血与火的气氛。放眼看去，那群人没有—个不是满身血污。他们脱光了上衣，你推我挤，往磨刀石靠近。他们四肢和身上满是淋漓的血迹和脏污；他们穿着的破布烂衫也沾满了血污。男人们像妖怪一样挂满了抢来的女用花边、丝绸和彩带，那些东西也浸渍了浓浓的血污。他们带来磨利的战斧、短刀、刺刀、战刀也全都有殷红的血。有些砍缺了的大刀是用条条薄绡和撕碎的衣服缠在持刀人手腕上的，材料虽不同，却都露出同一种殷红。使用武器的狂人把武器从大片的火花中抢过来便往街上冲时，同样的殷红也在他们疯狂的眼里出现———那种眼睛任何一个还没有变成野兽的人见了都恨不得一枪瞄准，把它消灭，即使少活二十年也情愿，
这一切都是在转瞬之间看见的，有如快被淹死或处在别的生死关头的入所看到的世界—一如果那世界存在的话。两人离开了窗口，医生在他的朋友死灰色的脸上寻求答案。
“他们在处死囚犯，”罗瑞先生低声说，四面瞥着关紧的屋子。“如果你对你的话有把握，如果你的确有你自认为具有的那种力量——我相信你是有的——把你自己介绍给这些魔鬼吧！让他们带你去拉福斯。也许来不及了，这我不知道，但再也不能耽搁。”
曼内特医生捏了捏他的手，没顾得戴上帽子就冲了出去。罗瑞先生重新关好百叶窗时，他已到了院子里。
他那飘拂的白发，引人注目的面庞和把武器像水一样向两边分开的满不在乎的自信很快就让他进入到磨刀石周围的入群正中。活动暂时停顿，他匆匆地低声说起话来，声音隐约，听不真切，罗瑞先生随即看见他被包围了起来，站在二十个男人的行列正中，这些人肩靠着肩，手扶着肩把他簇拥了出去。人群高叫着“巴士底囚徒万岁！到拉福斯营救巴士底囚徒的亲人！让巴士底囚徒到前面去！到拉福斯营救囚徒埃佛瑞蒙德！”一千条喉咙叫喊着响应。
他心惊胆战地关上了百叶窗和玻璃窗，拉上了窗帘，然后匆匆跑去告诉露西，她的父亲得到了人民的帮助，已去寻找她的丈夫去了，同时却发现露西的女儿和普洛丝小姐已跟她在一起。很久以后，当他夜静更深坐在那几望着她们时，才想起自己并未因她们的出现而惊讶。
这时露西已摸住他的手昏倒在他的脚下。普洛丝小姐已把孩子放在他的床上，自己的头也渐渐垂到美丽的孩子枕旁。啊，那可怜的妻子痛哭着度过的漫漫长夜呀！啊，她的父亲一去不归、音讯杳无的漫漫长夜呀！
黑暗中的大门门铃又两度响起，人群又冲了进来，磨刀石再次旋转，再次发出兹兹之声。“什么事？”露西害怕了，叫道。“别作声！士兵也在这儿磨刀，”罗瑞先生说，“这地方现在是国家财产，是当作武库之类的东西用的，亲爱的。”
一共来了两次，但第二次磨得没有力气，而且断断续续，接着便天亮了，他从攥着他的手中解脱出来，小心翼翼地往外看，一个人正从磨刀石旁的路面上茫然地四面窥后。那人满身血迹，仿佛是从战场上死人堆里爬出来的重伤士兵。不久，这位精疲力竭的杀人者便在朦胧的曙光中看到了大人的一辆马车，并向那华丽的交通工具走去。他钻进车里，把自己关了起来，在那精美的车垫上休息去了。
罗瑞先生再次望向窗外时，地球这大磨刀石已经转动，太阳已在院里映出一片血红。那小磨刀石却还孤零零地站在清晨静谧的空气里，猩红一片一—那猩红却不是太阳染成的，太阳也带不走。
Book 3 Chapter 3 The Shadow 
ONE of the first considerations which arose in the business mind of Mr. Lorry when business hours came round, was this:--that he had no right to imperil Tellson's by sheltering the wife of an emigrant prisoner under the Bank roof. His own possessions, safety, life, he would have hazarded for Lucie and her child, without a moment's demur; but the great trust he held was not his own, and as to that business charge he was a strict man of business.
At first, his mind reverted to Defarge, and he thought of finding out the wine-shop again and taking counsel with its master in reference to the safest dwelling-place in the distracted state of the city. But, the same consideration that suggested him, repudiated him; he lived in the most violent Quarter, and doubtless was influential there, and deep in its dangerous workings.
Noon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every minute's delay tending to compromise, Tellson's, Mr. Lorry advised with Lucie. She said that her father had spoken of hiring a lodging for a short term, in that Quarter, near the Banking-house. As there was no business objection to this, and as he foresaw that even if it were all well with Charles, and he were to be released, he could not hope to leave the city, Mr. Lorry went out in quest of such a lodging, and found a suitable one, high up in a removed by-street where the closed blinds in all the other windows of a high melancholy square of buildings marked deserted homes.
To this lodging he at once removed Lucie and her child, and Miss Pross: giving them what comfort he could, and much more than he had himself. He left Jerry with them, as a figure to fill a doorway that would bear considerable knocking on the head, and returned to his own occupations. A disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear upon them, and slowly and heavily the day lagged on with him.
It wore itself out, and wore him out with it, until the Bank closed. He was again alone in his room of the previous night, considering what to do next, when he heard a foot upon the stair. In a few moments, a man stood in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him, addressed him by his name.
`Your servant,' said Mr. Lorry. `Do you know me?'
He was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from forty-five to fifty years of a e. For answer he repeated, without any change of emphasis, the words:
`Do you know me?'
`I have seen you somewhere.'
`Perhaps at my wine-shop?'
Much interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: `You come from Doctor Manette?'
`Yes. I come from Doctor Manette.'
`And what says he? What does he send me?'
Defarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It bore the words in the Doctor's writing:
`Charles is safe, but I cannot safely leave this place yet. I have obtained the favour that the bearer has a short note from Charles to his wife. Let the bearer see his wife.' 
It was dated from La Force, within an hour.
`Will you accompany me,' said Mr. Lorry, joyfully relieved after reading this note aloud, `to where his wife resides?'
`Yes,' returned Defarge.
Scarcely noticing as yet, in what a curiously reserved and mechanical way Defarge spoke, Mr. Lorry put on his hat and they went down into the court-yard. There, they found two women; one, knitting.
`Madame Defarge, surely!' said Mr. Lorry, who had left her in exactly the same attitude some seventeen years ago.
`It is she,' observed her husband.
`Does madame go with us?' inquired Mr. Lorry, seeing that she moved as they moved.
`Yes. That she may be able to recognise the faces and know the persons. It is for their safety.'
Beginning to be struck by Defarge's manner, Mr. Lorry looked dubiously at him, and led the way. Both the women followed; the second woman being The Vengeance.
They passed through the intervening streets as quickly as they might, ascended the staircase of the new domicile, were admitted by Jerry, and found Lucie weeping, alone. She was thrown into a transport by the tidings Mr. Lorry gave her of her husband, and clasped the hand that delivered his note---little thinking what it had been doing near him in the night, and might, but for a chance, have done to him.
`DEAREST,--Take courage. I am well, and your father has influence around me. You cannot answer this. Kissour child for me.' 
That was all the writing. It was so much, however, to her who received it, that she turned from Defarge to his wife, and kissed one of the hands that knitted. It was a passionate, loving, thankful, womanly action, but the hand made no response--dropped cold and heavy, and took to its knitting again.
There was something in its touch that gave Lucie a check. She stopped in the act of putting the note in her bosom, and, with her hands yet at her neck, looked terrified at Madame Defarge. Madame Defarge met the lifted eyebrows and forehead with a cold, impassive stare.
`My dear,' said Mr. Lorry, striking in to explain; `there are frequent risings in the streets; and, although it is not likely they will ever trouble you, Madame Defarge wishes to see those whom she has the power to protect at such times, to the end that she may know them--that she may identify them. I believe,' said Mr. Lorry, rather halting in his reassuring words, as the stony manner of all the three impressed itself upon him more and more, `I state the case, Citizen Defarge?'
Defarge looked gloomily at his wife, and gave no other answer than a gruff sound of acquiescence.
`You had better, Lucie,' said Mr. Lorry, doing all he could to propitiate, by tone and manner, `have the dear child here, and our good Pross. Our good Pross, Defarge, is an English lady, and knows no French.'
The lady in question, whose rooted conviction that she was more than a match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and danger, appeared wish folded arms, and observed in English to The Vengeance, whom her eyes first encountered, `Well, I am sure, Boldface! I hope you are pretty well!' She also bestowed a British cough on Madame Defarge; but, neither of the two took much heed of her.
`Is that his child?' said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for the first time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as if it were the finger of Fate.
`Yes, madame,' answered Mr. Lorry; `this is our poor prisoner's darling daughter, and only child.'
The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed to fall so threatening and dark on the child, that her mother instinctively kneeled on the ground beside her, and held her to her breast. The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed then to fall, threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child.
`It is enough, my husband,' said Madame Defarge. `I have seen them. We may go.
But, the suppressed manner had enough of menace in it--not visible and presented, but indistinct and withheld--to alarm Lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing hand on Madame Defarge's dress:
`You will be good to my poor husband. You will do him no harm. You will help me to see him if you can?'
`Your husband is not my business here,' returned Madame Defarge, looking down at her with perfect composure. `It is the daughter of your father who is my business here.'
`For my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For my child's sake! She will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful. We are more afraid of you than of these others.'
Madame Defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression.
`What is it that your husband says in that little letter?' asked Madame Defarge, with a lowering smile. `Influence; he says something touching influence?'
`That my father,' said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it, `has much influence around him.'
`Surely it will release him!' said Madame Defarge. `Let it do so.'
`As a wife and mother,' cried Lucie, most earnestly, `I implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess, against my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. O sister-woman, think of me. As a wife and mother!'
Madame Defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said, turning to her friend The Vengeance:
`The wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as little as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? We have known their husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, often enough? All our lives, we have seen our sister-women suffer, in themselves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst. sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of all kinds?'
`We have seen nothing else,' returned The Vengeance.
`We have borne this a long time,' said Madame Defarge, turning her eyes again upon Lucie. `Judge you! Is it likely that the trouble of one wife and mother would be much to us now?'
She resumed her knitting and went out. The Vengeance followed. Defarge went last, and closed the door.
`Courage, my dear Lucie,' said Mr. Lorry, as he raised her. `Courage, courage! So far all goes well with us--much, much better than it has of late gone with many poor souls. Cheer up, and have a thankful heart.'
`I am not thankless, I hope, but that dreadful woman seems to throw a shadow on me and on all my hopes.'
`Tut, tut!' said Mr. Lorry; `what is this despondency in the brave little breast? A shadow indeed! No substance in it, Lucie.'
But the shadow of the manner of these Defarges was dark upon himself, for all that, and in his secret mind it troubled him greatly.
业务时间一到，在罗瑞先生办惯业务的心里首先要考虑的问题之一就是：他无权让一个在押的外逃分子的妻子停留在台尔森银行的屋檐下，给公司带来危险。为了露西和她的孩子他可以拿自己的生命、财产和安全去冒险，但由他负责的巨大公司却不属于他，对待业务责任他一向是个严格的办事人员。
最初他想过德伐日，想再找到那家酒店，跟老板商量在这座疯狂状态下的城市里安排一个最安全的住所。但是那令他想起德伐日的念头同时也否定了他：德伐日住在骚乱最严重的地区，无疑在那儿很有影响，跟危险活动的关系很深。
快正午了，医生还没有回来。每一分钟的耽误都可能给台尔森银行带来危险。罗瑞先生只好跟露西商量。她说她父亲曾说过要在银行大厦附近租赁一个短期住处。这不但不会影响业务，对查尔斯也是好的，因为即使他被释放出来，也还没有离开巴黎的希望。罗瑞先生便出去找住处。他在一条小街的高层楼上找到了一套合适的住房。那楼靠着一个萧条的广场，广场周围高楼的百叶窗全都关闭，说明住户早走光了。
他立即把露西、孩子和普洛丝小姐搬到那里住下，尽可能为她们提供了舒适的条件——比自己的条件好多了。他把杰瑞—一他那脑袋很能挨几下——留给她们看门，自己便回去了。他为她们又是着急又是痛苦，日子过得极其缓慢沉重。
日子好难挨，一天终于过去，银行下班了。他又回到前一天晚上那屋里思考着往下的步骤。这时他听见楼梯上传来了脚步声。不一会儿，一个人已来到他面前。那人目光犀利地打量了他一会儿，便叫出了他的名字。
“愿为你效劳，”罗瑞先生说，“你认识我么？”
这人身体结实，深色鬈发，年纪在四十五至五十。因为想得到回答，来人重复了一下刚才的话，也不曾加重语气：
“你认识我么？”
“我在别的地方见过你。”
“也许是在我的酒店里。”
罗瑞先生很感兴趣，也很激动。罗瑞先生说：“你是曼内特先生打发来的么？”
“是的，是他打发来的。”
“他怎么说？他带来了什么消息？”
德伐日把一张打开的纸条递到他急迫的手里，那是医生的笔迹：
“查尔斯安然无恙。我尚难安全离此。已蒙批准让送信人给查尔斯之妻带去一便条。请让此人见地。”
纸条上的地址是拉福斯，时间是一小时前。
“跟我到他妻子的住地去一趟，好吗？”罗瑞先生大声读了条子，高高兴兴放下心来说。
“好的，”德伐日回答。
德伐日的回答奇特而机械，可是罗瑞先生几乎没注意到。他戴上帽子，两人便下楼进了院子。院子里有两个妇女，一个在打毛线。
“德伐日太太，肯定是：”罗瑞先生说，约莫十七年前他离开她时她几乎是同样的姿态。
“是她，”她的丈夫说。
“太太也跟我们一起去么？”罗瑞先生见她也跟着走，问道。
“是的。让她来认认面孔，认认人。为了他们的安全。”
罗瑞先生开始注意到了德伐日的生硬态度，便怀疑地望了他一下，然后带路前进。两个女入都跟了上来。另一个女人是复仇女神。
一行人尽快穿过了途中的街道，走上了新居的楼梯，被杰瑞放进门去。他们看见露西一个人在哭。她一得到罗瑞先生带给她的有关她丈夫的消息便高兴得发了狂，攥住交给她条子的手不放——她却没想到那只手晚上对她的丈夫干过些什么，若是有机会又有可能对他干什么。
“最亲爱的—一鼓起勇气来。我一切如常。你约父亲对我的周围很有影响。不能回信。为我吻我们的孩子。”
寥寥数语，再也没有了。但收信人已是喜出望外。她离开了德伐日转向他的太太，吻了吻一只干着编织活儿的手。那是一种热情的、挚爱的、感谢的女性动作，但那手却毫无反应——它只冷冷地、沉重地垂了下去，又开始编织起来。
在和那手的接触中有某种东西很令露西扫兴。她正要把字条往胸衣里放，却怔住了，两手停在了脖子边，惶恐地望着德伐日太太——那个女人正冷漠地、无动于衷地瞪着她那抬起的眉头。
“亲爱的，”罗瑞先生急忙解释，“街道上常常出事，虽然未必会波及到你，但德伐日太太却想见见她在这种情况下可以保护的人，跟她认识一下一—到时才能认得人，我相信是这样，”罗瑞先生说。他说着这些安慰的话，却也在犹豫，因为三个人的生硬表情给他的印象越来越深。“我说得对吧，德伐日公民？”
德伐日阴沉地望了望他的妻子，只哼了一声表示默认，却没说话。
“你最好把可爱的孩子和我们的好普洛丝都留在这儿，露西，”罗瑞先生竭力从口气和态度上进行安慰地说，“我们的好普洛丝是个英国小姐，不懂法语，德伐日。”
这位小姐有个根深蒂固的信念：她比任何外国人强；她这信念也绝不会因任何苦难和危险而改变。此刻她抱着膀子出来了，用英语向她第一个瞧见的人复仇女神说，“晤，没问题，冒失鬼！但愿你身体还不错！”她对德伐日太太则咳嗽了一声——那是不列颠式的，可那两位谁都没大注意。
“那是他的孩子么？”德伐日太太说，第一次停下编织，用编织针像命运的手指一样指着小露西。
“是的，太太，”罗瑞先生回答，“这是我们可怕的囚徒的唯一爱女。”，
德伐日太太和她的伙伴的影子落到了孩子身上，似乎咄咄逼人、阴森可怕，吓得她的母亲本能地跪倒在她身边的地上，把她搂在怀里。于是德伐日太太和她伙伴的阴影似乎又咄咄逼人、阴森可怕地落到母女俩身上。
“够了，当家的，”德伐日太太说。“我见到她们了，可以走了。”
但是她那勉强控制的神态中却已露出了隐约不明的威胁，虽只是些蛛丝马迹，却也使露西警觉起来。她伸出一只哀求的手拉住德伐日太太的衣服：
“你会善待我可怜的丈夫吧！你不会伤害他吧！如果可能，你会帮助我见到他吧？”
“在这儿你的丈夫跟我无关，”德伐日太太完全不动声色地望着她，回答道，“在这儿跟我有关的是你父亲的女儿。”
“那就请为了我怜悯我的丈夫，也为了我孩子怜悯他！我要合拢双手祈求你的怜悯。你们几个人里我们最害怕的就是你。”
德伐日太太把这话当作一种赞扬，望了望她的丈夫。一直在不安地啃着拇指指甲望着她的德伐日立即板起面孔露出严厉的样子。
“你丈夫在那封短信里说了些什么？”德伐日太太瞪了她一眼，笑着说，“影响，他说了有关影响的话么？”
“我的父亲对我丈夫周围的人有影响，”露西匆勿从胸衣里取出信来，惊惶的眼睛望着提问题的人，没有看着信。
“他的影响肯定能放他出来的！”德伐日太太说。“那就让那影响发挥作用吧！”
“作为妻子和母亲，”露西极其真诚地说，“我乞求你怜悯我，不要使用你的影响反对我无辜的丈夫。用它去帮助他吧！啊，大姐，请想一想我吧，作为妻子和母亲！”
德伐日太太一如平时冷冷地望了望乞求者，转身对复仇女神说：
“自从我们跟这孩子一样大以来—一甚至还没有她那么大以来，我们见过的妻子和母亲还少么？我们就没有想到过她们么？我们不是还常常见到她们的丈夫和父亲被关到监牢里，不能跟她们见面么？我们不是一辈子都在看见自己的姐妹们受苦么？看见自己受苦，孩子受苦，没有钱，没有穿的，没有吃的，没有喝的，受痛苦，受压迫，受轻贱么？”
“我们就没见过别的东西，”复仇女神回答。
“我们受了多年的苦，”德伐日太太的眼睛重新回到了露面身上，“现在你想想看！个把妻子和母亲的苦对我们来说又算得了什么？”
她又继续打起毛线走了出去。复仇女神跟着她。德伐日是最后一个出去的，他关上了门。
“勇气，亲爱的露西，”罗瑞扶她起来说。“勇气，勇气！到目前为止我们的一切还算顺利一一比最近许多不幸的人不知要强多少倍。振作起来，要感谢上帝！”
“我希望，我并非不感谢上帝！但那可怕的女人似乎给我和我所有的希望笼上了阴影。”
“废话，废话！”罗瑞先生说，“你那小小的勇敢的胸怀里哪儿来的这种悲观失望呢！一道阴影，那算得了什么？虚无缥缈的东西，露西。”
尽管他这样说，德伐日夫妇的态度也留给了他一个阴影，他在心里的隐秘之处也十分着急。
Book 3 Chapter 4 Calm in Storm 
DOCTOR MANETTE did not return until the morning of the fourth day of his absence. So much of what had happened in that dreadful time as could be kept from the knowledge of Lucie was so well concealed from her, that not until long afterwards, when France and she were far apart, did she know that eleven hundred defenceless prisoners of both sexes and all ages had been killed by the populace; that four days and nights had been darkened by this deed of horror; and that the air around her had been tainted by the slain. She only knew that there had been an attack upon the prisons, that all political prisoners had been in danger, and that some had been dragged out by the crowd and murdered.
To Mr. Lorry, the Doctor communicated under an injunction of secrecy on which he had no need to dwell, that the crowd had taken him through a scene of carnage to the prison of La Force. That, in the prison he had found a self-appointed Tribunal sitting, before which the prisoners were brought singly, and by which they were rapidly ordered to be put forth to be massacred, or to be released, or (in a few cases) to be sent back to their cells. That, presented by his conductors to this Tribunal, he had announced himself by name and profession as having been for eighteen years a secret and unaccused prisoner in the Bastille; that, one of the body so sitting in judgment had risen and identified him, and that this man was Defarge.
That, hereupon he had ascertained, through the registers on the table, that his son-in-law was among the living prisoners, and had pleaded hard to the Tribunal--of whom some members were asleep and some awake, some dirty with murder and some clean, some sober and some not--for his life and liberty. That, in the first frantic greetings lavished on himself as a notable sufferer under the over-thrown system, it had been accorded to him to have Charles Darnay brought before the lawless Court, and examined. That, he seemed on the point of being at once released, when the tide in his favour met with some unexplained check (not intelligible to the Doctor), which led to a few words of secret conference. That, the man sitting as President had then informed Doctor Manette that the prisoner must remain in custody, but should for his sake, be held inviolate in safe custody. That, immediately, on a signal, the prisoner was removed to the interior of the prison again; but, that lie, the Doctor, had then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain and assure himself that his son-in-law was, through no malice or mischance, delivered to the concourse whose murderous yells outside the gate had often drowned the proceedings, that lie had obtained the permission, and had remained in that Hall of Blood until the danger was over.
The sights he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and sleep by intervals, shall remain untold. The mad job over the prisoners who were saved, had astounded him scarcely less than the mad ferocity against those who were cut to pieces. One prisoner there was, lie said, who had been discharged into the street free, but at whom a mistaken savage had thrust a pike as lie passed out. Being besought to go to him and dress the wound, the Doctor had passed out at the same gate, and had found him in the arms of a company of Samaritans, who were seated on the bodies of their victims. With an inconsistency as monstrous as anything in this awful nightmare, they had helped the healer, and tended the wounded man with the gentlest solicitude--had made a litter for him and escorted him carefully from the spot--had then caught up their weapons and plungedanew into a butchery so dreadful, that the Doctor had covered his eyes with his hands, and swooned away in the midst of it.
As Mr. Lorry received these confidences, and as he watched the face of his friend now sixty-two years of age, a misgiving arose within him that such dread experiences would revise the old danger. But, he had never seen his friend in hi, present aspect: he had never at all known him in his present character. For the first time the Doctor felt, now, that his suffering was strength and power. For the first time he left that in that sharp fire, lie had slowly forged the iron which could break the prison door of his daughter's husband, and deliver him. `It all tended to a good end, my friend; it was not mere waste and ruin. As mybeloved child was helpful in restoring me to myself, I will be helpful now in restoring the dearest part of herself to her; by the aid of Heaven I will do it!' Thus, Doctor Manette. And when Jarvis Lorry saw the kindled eyes, the resolute face, the calm strong look and bearing of the man whose life always seemed to him to have been stopped, like a clock, for so many years, and then set going again with an energy which had lain dormant during the cessation of its usefulness, he believed.
Greater things than the Doctor had at that time to contend with, would have yielded before his persevering purpose. While he kept himself in his place, as a physician, whose business was with all degrees of mankind, bond and free, rich and poor, bad and good, he used his personal influence so wisely, that he was soon the inspecting physician of three prisons, and among them of La Force. He could now assure Lucie that her husband was no longer confined alone, but was mixed with the general body of prisoners; he saw her husband weekly, and brought sweet messages to her, straight from his lips; sometimes her husband himself sent a letter to her (though never by the Doctor's hand), but she was not permitted to write to him: for, among the many wild suspicions of plots in the prisons, the wildest of all pointed at emigrants who were known to have made friends or permanent connections abroad.
This new life of the Doctor's was an anxious life, no doubt; still, the sagacious Mr. Lorry saw that there was a new sustaining pride in it. Nothing unbecoming tinged the pride; it was a natural and worthy one; but he observed it as a curiosity. The Doctor knew, that up to that time, his imprisonment had been associated in the minds of his daughter and his friend, with his personal affliction, deprivation, and weakness. Now that this was changed, and he knew himself to be invested through that old trial with forces to which they both looked for Charles's ultimate safety and deliverance, he became so far exalted by the change, that he took the lead and direction, and required them as the weak, to trust to him as the strong. The preceding relative positions of himself and Lucie were reversed, yet only as the liveliest gratitude and affection could reverse them, for he could have had nopride but in rendering some service to her who had rendered so much to him. `All curious to see,' thought Mr. Lorry, in his amiably shrewd way, `but all natural and right; so, take the lead, my dear friend, and keep it; it couldn't be in better hands.'
But, though the Doctor tried hard, and never ceased trying, to get Charles Darnay set at liberty, or at least to get him brought to trial, the public current of the time set too strong and fast for him. The new era began; the king was tried, doomed, and beheaded; the Republic of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death, declared for victory or death against the world in arms; the black flag waved night and day from the great towers of Notre Dame; three hundred thousand men, summoned to rise against the tyrants of the earth, rose from all the varying soils of France, as if the dragon's teeth had been sown broadcast, and hadyielded fruit equally on hill and plain, on rock, in gravel, and alluvial mud, under the bright sky of the South and under the clouds of the North, in fell and forest, in the vineyards and the olive-grounds and among the cropped grass and the stubble of the corn, along the fruitful banks of the broad rivers, and in the sand of the sea-shore. What private solicitude could rear itself against the deluge of the Year One of Liberty--the deluge rising from below, not falling from above, and with the windows of Heaven shut, not opened!
There was no pause, no pity, no peace, no interval of relenting rest, no measurement of time. Though days and nights circled as regularly as when time was young, and the evening and morning were the first day, other count of time there was none. Hold of it was lost in the raging fever of a nation, as it is in the fever of one patient. Now, breaking the unnatural silence of a whole city, the executioner showed the people the head of the king-and now, it seemed almost in the same breath, the head of his fair wife which had had eight weary months of imprisoned widowhood and misery, to turn it grey.
And yet, observing the strange law of contradiction which obtains in all such cases, the time was long, while it flamed by so fast. A revolutionary tribunal in the capital, and forty or fifty thousand revolutionary committees all over the land; a law of the Suspected, which struck away all security for liberty or life, and delivered over any good and innocent person to any bad and guilty one; prisons gorged with people who had committed no offence, and could obtain no hearing; these things became the established order and nature of appointed things, and seemed to be ancient usage before they were many weeks old. Above all, one hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had been before the general gaze horn the foundations of the world--the figure of the sharp female called La Guillotine. 
It was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for headache, it infallibly prevented the hair from turning grey, it imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion, it was the National Razor which shaved close: who kissed La Guillotine, looked through the little window and sneezed into the sack. It was the sign of the regeneration of the human race. It superseded the Gross. Models of it were worn on breasts from which the Gross was discarded, and it was bowed down to and believed in where the Gross was denied.
It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most polluted, were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a toy-puzzle for a young Devil, and was put together again when the occasion wanted it. It hushed the eloquent, struck down the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. Twenty-two friends of high public mark, twenty-one living and one dead, it had lopped the heads off, in one morning, in as many minutes. The name of the strong man of Old Scripture had descended to the chief functionary who worked it; but, so armed, he was stronger than his namesake, and blinder, and tore away the gates of God's own Temple every day.
Among these terrors, and the brood belonging to them, the Doctor walked with a steady head: confident in his power, cautiously persistent in his end, never doubting that he would save Lucie's husband at last. Yet the current of the time swept by, so strong and deep, and carried the time away so fiercely, that Charles had lain in prison one year and three months when the Doctor was thus steady and confident. So much more wicked and distracted had the Revolution grown in that December month, that the rivers of the South were encumbered with the bodies of the violently drowned by night, and prisoners were shot in lines and squares under the southern wintry sun. Still, the Doctor walked among the terrors with a steady head. No man better known than he, in Paris at that day; no man in a stranger situation. Silent, humane, indispensable in hospital and prison, using his art equally among assassins and victims, he was a man apart. In the exercise of his skill, the appearance and the story of the Bastille Captive removed him from all other men. He was not suspected or brought in question, any more than if he had indeed been recalled to life some eighteen years before, or were a Spirit moving among mortals.  
曼内特医生直到离开之后的第四天早上才回来。他把那段可伯的时间内发生的许多事都对露西成功地保了密，许久之后她才听说一千一百个手无寸铁的男女老少已被群众杀死。这场恐怖勾当让四个白天和四个夜晚阴云密布。她周围的空气也都充满了被害者的血腥味。她只听说有人进攻了监狱，所有政治犯都遭到危险，有些人被群众抓出去杀死了。
医生要求罗瑞先生严格保密（其理由他其实不用细讲），然后告诉他说，人群把他带过了一个屠杀的现场，来到了拉福斯监狱。他在监狱里看到一个自封的法庭开庭。囚犯一个个分别被押了上来，由法庭迅速下命令集体处死或是开释．也有少数几例又被送回了牢房。他被引路的人送到了法庭上，自报了姓名和职业，又说曾在巴士底狱受到没经过审判的秘密监禁达十八年之久。审判官席里有一个人站了起来证明他所说的是事实，那人就是德伐日。
他看了桌上的花名册，肯定了他的女婿还存活着的囚犯名单里，于是苦苦请求审判官们——他们有的睡着了、有的醒着、有的满身血污、有的干净、有的清醒、有的醉了——保全他的性命、给他自由。由于他是已被推翻的制度的引人注目的受害者，他们对他表现了慷慨而疯狂的欢迎，而且同意立即把查尔斯达尔内带到这个无法无天的法庭审讯。达尔内差不多快被释放时，有利于他的潮流似乎受到了某种没有解释的阻挡（医生没弄明白），于是秘密开了个小会，交换了几句话。然后坐在主席座位的人便通知曼内特医生，囚犯还须扣押，但因为医生的缘故，要作安全扣押，不受侵犯。随即一声令下，囚犯又被带走，关进了监牢。医生于是强烈要求批准他留下，以便保证他的女婿不至因恶意或偶然被交给暴民。（暴民们在大门外要求杀人的叫嚣曾多次淹没了审判的发言）他得到了批准，便留在了流血的大厅里，直到危险过去。
他决定对他在那儿所见到的景象，包括仓促进餐和睡眠在内，只字不提。囚徒们被砍成几块时人们那疯狂的残忍令他吃惊，可同样令他吃惊的还有囚犯得救时人们那疯狂的快乐。他说有一个囚犯获得释放，来到了街上，却叫一个野蛮人误伤，挨了一长矛。有人求医生去给那人裹伤，医生从同一道大门走了出去，却发现伤者躺在一群撒马利亚人手臂上，而撒马利亚人却坐在被他们杀死了的人的尸堆上。在这场恶梦里这群人以光怪陆离的前后矛盾的态度帮助了医生，以最和善温柔的关心照顾了伤号，为伤号做了一个担架，而且小心翼翼地把他抬离了现场，然后又抓起武器投入了一场屠杀。那屠杀非常可怕，医生甩双手捂住了自己的眼睛，却还是在中途昏了过去。
罗瑞先生听着推心置腹的密谈，望着现已六十二岁的朋友的脸，不禁担心起来，害怕这种恐怖的经历会引发往日那危险的疾病。可是，他却从来没见过他的老朋友像现在这个样子，有现在这样的性格。医生第一次感到了他经历过的苦难原来是一种力量和权威。他第一次感到他已在那熊熊的烈火里锻炼成了钢铁，现在可以打破他女婿的牢门，把他救出来了。“往日的一切都通向一个好的结果，我的朋友，并不完全是浪费和破坏。当初我心爱的女儿帮助我恢复了健康，现在我也要帮助她恢复跟她一体的最亲爱的那个部分。我要靠上天的帮助完成这一工作！”这就是曼内特医生此时的情况。罗瑞看到了他那燃烧的目光、坚定的面容、沉着有力的表情和态度。当他心目中医生过去的生活似乎永远像一座多年停摆的时钟，可现在他确信他又以被废弃后所积蓄的沉睡的精力嗒嗒地走了起来。
即使当时医生要克服的困难比现在还要大得多，在他那坚持不懈的努力之下困难也是会退让的。当他坚持在内科医生岗位上时，他的任务是为各种层次的人治病：自由人和不自由的人、有钱人和穷人、坏人和好人。他聪明地运用了他的影响，不久便成了三个监狱的狱医，包括拉福斯监狱。他现在可以安慰露西说，她的丈夫没有再受到单独监禁，而是跟其他囚犯监禁在一起；他每周都要跟他见面，并从他的唇边直接带给她甜蜜的消息；有时她的丈夫自己还给她一封亲笔信（虽然从不由医生转交），但却不准她给他写信，因为在有关监狱的种种想入非非的怀疑之中，最想入非非的怀疑是指向有海外亲友或跟海外有长期联系的外逃犯的。
医生的这种新生活无疑是坐卧不宁的，然而精明的罗瑞先生却看出有一种新的自豪感支撑着他。那是一种理所当然的高尚的自豪，不曾沾染不当的色彩。但是他却像观察珍奇事物一样观察着他。医生知道，在那以前在他女儿和朋友的心目中，他过去的牢狱生活都跟他的苦难、困顿和弱点相联系。现在不同了，他知道那过去的考验已给了他力量，而女儿和朋友正把查尔斯最终安全获释的希望寄托在他的力量上。他为这一变化而欣喜。他领着头前进，让那两人像弱者依赖强者一样依赖着他。他跟露西往日的关系现在颠倒了过来。颠倒那关系的是他切身体会到的感激，挚爱之情。她为他做过那么多事，现在他能为她做一点事，他为此自豪，此外别无理由。“看起来很希罕，其实很自然，也很正常，”罗瑞先生友好而精明地想道，“领头前进吧，亲爱的朋友，继续前进吧，你是最合适的人。”
尽管医生努力奋斗，从不松懈，想让查尔斯;达尔内获释，或至少得到审讯，但是，当时的社会潮流却太迅猛激烈，使他无法抵挡。新的时期开始了，国王受到了审判、判了死刑、砍掉了脑袋，那“自由平等博爱或死亡”的共和国向武装进攻的世界宣布了“若不胜利宁可死亡”。巴黎圣母院巨大的塔楼顶上黑色的旗帜日夜招展。三十万人的大军为抗击全世界的暴君响应号召从法兰西各地猛然崛起，仿佛田野上遍撒了龙齿，结满了果实：从山上也从平原上；从岩石上，也从碎石上和冲积土壤上；在南方明朗的天空之下，也在北方积云的天空之下；从丘陵里，也从森林里；从葡萄园，也从橄榄地；在剪过的草地上，也在气过的庄稼地上；沿着广阔的河流的结着果实的河岸，也沿着海岸的沙滩，到处都结出了龙齿的果实。有什么个人的忧患能抗衡“自由元年”的滚滚洪流呢—一那洪水是从下面涌起的，而不是从天上落下的，天上的窗户紧闭着，而不是敞开着！
没有休止，没有怜悯，没有和平，没有宽松的休息，也不计算时间。虽然昼与夜总按创世的第一个昼夜便存在的常规循环不已，其它的计算却已不复存在。一个民族像高烧病人一样发出了狂热，时间是无从把握的。一时刽子手举起国王的首级让人民观看，打破了整个城市不自然的沉默；又一时，几乎像在转瞬之间，他那面目姣好的妻子的首级又捧了出来。牢狱中八个月凄惨的寡妇生活与苦难已让她花白了头。
按照在这种情况下流行的奇怪的矛盾法则，时间是漫长的，虽然它火烧火燎地飞逝着。京城里的革命法庭，全国的四五万个革命委员会，还有那剥夺了自由或生命的一切安全并把善良无辜者交到邪恶的罪犯手里的嫌疑犯法，沾满了无处申诉的无辜者鲜血的监狱，这些新东西刚建立不久便已形成了固定的秩序和性质，几周之间已仿佛成了历史悠久的成规。其中的佼佼者则是一个仿佛在众目睽睽之下从世界的地基里冒出来的越来越为人们所熟悉的狰狞形象．——那位犀利的小姐，芳名断头台。
它是俏皮话的主题：“治疗头痛的最佳良药”；“药到病除，使你头发永不花白”；“它让你的皮肤特别娇嫩，顷刻苍白”；“国家级剃头刀，一切脑袋保证剃光”；“谁要亲吻断小姐，往小窗户瞧一眼，一个喷嚏就栽进她口袋里。”它是人类复兴的象征，取代了十字架的地位。它的模型被佩带在扔开了十字架的胸口上。凡是十字架叫人否定的地方，它就受到膜拜和信仰。
它剃掉的脑袋太多，它污染的土地和它自己都成了红糊糊臭烘烘的一片。它可以像个拆卸玩具一样分成零件给年轻的魔鬼玩，而到形势需要时又可以重新装配使用。它让雄辩者说不出话来，让强有力者跌倒在地，让美与善遭到废弃。二十二个声名显赫的朋友，二十一个活的，一个死的，它在一个早上把他们全砍掉了脑袋，只费掉了二十一分钟。《圣经.旧约》中的那个大力士的名字落到了使用那东西的官员头上，但是那位官员有了这个武器却比他的同名人还要强有力，眼睛也更瞎，每天都在拆除着上帝的殿堂。
医生在这样的恐怖行为和恐怖人物之中昂首阔步地行走。他深信自己的力量，谨慎地坚定自己的目标，从不怀疑自己最终能救出露西的丈夫。然而强大而深沉的时代潮流匆匆地流过，猛烈地卷走了时光。医生虽仍照样坚定自信，查尔斯却已在狱中度过了一年零三个月之久。那年的十二月，革命越来越凶残疯狂。南部的条条河流堆满了夜间被暴力淹死了的尸体；南部的冬季的太阳下囚徒被成排成排成片成片地枪杀。医生仍然在恐怖中昂首阔步地行走。那时的巴黎城没有人的名气比他更高，也没有人的处境比他更奇特。在医院里和监狱里他沉默寡言，温和亲切，是个少不了的人；他用他的医术为杀人者和受害者同等地服务，但却是个局外人。在他救死扶伤之际，当年巴士底囚徒的外表和故事使他远离众人。他从没受到过怀疑，也从没受到过传讯，仿佛他的确是大约在十八年前就已死去、现在才复活的，或者索性是一个行动于活人中间的孤魂野鬼。
Book 3 Chapter 5 The Wood-sawyer 
ONE a year and three months. During all that time Lucie was never sure, from hour to hour, but that the Guillotine would strike off her husband's head next day. Every day, through the stony streets, the tumbrils now jolted heavily, filled with Condemned. Lovely girls; bright women, brown-haired, black-haired, and grey; youths; stalwart men and old; gentle born and peasant born; all red wine for La Guillotine, all daily brought into light from the dark cellars of the loathsome prisons, and carried to her through the street to slake her devouring thirst. Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death;--the last, much the easiest to bestow, O Guillotine!
If the suddenness of her calamity, and the whirling wheels of the time, had stunned the Doctor's daughter into awaiting the result in idle despair, it would but have been with her as it was with many. But, from the hour when she had taken the white head to her fresh young bosom in the garret of she had been true to her duties. She was truest to them in the season of trial, as all the quietly loyal and good will always be.
As soon as they were established in their new residence, and her father had entered on the routine of his avocations, she arranged the little household as exactly as if her husband had been there. Everything had its appointed place and its appointed time. Little Lucie she taught, as regularly, as if they had all been united in their English home. The slight devices with which she cheated herself into the show of a belief that they would soon be reunited-the little preparations for his speedy return, the setting aside of his chair and his books--these, and the solemn prayer at night for one dear prisoner especially, among the many unhappy souls in prison and the shadow of death--were almost the only outspoken reliefs of her heavy mind.
She did not greatly alter in appearance. The plain dark dresses, akin to mourning dresses, which she and her child wore, were as neat and as well attended to as the brighter clothes of happy days. She lost her colour, and the old and intent expression was a constant, not an occasional, thing; otherwise, she remained very pretty and comely. Sometimes, at night on kissing her father, she would burst into the grief she had repressed all day, and would say that her sole reliance, under Heaven, was on him. He always resolutely answered: `Nothing can happen to him without my knowledge, and I know that I can save him, Lucie.'
They had not made the round of their changed life many weeks, when her father said to her, on coming home one evening:
`My dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to which Charles can sometimes gain access at three in the afternoon. When he can get to it-which depends on many uncertainties and incidents-he might see you in the street, he thinks, if you stood in a certain place that I can show you. But you will not be able to see him, my poor child, and even if you could, it would be unsafe for you to make a sign of recognition.'
`O show me the place, my father, and I will go there everyday.'
From that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. As the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned resignedly away. When it was not too wet or inclement for her child to be with her, they went together; at other times she was alone; but she never missed a single day.
It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. The hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only house at that end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being there, he noticed her.
`Good day, citizeness.'
`Good day, citizen.'
This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough patriots; but, was now law for everybody.
`Walking here again, citizeness?'
`You see me, citizen!'
The wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of gesture (he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the prison, pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers before his face to represent bars, peeped through them jocosely.
`But it's not my business,' said he. And went on sawing his wood.
Next day he was looking out for her, and accosted her the moment she appeared. 
`What? Walking here again, citizeness?'
`Yes, citizen.'
`Ah! A child too! Your mother, is it not, my little citizeness?'
`Do I say yes, mamma?' whispered little Lucie, drawing close to her.
`Yes, dearest.'
`Yes, citizen.'
`Ah! But it's not my business. My work is my business. See my saw! I call it my Little Guillotine. La, la, la; La, la, la! And off his head comes!'
The billet fell as he spoke, and he threw it into a basket.
`I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See here again! Loo, loo, loo; Loo, loo, loo! And off her head comes! Now, a child. Tickle, tickle; Pickle, pickle! And off its head comes. All the family!'
Lucie shuddered as he threw two more billets into his basket, but it was impossible to be there while the wood-sawyer was at work, and not be in his sight. Thenceforth, to secure his good will, she always spoke to him first, and often gave him drink-money, which he readily received.
He was an inquisitive fellow, and sometimes when she had quite forgotten him in gazing at the prison roof and grates, and in lifting her heart up to her husband, she would come to herself to find him looking at her, with his knee on his bench and his saw stopped in its work. `But it's not my business!' he would generally say at those times, and would briskly fall to his sawing again.
In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the rains of autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed two hours of every day at this place; and every day on leaving it, she kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she learned from her father) it might be once in five or six times: it might be twice or thrice running: it might be, not for a week or a fortnight together. It was enough that he could and did see her when the chances served, and on that possibility she would have waited out the day, seven days a week.
These occupations brought her round to the December month, wherein her father walked among the terrors with a steady head. On a lightly-snowing afternoon she arrived at the usual corner. It was a day of some wild rejoicing, and a festival. She had seen the houses, as she came along, decorated with little pikes, and with little red caps stuck upon them; also, with tricoloured ribbons; also, with the standard inscription (tricoloured letters were the favourite), Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!
The miserable shop of the wood-sawyer was so small, that its whole surface furnished very indifferent space for this legend. He had got somebody to scrawl it up for him, however, who had squeezed Death in with most inappropriate difficulty. On his house-top, he displayed pike and cap, as a good citizen must, and in a window he had stationed his saw inscribed as his `Little Sainte Guillotine'--for the great sharp female was by that time popularly canonised. His shop was shut and he was not there, which was a relief to Lucie, and left her quite alone.
But, he was not far off, for presently she heard a troubled movement and a shouting coming along, which filled her with fear. A moment afterwards, and a throng of people came pouring round the corner by the prison wall, in the midst of whom was the wood-sawyer hand in hand with The Vengeance. There could not be fewer than five hundred people, and they were dancing like five thousand demons. There was no other music than their own singing. They danced to the popular Revolution song, keeping a ferocious time that was like a gnashing of teeth in unison. Men and women danced together, women danced together, men danced together, as hazard had brought them together. At first, they were a mere storm of coarse red caps and coarse woollen rags; but, as they filled the place, and stopped to dance about Lucie, some ghastly apparition of a dance-figure gone raving mad arose among them. They advanced, retreated, struck at one another's hands, clutched at one another's heads, spun round alone, caught one another and spun round in pairs, until many of them dropped. While those were down, the rest linked hand in hand, and all spun round together: then the ring broke, and in separate rings of two and four they turned and turned until they all stopped at once, began again, struck, clutched, and tore, and then reversed the spin, and all spun round another way.Suddenly they stopped again, paused, struck out the time afresh, formed into lines the width of the public way, and, with their heads low down and their hands high up, swooped screaming off. No fight could have been half so terrible as this dance. It wasso emphatically a fallen sport--a something, once innocent, delivered over to all devilry--a healthy pastime changed into a means of angering the blood, bewildering the senses, and steeling the heart. Such grace as was visible in it, made it the uglier, showing how warped and perverted all things good by nature were become. The maidenly bosom bared to this, the pretty almost-child's head thus distracted, the delicate foot mincing in this slough of blood and dirt, were types of the disjointed time.'
This was the Carmagnole. As it passed, leaving Lucie frightened and bewildered in the doorway of the wood-sawyer's house, the feathery snow fell as quietly and lay as white and soft, as if it had never been.
`O my father!' for he stood before her when she lifted up the eyes she had momentarily darkened with her hand; `such a cruel, bad sight.'
`I know, my dear, I know. I have seen it many times. Don't be frightened! Not one of them would harm you.'
`I am not frightened for myself, my father. But when I think of my husband, and the mercies of these people---'
`We will set him above their mercies very soon. I left him climbing to the window, and I came to tell you. There is no one here to see. You may kiss your hand towards that highest shelving roof.'
`I do so, father, and I send him my Soul with it!'
`You cannot see him, my poor dear?'
`No, father,' said, Lucie, yearning and weeping as she kissed her hand, `no.
A footstep in the snow. Madame Defarge. `I salute you, citizeness,' from the Doctor. `I salute you, citizen.' This in passing. Nothing more. Madame Defarge gone, like a shadow over the white road.
`Give me your arm, my love. Pass from here with an air of cheerfulness and courage, for his sake. That was well done;' they had left the spot; `it shall not be in vain. Charles is summoned for to-morrow.'
`For to-morrow!'
`There is no time to lose. I am well prepared, but there are precautions to be taken, that could not be taken until he was actually summoned before the Tribunal. He has not received the notice yet, but I know that he will presently be summoned for to-morrow, and removed to the Conciergerie; I have timely information. You are not afraid?'
She could scarcely answer, `I trust in you.'
`Do so, implicitly. Your suspense is nearly ended, my darling; he shall be restored to you within a few hours; I have encompassed him with every protection. I must see Lorry.'
He stopped. There was a heavy lumbering of wheels within hearing. They both knew too well what it meant. One. Two. Three. Three tumbrils faring away with their dread loads over the hushing snow.
`I must see Lorry,' the Doctor repeated, turning her another way.
The staunch old gentleman was still in his trust; had never left it. He and his books were in frequent requisition as to property confiscated and made national. What he could save for the owners, he saved. No better man living to hold fast by what Tellson's had in keeping, and to hold his peace.
A murky red and yellow sky, and a rising mist from the Seine, denoted the approach of darkness. It was almost dark when they arrived at the Bank. The stately residence of Monseigneur was altogether blighted and deserted. Above a heap of dust andashes in the court, ran the letters: National Property. Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!
Who could that be with Mr. Lorry--the Owner of the riding-coat upon the chair--who must not be seen? From whom newly arrived, did he come out, agitated and surprised, to take his favourite in his arms? To whom did he appear to repeat her faltering words, when, raising his voice and turning his head towards the door of the room from which he had issued, he said: `Removed to the Conciergerie, and summoned for to-morrow?' 
一年零三个月。在这段时间里露西无时无刻不感到断头台明天就会砍掉她丈夫的头。囚车每天都载满了死刑犯，颠簸着沉重地驰过街道。可爱的姑娘，漂亮的妇女；棕色头发的，黑色头发的，花白头发的；年轻的人，壮实的人，衰老的人；贵族出身的，农民出身的，都是断头台小姐的一杯杯红色的美酒，都是每天从监狱可憎的黑暗地窖里取出、来到阳光下、通过街道给小姐送去消解她的馋渴的美酒。自由平等博爱或死亡——最后一项可要容易办到得多：啊，断头台！
若是那突然的横祸和时间的飞轮把医生的女儿吓了个目瞪口呆，使她只好怀着失望静待结果到来的话，她的遭遇也不过是和千百万人的遭遇相同。但是，自从她在圣安托万区阁楼里把那白发的头搂到自己青春的胸前以来，她一向忠实于自己的职责，在受到考验的时候尤其如此，正如一切沉默忠诚善良的人一样。
在她们搬进了新居、父亲开始了常规医疗工作之后，她就把她那小小的家庭安排得井井有条，仿佛她丈夫就在身边。一切都有固定的地点和固定的时间。她跟在英国家里全家团聚时一样按时给小露西上课。她用一些小花样来欺骗自己，装出相信全家即将团聚的样子——她为丈夫早日回家做些小准备，给他准备了专用的椅子，把它跟他的书放在一边。除此之外，她还专为一个亲爱的囚徒庄严祷告，那人跟许多不幸的人一起生活在监牢里死亡的阴影之下。那几乎是她所能用言语倾诉、宣泄自己沉重的心曲的唯一的途径。
她的外表变化不大。她跟孩子都穿类似丧服的朴素的深色服装，却全都跟欢乐日子里的彩色服装一样，收拾得整整齐齐。她鲜活的脸色没有了，以前那专注的神情经常出现而不再是偶然一现了。除此之外，她仍然很漂亮，很美丽。有时她在晚上亲吻她父亲时会哭出声来，泛溢出全天压抑的忧伤，而且说她在上天之下唯一的依靠就是他了。他总是坚定地说：“他遭到的变化没有不让我知道的，我知道我能救他，露西。”
他们的生活改变了，几个礼拜后的一天晚上，父亲一回家就告诉她：
“我亲爱的，监狱里有一个高层的窗户，下午三点钟查尔斯有时可能到那儿去。若是你站在街上我告诉你的那个地方，而他又到了窗口，他认为他有可能看见你——但他能否到窗口，却得由许多偶然因素决定。不过你是看不见他的，可怜的孩子，即使看见了，也不能有所表示，因为那对你不安全。”
“啊，告评我地点吧，父亲，我每天都去。”
从此以后，不论什么天气，她总要到那儿去等两个钟头。时钟一敲两点她已站在那儿了，到了四点才断了念头离开。若是天气不太潮湿或不太恶劣，能带孩子，她便带了孩子去。平时她一个人去，但是从没有错过一天。
那是一条弯曲小街的一个黑暗肮脏的角落。那里唯一的房屋是一个把柴锯成短段便于烧壁炉的工人的小棚屋，此外便只有墙壁。她去的第三天，那人便注意到了她。
“日安，女公民。”
“日安，公民。”
这在那时是法定的招呼形式。不久前在较为彻底的爱国者之间不自觉形成的这种模式，现在已成了人人必须遵守的法律。
“又在这儿散步了么，女公民？”
“你看见的，公民！”
锯木工是个小个子，手势特别多（他以前干过补路工）。他望了望监狱，用手指了指，叉开十个指头放到脸前，代表铁栏杆，装出窥看的滑稽样子。
“可这跟我没有关系，”他说。他又去锯木柴了。
第二天，他探出头来找她，见她一出现就跟她打招呼。
“怎么、又到这儿来散步了么，女公民？”
“是的，公民。”
“啊！还有个孩子！她是你妈妈么，小女公民？”
“我要回答是的么，妈妈？”小露西靠近她，低声问。
“回答是的，乖乖。”
“是的，公民。”
“啊！不过，这可没有我的事。我的事是锯木头。看见我的锯子了么？我把它叫作我的断头台。啦，啦，啦；啦，啦，啦！他的脑袋掉下来了！”
他说着话，木柴掉了下来，他把它扔到篮子里。
“我把我自己叫作木柴断头台的参孙。又看这儿！噜，噜，噜；噜，噜，噜！这个女人的脑袋掉下来了！现在，是个小孩。唧咕，唧咕；噼咕，噼咕！小孩脑袋也掉下来了。满门抄斩！”
他又把两段木柴扔进篮子，露西打了个寒颤。要想在锯木工工作时到那儿去而不被他看见，是不可能的。从那以后为了取得他的好感，她总是先跟他说话，还常常给他点酒钱，他也立即收下。
这人好管闲事，有时在她凝望着监狱的屋顶和铁窗、心儿飞向丈夫而忘了那人时，她会立即回过神来，却见那人一条腿跪在长凳上望着她，手中忘了拉锯。“可这不关我的事!”那时他又往往说，马上又拉起锯来。
无论在什么天气——在冬天的霜雪里，春天的寒风里，夏天炙热的阳光里，秋天绵绵的细雨里，然后又是冬天的霜雪里，露西每天都要在这里度过两小时，每天离开时都要亲吻监狱的墙壁。她去六次，她的丈夫也许能看到她一次（她的父亲这样告诉她），有时也可能连续两天都能看到，有时也可能一两个礼拜都看不到。只要他有机会看见她，而且碰巧果然看见那一种可能性她情愿一周七天，每天去站一整天。
这样的活动又把她带到了十二月，她的父亲仍然在恐怖之中昂首阔步地走着。一个微雪的下午，她来到她总要去的角落。那是一个疯狂的喜庆日子。她来时见到房屋点缀了刺刀，刺刀顶上点缀了红便帽，屋上还挂着三色彩带，还有标准的口号（字母也常用三个颜色书写）：统一不可分割的共和国，自由平等博爱或死亡！
锯木工那可怜的铺面太小，整个门面也塞不下这条标语。不过他还是找了个人给他歪歪扭扭涂上了，写到“死亡”好不容易才挤了进去。他在屋顶插了枪和便帽，那是好公民必办的事。他还把锯子摆在一个窗户里，标上“小圣徒断头台”，那时那伟大锋利的女性正受到普遍的崇敬。劈柴店关了门，主人也不在，露西一个人。她松了一口气。
但是那人离得并不远，因为她马上就听见一阵骚动和一阵叫喊传来，心里不禁充满了恐惧。顷刻间，一大群人从监狱墙角转出，锯木工也在其中，他跟复仇女神手牵着手。他们的人数不少于五百，可跳起舞来倒像有五千个妖魔鬼怪。除了自己的歌声他们别无音乐，只能踏着流行的革命歌曲的节拍跳着，节拍踏得很凶狠，仿佛是统一了步调在咬牙切齿。男人跟女人跳，女人跟女人跳，男人跟男人跳，碰见谁就跟谁跳。最初，他们只不过是一片粗糙的红便帽和粗糙的破毛料的风暴，但到他们挤满了那地方、停止了前进在露西身边跳的时候，便变成了一片发着呓语的疯狂可怖的幢幢鬼影。他们时而前进，时而后退，彼此叭叭地击掌，彼此揪抓着脑袋，单人旋转，双人旋转，直转到有的人跌倒在地。这时没有倒下的又手拉手围成圈子旋转，圈子破了，又捉对儿旋转，四个人旋转，直转到突然停步。于是重新开始，又是击掌，又是揪脑袋，又是拉手，扯来扯去，反方向旋转，再牵成大圈反方向旋转。突然站住，稍停，重新踏起节拍，排成街道一样宽的长排，低下头，举起手，尖叫着向前飞扑。就是厮杀也不及这种舞蹈的一半可怖。这是一种堕落得无以复加的游戏。当初原很纯洁，后来却具有了这种鬼魅的形象。一种健康的娱乐变作了促使血液狂奔、知觉混乱、心肠狠毒的手段。依稀可见的几分优美使得这种舞蹈益发丑恶了，它表现出一切本质善良的东西已经遭到多么严重的扭曲与败坏。舞蹈中露出了少女的胸脯，几乎还未成年的美丽却疯狂的头、精巧的脚在血污的泥泞中蹒跚踏步。这一切都是脱了节的时代的象征。
这就是卡尔马尼奥拉舞。舞蹈过去了，只留下露西心惊胆战、不知所措地站在锯木工屋前。轻盈的雪片悄悄地飞着，堆积得又白又柔软，仿佛从来就没出现过这场舞蹈。
“啊，父亲！”她放下捂住眼睛的手，发现他站在面前，“多么残酷丑恶的景象。”
“我知道，亲爱的，我知道。我见过许多次了。别害怕！他们谁都不会伤害你的。”
“我并不为自己害怕，父亲，可我一想到我的丈夫，他还要听凭这些人摆布就——”
“我们很快就可以使他不受他们摆布了。我离开他时，他正往窗户爬去，我便来告诉你。这儿没有人看见。你可以对那最高的一个斜屋顶飞一个吻去。”
“我要飞吻，父亲，我把灵魂也一起飞给他。”
“你看不见他么，可怜的孩子？”
“看不见，”露西说，急得直哭，吻着他的手，“看不见。”
雪地里有脚步声，是德伐日太太。“向你致敬，女公民，”医生说。“向你致敬，公民。”她信口回答。再也没有话。德伐日太太走了，像一道阴影掠过白色的路。
“把手臂给我，亲爱的。为了他的缘故，摆出欢欢喜喜、勇敢坚定的神气从这儿走过去。走得好。”他们已走过了那地点。“不会不起作用的。明天就要审讯查尔斯了。”
“明天！”
“不能浪费时间了。我已做好了准备，还有些预防措施，必须在他已经到庭时才能采用。他还没有接到通知，但我知道马上就会通知他的。明天审讯，同时把他转移到巴黎裁判所的附属监狱。我的情报很及时。你不会害怕吧？”
她几乎回答不出话来，“我相信你。”
“绝对相信我吧！你提心吊胆的日子快要结束了，亲爱的。审讯结束后几个小时就会把他放回你身边的。我已经把他保护得严严实实。我得看罗瑞去。”
他却站住了。他们听见了沉重的车轮声，非常明白那是什么意思。一部，两部，三部。三部死囚车载着可怕的货物在寂寂的雪地上走掉了。
“我得看罗瑞去，”医生带了她走向另一条路，重复道。
那可靠的老人还坚守着他的岗位，没有离开一步。许多财产在充公或收归国有时常常要咨询他和他的帐册。凡能为原主保留的，他都设法保留。台尔森银行代管的财业有多少，世界上没有人比他知道得更清楚，但他守口如瓶。
暗红与黄色的彩霞以及在塞纳河上升起的雾气表明夜已来临。他到达银行时天已几乎黑净。当年宫廷显贵那庄严的宅第已破败不堪，很少有人居住。在庭院里的—堆尘土和灰烬之上是几个大字：国家财产。统一不可分割的共和国，自由平等博爱或死亡。
跟罗瑞先生一起的是谁呢？椅子上那骑马装是谁的？——那人不肯叫人看见。罗瑞先生刚从谁那儿激动而吃惊地跑了出来，把他心爱的人儿搂到怀里？他转回头提高了嗓子往他刚才出来的屋里说道，“转移到巴黎裁判所附属监狱，明天审讯。”那是她刚才结结巴巴说出的话，他又是在向谁重复呢？
Book 3 Chapter 6 Triumph 
THE dread Tribunal of five Judges, Public Prosecutor, and determined Jury, sat every day. Their lists went forth every evening, and were read out by the gaolers of the various prisons to their prisoners. The standard gaoler-joke was, `Come out and listen to the Evening Paper, you inside there!'
`Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay!' So at last began the Evening Paper at La Force.
When a name was called, its owner stepped apart into a spot reserved for those who were announced as being thus fatally recorded. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, had reason to know the usage; he had seen hundreds pass away so.
His bloated gaoler, who wore spectacles to read with, glanced over them to assure himself that he had taken his place, and went through the list, making a similar short pause at each name. There were twenty-three names, but only twenty here responded to; for one of the prisoners so summoned had died in gaol and been forgotten, and two had already been guillotined and forgotten. The list was read, in the vaulted chamber where Darnay had seen the associated prisoners on the night of his arrival. Every one of those had perished in the massacre; every human creature he had since cared for and parted with, had died on the scaffold.
There were hurried words of farewell and kindness, but the parting was soon over. It was the incident of every day, and the society of La Force were engaged in the preparation of some games of forfeits and a little concert, for that evening. They crowded to the grates and shed tears there; but, twenty places in the projected entertainments had to be refilled, and the time was, at best, short to the lock-up hour, when the common rooms and corridors would be delivered over to the great dogs who kept watch there through the night. The prisoners were far from insensible or unfeeling; their ways arose out of the condition of the time. Similarly, though with a subtle difference, a species of fervour or intoxication, known, without doubt, to have led some persons to brave the guillotine unnecessarily, and to die by it, was not mere boastfulness, but a wild infection of the wildlyshaken public mind. In seasons of pestilence, some of us will have a secret attraction to the disease--a terrible passing inclination to die of it. And all of us have like wonders hidden in our breasts, only needing circumstances to evoke them.
The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark; the night in its vermin-haunted cells was long and cold. Next day, fifteen prisoners were put to the bar before Charles Darnay's name was called. All the fifteen were condemned, and the trials of the whole occupied an hour and a half.
`Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay,' was at length arraigned.
His judges sat upon the Bench in feathered hats; but the rough red cap and tricoloured cockade was the head-dress otherwise prevailing. Looking at the Jury and the turbulent audience, he might have thought that the usual order of things was reversed, and that the felons were trying the honest men. The lowest, cruelest, and worst populace of a city, never without its quantity of low, cruel, and bad, were the directing spirits of the scene: noisily commenting, applauding, disapproving, anticipating, and precipitating the result, without a check. Of the men, the greater part were armed in various ways; of the women, some wore knives, some daggers, some ate and drank as they looked on, many knitted. Among these last, was one, with a spare piece of knitting under her arm as she worked. She was in a front row, by the side of a man whom he had never seen since his arrival atthe Barrier, but whom he directly remembered as Defarge. He noticed that she once or twice whispered in his ear, and that she seemed to be his wife; but, what he most noticed in the two figures was, that although they were posted as close to himself as they could be, they never looked towards him. They seemed to be waiting for something with a dogged determination, and they looked at the Jury, but at nothing else. Under the President sat Doctor Manette, in his usual quiet dress. As well as the prisoner could see, he and Mr. Lorry were the only men there, unconnected with the Tribunal, who wore their usual clothes, and had not assumed the coarse garb of the Carmagnole.
Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, was accused by the public prosecutor as an emigrant, whose life was forfeit to the Republic, under the decree which banished all emigrants on pain of Death. It was nothing that the decree bore date since his return to France. There he was, and there was the decree; he had been taken in France, and his head was demanded.
`Take off his head!' cried the audience. `An enemy to the Republic!'
The President rang his bell to silence those cries, and asked the prisoner whether it was not true that he had lived many years in England?
Undoubtedly it was.
Was he not an emigrant then? What did he call himself? 
Not an emigrant, he hoped, within the sense and spirit of the law.
Why not? the President desired to know.
Because he had voluntarily relinquished a title that was distasteful to him, and a station that was distasteful to him, and had left his country--he submitted before the word emigrant in the present acceptation by the Tribunal was in use--to live by his ownindustry in England, rather than on the industry of the overladen people of France.
What proof had he of this?
He handed in the names of two witnesses: Théophile Gabelle, and Alexandre Manette.
But he had married in England? the President reminded him.
True, but not an English woman. 
A citizeness of France? 
Yes. By birth. 
Her name and family?
`Lucie Manette, only daughter of Doctor Manette, the good physician who sits there.'
This answer had a happy effect upon the audience. Cries in exaltation of the well-known good physician rent the hall. So capriciously were the people moved, that tears immediately rolled down several ferocious countenances which had been glaring at the prisoner a moment before, as if with impatience to pluck him out into the streets and kill him.
On these few steps of his dangerous way, Charles Darnay had set his foot according to Doctor Manette's reiterated instructions. The same cautious counsel directed every step that lay before him, and had prepared every inch of his road.
The President asked, why had he returned to France when he did, and not sooner? 
He had not returned sooner, he replied, simply because he had no means of living in France, save those he had resigned; whereas, in England, he lived by giving instruction in the French language and literature. He had returned when he did, on the pressing and written entreaty of a French citizen, who represented that his life was endangered by his absence. He had come back, to save a citizen's life, and to bear his testimony, at whatever personal hazard, to the truth. Was that criminal in the eyes of the Republic?
The populace cried enthusiastically, `No!' and the President rang his bell to quiet them. Which it did not, for they continued to cry `No!' until they left of of their own will.
The President required the name of that citizen? The accused explained that the citizen was his first witness. He also referred with confidence to the citizen's letter, which had been taken from him at the Barrier, but which he did not doubt would be found among the papers then before the President.
The Doctor had taken care that it should be there--had assured him that it would be there--and at this stage of the proceedings it was produced and read. Citizen Gabelle was called to confirm it, and did so. Citizen Gabelle hinted, with infinite delicacy andpoliteness, that in the pressure of business imposed on the Tribunal by the multitude of enemies of the Republic with which it had to deal, he had been slightly overlooked in his prison of the Abbaye--in fact, had rather passed out of the Tribunal's patriotic remembrance--until three days ago; when he had been summoned before it, and had been set at liberty on the Jury's declaring themselves satisfied that the accusation against him was answered, as to himself, by the surrender of the citizen Evrémonde called Darnay.
Doctor Manette was next questioned. His high personal popularity, and the clearness of his answers, made a great impression; but, as he proceeded, as he showed that the Accused was his first friend on his release from his long imprisonment; that, the accused had remained in England, always faithful and devoted to his daughter and himself in their exile; that, so far from being in favour with the Aristocrat government there, he had actually been tried for his life by it, as the foe of England and friend of the United States--as he brought these circumstances into view, with the greatest discretion and with the straightforward force of truth and earnestness, the Jury and the populace became one. At last, when he appealed by name to Monsieur Lorry, an English gentleman then and there present, who, like himself, had been a witness on that English trial and could corroborate his account of it, the Jury declared that they had heard enough, and that they were ready with their votes if the President were content to receive them.
At every vote (the Jurymen voted aloud and individually), the populace set up a shout of applause. All the voices were in the prisoner's favour, and the President declared him free.
Then, began one of those extraordinary scenes with which the populace sometimes gratified their fickleness, or their better impulses towards generosity and mercy, or which they regarded as some set off against their swollen account of cruel rage. No man can decide now to which of these motives such extraordinary scenes were referable; it is probable, to a blending of all the three, with the second predominating. No sooner was the acquittal pronounced, than tears were shed as freely as blood at another time, and such fraternal embraces were bestowed upon the prisoner by as many of both sexes as could rush at him, that after his long and unwholesome confinement he was in danger of fainting from exhaustion; none the less because he knew very well, that the very same people, carried by another current, would have rushed at him with the very same intensity, to rend him to pieces and strew him over the streets.
His removal, to make way for other accused persons who were to be tried, rescued him from these caresses for the moment. Five were to be tried together, next, as enemies of the Republic, forasmuch as they had not assisted it by word or deed. So quick was the Tribunal to compensate itself and the nation for a chance lost, that these five came down to him before he left the place, condemned to die within twenty-four hours. The first of them told him so, with the customary prison sign of Death--a raised finger--and they all added in words, `Long live the Republic.'
The five had had, it is true, no audience to lengthen their proceedings, for when he and Doctor Manette emerged from the gate, there was a great crowd about it, in which there seemed to be every face he had seen in Court--except two, for which he looked in vain. On his coming out, the concourse made at him anew, weeping, embracing, and shouting, all by turns and all together, until the very tide of the river on the bank of which the mad scene was acted, seemed to run mad, like the people on the shore.
They put him into a great chair they had among them, and which they had taken either out of the Court itself, or one of its rooms or passages. Over the chair they had thrown a red flag, and to the back of it they had bound a pike with a red cap on its top. In this car of triumph, not even the Doctor's entreaties could prevent his being carried to his home on men's shoulders, with a confused sea of red caps heaving about him, and casting up to sight from the stormy deep such wrecks of faces, that he more than once misdoubted his mind being in confusion, and that he was in the tumbril on his way to the Guillotine.
In wild dreamlike procession, embracing whom they met and pointing him out, they carried him on. Reddening the snowy streets with the prevailing Republican colour, in winding and tramping through them, as they had reddened them below the snow with a deeper dye, they carried him thus into the court-yard of the building where he lived. Her father had gone on before, to prepare her, and when her husband stood upon his feet, she dropped insensible in his arms.
As he held her to his heart and turned her beautiful head between his face and the brawling crowd, so that his tears and her lips might come together unseen, a few of the people fell to dancing. Instantly, all the rest fell to dancing, and the court-yard overflowed with the Carmagnole. Then, they elevated into the vacant chair a young woman from the crowd to be carried as the Goddess of Liberty, and then swelling and overflowing out into the adjacent streets, and along the river's bank, and over the bridge, the Carmagnole absorbed them every one and whirled them away.
After grasping the Doctor's hand, as he stood victorious and proud before him; after grasping the hand of Mr. Lorry, who came panting in breathless from his struggle against the waterspout of the Carmagnole; after kissing little Lucie, who was lifted up to clasp her arms round his neck; and after embracing the ever zealous and faithful Pross who lifted her; he took his wife in his arms, and carried her up to their rooms. 
`Lucie! My own! I am safe.'
`O dearest Charles, let me thank God for this on my knees as I have prayed to Him.'
They all reverently bowed their heads and hearts. Then she was again in his arms, he said to hem:
`And now speak to your father, dearest. No other man in all this France could have done what he has done for me.'
She laid her head upon her father's breast, as she had laid his poor head on her own breast, long, long ago. He was happy in the return he had made her, he was recompensed for his suffering, he was proud of his strength. `You must not be weak, mydarling,' he remonstrated; `don't tremble so. I have saved him. 
由五位审判官、一个国民检察官和立场坚定的陪审团组成的可怕的法庭每天开庭。他们每天晚上发出名单，由各个监狱的典狱官向囚犯们公布。典狱官有一句标准的俏皮话，“号子里的人，出来听晚报喽！”
“查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内。”
拉福斯的晚报终于这样开始了。
叫一个名字，那人就走到旁边一个地点去，那是专为这种名列生死簿上的人准备的地方。查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内，有理由知道这种习惯。他见过成百的人这样一去不复返。
他那浮肿的典狱官念名单要戴眼镜，一边念，一边看犯人是否到位，每念一个名字都要停顿一下，然后再继续念，直到念完。念了二十三个名字，回答的只有二十个；有一个已死在牢里，被人忘掉了；另外两个早已上了断头台，也被人忘掉了。宣布名单的地方就是达尔内到达那天晚上犯人搞社交活动的屋子——有圆穹顶的。那批人在大屠杀中全死光了—一那以后他还曾想念过他们，却再也没见到过他们—一都死在断头台上了。
有匆匆的告别的话和祝愿，但很快便结束了——因为这是每天的例行公事，而拉福斯的人那天又忙着准备晚上的一个罚钱游戏和一个小型音乐会。有关的人挤到铁栅边去掉眼泪，可是计划中的文娱项目却少了二十个人，需要增补，而关门时间又已临近。时间太短了，到时候公用房间和走廊就要由獒犬通夜占领。囚犯们远远不是麻木不仁或缺乏同情心的，他们这种生活态度只是当时的条件逼成的罢了。同样，虽然有微妙的不同，某些人又无疑曾受到某种狂热和激动的支使去跟断头台作过徒然的斗争，结果死在断头台上。这并非言过其实，而是受到疯狂震撼的公众在心灵传染上的一种疯狂病。在瘟疫流行的时候，有人会受到那病的秘密吸引，产生一种可怕的偶然冲动，要想死于瘟疫，人们心里都有类似的奇怪倾向，只是有待环境诱发而已。
通向裁判所附属监狱的通道不长，但很黑暗；在它那满是蚤虱虫鼠的牢房里度过的夜晚寒冷而漫长。第二天，在叫到查尔斯.达尔内的名字之前己有十五个囚犯进了法庭。十五个人全部判了死刑，整个审讯只用了一个半小时。
“查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内”终于受到提审了。
他的法官们头戴饰有羽毛的帽子，坐在审判席上，别的人主要戴的是佩三色徽章的红色粗质便帽。看着陪审团和乱纷纷的观众，他可能以为正常秩序颠倒了过来，是罪犯在审判着正直的人呢！城市中最卑贱、最残忍、最邪恶的，而且从来没缺少过那份卑贱、残忍和邪恶劲的人现在成了主宰全场的精灵。他们或品头论足，或鼓掌喝彩，或大叫反对，或猜测估计，或推波助澜，一律是肆无忌惮。男人大部分带着某种正规武器，女人有的带短刀，有的带匕首，有的则一边看热闹，一边吃喝，许多女人打着毛线。在打毛线的妇女中有一个人手里打着线、腋下夹着线团，坐在前排一个男人身边。自从他离开城门之后，他便没再见过那男人，但他马上想起那就是德伐日。他注意到那女的在他耳边说过一两次话，便估计她是他的妻子。但是这两个人最令他注意的是，虽然都尽可能坐得离他近一点儿，却从来不瞧他一眼。他们好像下定了顽强的决心等待着什么，眼睛只望着陪审团，从不望别的。曼内特医生坐在庭长席下面的座位上，衣着朴素跟平时一样，就囚犯所见而言，只有他和罗瑞先生跟法庭无关，穿的也是日常服装，而不是粗糙的卡尔马尼奥拉装。
国民检察官控诉查尔斯.达尔内为外逃分子，按共和国流放一切外逃分子、潜回者处死的法律应判处死刑。法令公布日期虽在他回到法国以后，但不能影响判决。此时他已在法国，而法令又已公布，他已在法国被捕，因此要求判他死刑。
“杀他的头！”观众大叫。“共和国的敌人！”
庭长摇铃要求肃静，然后问囚犯是否曾在英格兰居住多年。
毫无疑问。
那么他就不该算是外逃分子了，是么？他该怎么称呼自己？
他希望按法律的意义和精神解释，不属外逃分子之列。
为什么，庭长要求知道。
因为他早已自愿放弃了他所憎恶的一个称号，放弃了他所憎恶的一种地位，离开了他的国家，到英国靠自己的勤劳度日，而不是靠负担过重的法国人民的勤劳度日。他放弃时，目前为法庭所接受的外逃犯一词尚无人使用。
对此他有何证明？
他提出了两个证人的名字：泰奥菲尔．加伯尔和亚历山大．曼内特。
但是他在英格兰结了婚，是么？庭长提醒他。
是的，但对象不是英国人。
是法国女公民么？
是的。按出生国籍是的。
她叫什么名字？家庭？
“叫露西．曼内特，曼内特医生的独生女。这位好医生就坐在卡尔马尼奥拉装：一七九二年左右在法国流行的一种服装，宽翻领短上衣（它本身就叫卡尔马尼奥拉衫），配黑色长裤，红色便帽和三色腰带。那儿。”
这句回答对听众产生了可喜的影响。赞美这位有名的好医生的叫喊声震动了大厅。受到感动的人们极其反复无常，几张凶恶的脸上立即珠泪滚滚，可刚才他们还咬牙切齿地瞪着他，仿佛按捺不住，要立即拉他上街杀掉。
查尔斯.达尔内按照曼内特医生一再嘱咐的路子踩着这危险路上的每一步。医生的谨慎意见指引着他面前的每一步，让他对每一个细节都做好了准备。
庭长问他为什么到那时候才回到法国，而没有早些回来？
他没有早些回来原因很简单，他回答道，因为他放弃了财产，在法国无以为生，而在英国他以教授法语和法国文学度日。他之所以在那时回来是因为一个法国公民的催促和书面请求，那人说明他若不回来他就有生命之虞。他是为了挽救一个公民的生命回来的，是不计一切个人安危来作证、来维护真理的。在共和国眼里这能算作犯罪么？
人群热情地高叫道，“不算！”庭长摇铃让大家肃静，可人们并不肃静，仍然叫着“不算！”直到叫够了才自行住嘴。
庭长问那公民是谁。被告说那公民便是他的第一个证人。他还很有把握地提起那人的信，那是在城门口从他身上取走的，他相信可以在庭长的卷宗中找到。
那信就在卷宗里——医生早安排好了，并向他保证过一定能找到。审讯到达这个阶段，找出了那信宣读了，又传公民加伯尔作证。加伯尔证明属实。公民加伯尔还极尽委婉和礼貌之能事暗示说，由于共和国的众多敌人给惩治敌人的法庭制造麻烦，形成了压力，他在修道院监狱稍稍受到了忽视，实际上己在相当程度上被法庭那忠于祖国的记忆所忘却，直到三天前才受到审讯。审讯他时，陪审团宣称由于公民埃佛瑞蒙德（又名达尔内）自动投案，回答了对他的指控，陪审团感到满意，因此释放了他。
然后传讯了曼内特医生。他崇高的声望和清晰的回答给了人们出色的印象。他继续指出被告是他在长期监禁获释后的第一位朋友，在他和他女儿客居海外时，他一气留在英国，对他俩一片赤诚，关怀备至。他又说，那儿的贵族政府很不喜欢被告，实际上曾经以英国的敌人和合众国的朋友的罪名对他进行过审判，意图杀害。医生依靠直接事实的威力和他自己的真诚，小心翼翼、字斟句酌地介绍了上述情况，于是陪审团的意见跟群众的意见统一了。最后他请求让此时在场的．，个英国人罗瑞先生作证。罗瑞先生曾跟他一样在英国那场审讯中作过证人，可以证明他对该审判的叙述属实。这时陪审团宣布他们听到的材料已经足够，若是庭长满意，他们可以立即投票了。
陪审团逐个唱名投票，每投一票群众便鼓掌欢呼，大家众口一词支持被告。庭长宣布被告无罪。
于是出现了一个极不寻常的场面。那是群众有时用以满足他们反复无常的心理，或是为了表现他们的宽容和慈悲的一种冲动，或是用以对消他们的暴戾恣睢和累累血债的。这种极不寻常的场面究竟产生于上述哪一种动机没有人说得清，可能是三种动机兼而有之，而以第二种为主吧！无罪释放的决定才一宣布，人们便热泪滚滚，跟别的场合热血直流时差不多。凡是能扑到他身边的人，不分男女都扑上来跟他拥抱。经过有损健康的长期囚禁的他差不多被累得昏死了过去。这也同样因为他很明白，同是这一批人，若是卷入了另一种潮流，也会以同样的激烈程度向他扑去，把他撕成碎块，满街乱扔。
还有别的被告要受审，他得退场，让出地方，这才使他从种种爱抚中脱出了身。下面还有五个人要同时以共和国敌人的罪名受到审判，因为他们并没有用言论或行动支持过它。法庭和国家在达尔内身上失去的机会很快就得到了补偿。达尔内还没离开法庭，那五个人已被判处死刑，二十四小时之内执行，被押到了他身边。五入中的第一个举起一根指头——那是监狱里常用的“死亡”暗语——告诉了他，这时他们全都接下去说，“共和国万岁！”
的确，那五个人再也没有观众陪他们活动了，因为人们在达尔内跟曼内特医生出门时已挤在了大门口。人群中似乎有他在法庭上见到的每一张面孔。只缺两张，他四处寻找，却没找到。他一出门，人群又涌向了他，又是哭泣，又是拥抱，又是喊叫，有时轮着班来，有时一涌而上。一片狂热直闹得脚下河边的河水也仿佛跟人们一样发起狂来。
人们从法庭里或是从某间屋子或过道里抬来了一张大椅子，把他塞了进去。他们在椅子上拉开了一面红旗，在椅背上捆上了一根长矛，矛尖上挂了一顶红便帽，便用肩膀把他用这辆胜利之车抬回了家，尽管医生一再请求都没挡住。他的周围涌动着一片乱纷纷的红便帽的海洋，从那风暴的深处掀起了许多死于这场海难的人的面影，使他多次怀疑自己是否已是神智不清，正坐着死囚车往断头台去。
人群抬着他向前走，像一个荒唐的梦中的游行队伍。他们见人就拥抱，并指出他叫人看。他们在街道上绕来绕去慢慢走着，用共和国的流行色照红了白雪覆盖的街道——他们也曾用更深的颜色染红了白雪的街道。他们就这样抬着他来到露西居住的大楼。她的父亲赶在前面去让她作好准备。等到她的丈夫下车站直身子，她便在他怀里晕了过去。
他把她搂在胸前，让她那美丽的头转向自己，背着喧嚣的人群，不让他们看到她的嘴唇跟他的眼泪融合到一起。有几个人开始跳起舞来，有的人便立即响应。院子里回荡起卡尔马尼奥拉歌的曲调。然后他们从人群里找了一个年轻妇女塞进空椅子当作自由女神高高地抬了起来。人群又横流放肆，泛滥到邻近的街道、堤岸和桥上，卡尔马尼奥拉歌吸引了每一个人，把他们卷了进去。
达尔内紧紧地握住医生的手，医生胜利而骄傲地站在他面前；他又紧握了罗瑞先生的手，罗瑞先生才从奔流的卡尔马尼奥拉队伍里挤过来，挤得气喘吁吁；达尔内亲了亲小露西，小露西被抱起来，她用小胳膊搂住他的脖子；他拥抱了永远热情忠诚的普洛丝，是普洛丝抱起小露西给他亲的。然后他才把妻子抱到怀里，带到楼上房里。
“露西，我的露西，我平安了。”
“啊，最亲爱的查尔斯，让我按照我的祷告跪下来感谢上帝吧！”
全家人都虔诚地低下了头，在心里致敬。等到她再次扑到他怀里时，他对她说：
“现在告诉你的父亲吧，最亲爱的，他为我所做的事是全法国没有人能做到的。”
她把头靠到父亲胸前，跟许久以前父亲把头靠在她胸前一样。父亲因为能报答女儿而感到快乐，他所经受的苦难得到了报偿，他为自己的力量而骄傲。“你不能软弱呀，我亲爱的，”他抗议道，“不要这样发抖，我已经把他救出来了。”
Book 3 Chapter 7 A Knock at the Door
`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 around 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 court-yard 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 Evrémonde, 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, tile 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 Nick's.'
`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, and Mischief'
`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 daughter!'
`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 Evrémonde, called Darnay,' said the first. `Who seeks him?' answered Darnay.
`I seek him. We seek him. I know you, Evrémonde; 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 to him.
`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.'
Dr. Manette, whom this visitation had so turned into stone, that he stood with the lamp in his hand, as if he were 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. Evrémonde, 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 Antoine here.'
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.
`What other?'
`Do you ask, Citizen Doctor?'
`Yes.'
`Then,' said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, `you will be answered to-morrow. Now, I am dumb!' 
“我已经把他救出来了。”这不是他常常从其中惊醒过来的梦，他确确实实在家里。可是他的妻子还在发抖，还为一种沉重的莫名的恐惧笼罩着。
周围的空气粘稠黑暗，人们狂热冲动，急于报复，无辜的人不断因为莫须有的怀疑和恶意的中伤而丧命。无法忘记的是，每天都有许多跟她的丈夫同样无辜、同样受到疼爱的人遭到了不幸，而她的丈夫只是侥幸地逃脱了。因此她虽然觉得应当轻松，却总无法轻松下来。冬日的下午，夜的阴影已逐渐降落，却仍有疹人的死囚车在街上隆隆走过。她的心不知不觉地随之而去，在被判死刑的人堆里寻觅着他，于是她把他现实的身子搂得更紧，颤抖得也更厉害了。
为了让她快活，她的父亲对她这种女性的弱点表现了一种带优越感的同情，那表现十分有趣。现在再也没有阁楼、皮鞋活、北塔一Ｏ五了！他完成了他为自己确定的任务，实践了诺言，救出了查尔斯。让他们都来依靠他吧！
他们过着极其俭朴的生活，不但是因为那种生活方式最安全、最不至于被人看不惯，而且也因为他们并不富裕。查尔斯坐牢的整个过程中都得付看守费，用高价买低劣的食物，还要支援更穷的难友。由于上述原因，也由于不愿家里有个间谍，他们没有雇佣人。在大门口充当门房的一男一女两个公民有时给他们帮帮忙。杰瑞成了他们家的日常听差，每天晚上都在那儿睡觉——罗瑞先生已把他全部拨给他们使用了。
统一不可分割的自由平等博爱或死亡的共和国有一条规定：每家门上或门柱上都需用足够大的字母清楚书写该户每个居民的姓名，书写高度要便于看见。因此克朗彻先生的名字也就在楼下的门柱上放着光彩。那天下午暮色渐浓时有着那个名字的人出现了。他刚监督着由曼内特医生请来的一个油漆工在名单上加上了“查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内”的字祥。
在笼罩着那个时代的普遍的恐怖和猜疑的阴影之下，日常的无害的生活方式改变了。跟许多家庭一样，医生小家庭的日用消费品是在晚上到各个小商店少量购买的。人们都不希望惹人注意，尽量避免造成闲言闲语，或使人眼红。
好几个月来普洛丝小姐和克朗彻先生都执行着采购任务。前者带着钱，后者提着篮子，每天下午大体在路灯点亮时出发去购买家庭必需品。跟一个法国家庭相处了多年的普洛丝小姐若是个有心人，原是可以把他们的话学得跟自己的话一样好的，可是她并无这种打算。因此，她说那种“瞎扯话”（她喜欢这样叫法国话）的水平也就跟克朗彻先生差不多了。于是，她买东西的办法是：把一个名词囫囵地扔到店老板头上，不作解释，若是没说对，她就东看看西看看，把东西找到，抓在乎里不放，直到生意做成。不论那东西是什么价，她伸出的指头总比商人少一个，认为那就是公道的价，总能得到点便宜。
“现在，克朗彻先生，”普洛丝小姐欢喜得眼晴都亮了，“你要是准备好了，我也准备好了。”
杰瑞嘶声嘶气地表示愿为普洛丝小姐效劳。他身上的铁锈很久以前就掉光了，一头铁蒺藜却依然如故。
“要买的东西各种各样，”普洛丝小姐说，“时间很宝贵。还要买酒。不管到哪儿买酒，都看到这些红脑袋在欢欢喜喜地祝酒呢！”
“他们是在为你的健康祝酒，还是为老坏蛋的健康祝酒，我看你也说不清楚。”杰瑞回答。
“老坏蛋是谁？”普洛丝小姐说。
克朗彻先生觉得有点扫兴，解释说他指的是“老撒旦”。
“哈！”普洛丝小姐说，“他们的意思不用翻译我也懂，他们只有一句话，整人、害人、半夜杀人。”
“小声点儿，亲爱的，求你，求你，小心点儿！”露西叫道。
“对对对，我小心，”普洛丝小姐说，“可是在咱们之间我可以说，我真希望在街上再也不会到处都碰见洋葱味和烟草味的拥抱，抱得我都快要断气了。小鸟儿，你可千万别离开壁炉，等我回来！照顾好你刚救回来的亲爱的丈夫吧！你那脑袋就像现在一样靠在他肩膀上别动，直到你又见到我的时候！在我走之前，我能问个问题么，曼内特医生？”
“我看你可以自由发问，”医生笑吟吟地说。
“天啦，别谈什么自由了，我们的自由已经够多的了，”普洛丝小姐说。
“小声点，亲爱的！又胡说了不是？”露西抗议道。
“好了，我的宝贝”普洛丝小姐使劲地点着头说，“关键在于我是最仁慈的陛下乔治三世的臣民，”她说起那名字便屈膝行礼，“作为臣民，我的格言是：粉碎彼辈之阴谋，挫败彼辈上诡计，王乃我希望之所在，上帝佑我王无虞！”
克朗彻先生一时忠诚之情激荡，也像在教堂里一样跟着普洛丝小姐沙声沙气地念了起来。
“你的英国人味儿还挺足的，我很高兴，虽然我也希望你那喉咙不那么伤风，”普洛丝小姐称赞他，“可是问题在于，曼内特医生，我们还有机会从这个地方逃出去吗？”——这位好大姐对大家都担心的事一向装作满不在乎的样子，可现在却采取这种偶然的形式提了起来。
“我怕是还没有。那对查尔斯会有危险的。”
“唉——啊一一嗯！”普洛丝小姐一眼瞥见她心爱的人儿在火光中的金发，便装出欢喜的样子压下了叹息。“那我们只好耐心等待了。就这样吧。正如我弟弟所罗门常说的，我们必须高昂着头，从低处着手。走吧，克朗彻先生！——你可别动，小鸟儿！”
两人走了出去，把露西、她的丈夫、她的父亲和小家伙留在明亮的炉火边。罗瑞先生马上就要从银行大厦回来了，普洛丝小姐刚才已点起了灯，却把它放到了一个角落里，好让大家享受熊熊的炉火，不受灯光打扰。小露西双手搂住姥爷的胳膊坐在他身边，姥爷开始用比耳语略高的声音给她讲故事。讲的是一个神通广大的神仙打破监牢的墙壁救出一个囚犯的故事，那囚犯曾经帮助过神仙。一切的调子都低低的、静静的，露西感到比任何时候都轻松放心。
“那是什么？”她突然叫了起来。
“亲爱的！”她父亲停止了故事，把手放在她的手上，“别慌。你心里太乱！一点点小事——什么事都没有——也都叫你吃惊！你呀，还算是你爸爸的女儿么？”
“我觉得，父亲，”露西脸色苍白，口气犹豫地解释说，“我听见楼梯上有陌生的脚步声。”
“亲爱的，楼梯静悄悄的，跟死亡一样。”
他刚说到“死亡”，门上砰地一响。
“啊，爸爸，爸爸，这是什么意思！把查尔斯藏起来，救救他！”
“我的孩子，”医生站起身子，把手放在她肩上。“我已经把他救出来了。你这种表现多么软弱，宝贝！我去开门。”
他捧起灯，穿过中间两间屋，开了门。地板上有粗暴的脚步声，四个头戴红便帽、手执马刀和手枪的粗鲁汉子走进屋来。
“公民埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内，”第一个说。
“谁找他？”达尔内回答。
“我找他。我们找他。我认得你，埃佛瑞蒙德，今天在法庭上见过你。共和国再一次逮捕你。”
四个人把他包围了，他站在那儿，妻子和女儿紧靠着他。
“凭什么我再一次被捕？告评我。”
“你只须立即回到裁判所附属监狱就行。明天会审问你的。”
医生被这群不速之客的降临弄得目瞪口呆，他手上棒着灯，仿佛变成了捧灯的雕像。他听完这话才行动起来，放下灯，走到说话人面前，不算不温和地揪住了他那羊毛衬衫宽松的前襟说：
“你说你认识他，可你认识我么？”
“我认识你，医生公民。”
“我们都认识你，医生公民，”另外三个人说。
他满怀不安一个一个地望了他们好一会儿，才降低嗓门说：
“那么，你们可不可以回答我他刚才提出的问题？那是怎么回事？”
“医生公民，”第一个人不情愿地说，“圣安托万区的人认为他已受到告发。这个公民就是从圣安托万区来的。”他说时指着第二个进来的人。
他所指的人点了点头，补充道：
“圣安托万告发了他。”
“告发他什么？”医生问。
“医生公民，”第一个人还带着刚才那不情愿的情绪说，“别再问了。既然共和国要求你作出牺牲，作为一个好爱国者你无疑是乐意奉献的。共和国重于一切。人民高于一切。埃佛瑞蒙德，我们还忙着呢。”
“还有一个问题，”医生请求道，“你可否告诉我是谁告发他的？”
“这可是违反规定的，”第一个人说，“不过你可以问这位圣安托万区的人。”
医生转过头望着那人，那人不安地站着，抹了抹胡子，终于说道：
“不错！是违反规定的。不过告发他的——严重告发他的——是公民德伐日夫妇。还有一个人。”
“还有一个什么人？”
“你还要问吗，医生公民？”
“要阿。”
“那么，”圣安托万区的人露出一种奇怪的表情说，“你明天就会知道的，现在我是个哑巴！”
Book 3 Chapter 8 A Hand at Cards
HAPPILY unconscious of the new calamity at home, Miss Pross threaded her way along the narrow streets and crossed the river by the bridge of the Pont-Neuf reckoning in her mind the number of indispensable purchases she had to make. Mr. Cruncher, with the basket, walked at her side. They both looked to the right and to the left into most of the shops they passed, had a wary eye for all gregarious assemblages of people, and turned out of their road to avoid any very excited group of talkers. It was a raw evening, and the misty river, blurred to the eye with blazing lights and to the ear with harsh noises, showed where the barges were stationed in which the smiths worked, making guns for the Army of the Republic. Woe to the man who played tricks with that Army, or got undeserved promotion in it! Better for him that his beard had never grown, for the National Razor shaved him close.
Having purchased a few small articles of grocery, and a measure of oil for the lamp, Miss Pross bethought herself of the winethey wanted. After peeping into several wine-shops, she stopped at the sign of The Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, not far from the National Palace, once (and twice) the Tuileries, where the aspect of things rather took her fancy. It had a quieter look than any other place of the same description they had passed, and, though red with patriotic caps, was not so red as the rest. Sounding Mr. Cruncher, and finding him of her opinion, Miss Pross resorted to The Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, attended by her cavalier.
Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth, playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal aloud, and of the others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or laid aside to be resumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high- shouldered shaggy black spencer looked, in that attitude, like slumbering bears or dogs; the two outlandish customers approached the counter, and showed what they wanted.
As their wine was measuring out, a man parted from another man in a comer, and rose to depart. In going, he had to face Miss Pross. No sooner did he face her, than Miss Pross uttered a scream, and clapped her hands.
In a moment, the whole company were on their feet. That somebody was assassinated by somebody vindicating a difference of opinion was the likeliest occurrence. Everybody looked to see somebody fall, but only saw a man and a woman standing staring at each other; the man with all the outward aspect of a Frenchman and a thorough Republicans the woman, evidently English.
What was said in this disappointing anti-climax, by the disciples of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was something very voluble and loud, would have been as so much Hebrew or Chaldean to Miss Pross and her protector, though they had been all ears. But, they had no ears for anything in their surprise. For, it must be recorded, that not only was Miss Pross lost in amazement and agitation, but, Mr. Cruncher--though it seemed on his own separate and individual account--was in a state of the greatest wonder.
`What is the matter?' said the man who had caused Miss Pross to scream; speaking in a vexed, abrupt voice (though in a low tone), and in English.
`Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!' cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands again. `Alter not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so long a time, do I find you here!'
Don't call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death of me?' asked the man, in a furtive, frightened way.
`Brother, brother!' cried Miss Pross, bursting into tears. `Have I ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruel question?'
Then hold your meddlesome tongue,' said Solomon, `and come out, if you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine, and come out. Who's this man?'
Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected had at her by no means affectionate brother, said through her tears, `Mr. Cruncher.'
`Let him come out too,' said Solomon. `Does he think me a ghost?'
Apparently, Mr. Cruncher did, to judge from his looks. He said not a word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the depths of her reticule through her tears with great difficulty, paid for her wine. As she did so, Solomon turned to the followers of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, and offered a few words of explanation in the French language, which caused them all to relapse into their former places and pursuits.
`Now,' said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, `what do you want?'
`How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned my love away from!' cried Miss Pross, `to give me such a greeting, and show me no affection.'
`There. Con-found it! There,' said Solomon, making a dab at Miss Pross's lips with his own. `Now are you content?'
Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.
`If you expect me to be surprised,' said her brother Solomon, `I am not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most people who are here. If you really don't want to endanger my existence--which I half believe you do--go your ways as soon as possible, and let me go mine. I am busy. I am an official.'
`My English brother Solomon,' mourned Miss Pross, casting up her tear-fraught eyes, `that had the makings in him of one of the best and greatest of men in his native country, an official among foreigners, and such foreigners! I would almost sooner have seen the dear boy lying in his---'
`I said so!' cried her brother, interrupting. `I knew it. You want to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own sister. Just as I am getting on!'
`The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!' cried Miss Pross. `Far rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever loved you truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionate word to me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estranged between us, and I will detain you no longer.'
Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them had come of any culpability of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had not known it for a fact, years ago, in the quiet corner in Soho, that this precious brother had spent her money and left her!
He was saying the affectionate word, however, with a far more grudging condescension and patronage than lie could have shown if their relative merits and positions had been reversed (which is invariably the case, all the world over), when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on the shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedly interposed with the following singular question: 
`I say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is John Solomon, or Solomon John?'
The official turned towards him with sudden distrust. He had not previously uttered a word.
`Come!' said Mr. Cruncher. `Speak out, you know.' (Which, by the way, was more than he could do himself.) `John Solomon, or Solomon John? She calls you Solomon, and she must know, being your sister. And I know you're John, you know. Which of the two goes first? And regarding that name of Pross, likewise. That warn't your name over the water.
`What do you mean?'
`Well, I don't know all I mean,, for I can't call to mind Mat your name was, over the water.
`No. But I'll swear it was a name of two syllables.' 
`Indeed?'
`Yes. T'other one's was one syllable. I know you. You wa, a spy-witness at the Bailey. What, in the name of the Father of Lies, own father to yourself was you called at that time?'
`Barsad,' said another voice, striking in.
`That's the name for a thousand pound!' cried Jerry.
The speaker who struck in, was Sydney Carton. He had his hands behind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and he stood at Mr. Cruncher's elbow as negligently as he might have stood at the Old Bailey itself.
`Don't be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross. I arrived at Mr. Lorry's, to his surprise, yesterday evening; we agreed that I would not present myself elsewhere until all was well, or unless I could be useful; I present myself here, to beg a little talk with your brother. I wish you had a better employed brother than Mr. Barsad. I wish for your sake Mr. Barsad was not a Sheep of the Prisons.
Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers. The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how he dared---
`I'll tell you,' said Sydney. `I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad, coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was contemplating the walls, an hour or more ago. You have a face to be remembered, and I remember faces well. Made curious by seeing you in that connection, and having a reason, to which you are no stranger, for associating you with the misfortunes of a friend now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction. I walked into the wine-shop here, close after you, and sat near you. I had no difficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed to shape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad.'
`What purpose?' the spy asked.
`It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some  minutes of your company--at the office of Tellson's Bank, for instance?'
`Under a threat?'
`Oh! Did I say that?'
`Then, why should I go there?'
`Really, Mr. Barsad, I can't say, if you can't.'
`Do you mean that you won't say, sir?' the spy irresolutely asked.
`You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won't.'
Carton's negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully in aid of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had in his secret mind, and with such a man as he had to do with. His practised eye saw it, and made the most of it.
`Now, I told you so,' said the spy, casting a reproachful look at his sister; `if any trouble comes of this, it's your doing.'
`Come, come, Mr. Barsad!' exclaimed Sydney. `Don't be ungrateful. But for my great respect for your sister, I might not have led up so pleasantly to a little proposal that I wish to make for our mutual satisfaction. Do you go with me to the Bank?'
`I'll hear what you have got to say. Yes, I`ll go with you.' 
`I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the corner of her own street. Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not a good city, at this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and as your escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. Lorry's with us. Are we ready? Come then!'
Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life remembered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney's arm and looked up in his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and raised the man. She was too much occupied then with fears for the brother who so little deserved her affection, and with Sydney's friendly reassurances, adequately to heed what she observed.
They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to Mr. Lorry's, which was within a few minutes' walk. John Barsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side.
Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before a cheery little log or two of fire--perhaps looking into their blaze for the picture of that younger elderly gentleman from Tellson's, who had looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now a good many years ago. He turned his head as they entered, and showed the surprise with which he saw a stranger.
`Miss Pross's brother, sir,' said Sydney. `Mr. Barsad.'
`Barsad?' repeated the old gentleman, `Barsad? I have an association with the name-and with the face.'
`I told you you had a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad,' observed Carton, coolly `Pray sit down.'
As he took a chair himself he supplied the link that Mr. Lorry wanted, by saying to him with a frown, `Witness at that trial.' Mr. Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his new visitor with an undisguised look of abhorrence.
`Mr. Barsad has been recognised by Miss Pross as the affectionate brother you have heard of' said Sydney, `and has acknowledged the relationship. I pass to worse news. Darnay has been arrested again.'
Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed, `What do you tell me I left him safe and free within these two hours, and am about to return to him!'
`Arrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad?' 
`Just now, if at all.'
`Mr. Barsad is the best authority possible, sir,' said Sydney, `and I have it from Mr. Barsad's communication to a friend and brother Sheep over a bottle of wine, that the arrest has taken place. He left the messengers at the gate, and saw them admitted by the porter. There is no earthly doubt that he is retaken.'
Mr. Lorry's business eye read in the speaker's face that it was loss of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, but sensible that something might depend on his presence of mind, he commanded himself and was silently attentive.
`Now, I trust,' said Sydney to him, `that the name and influence of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good stead to-morrow you said he would be before the Tribunal again to-morrow, Mr. Barsad?---'
`Yes; I believe so.'
`--In as good stead to-morrow as to-day. But it may not be so. I own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor Manette's not having had the power to prevent this arrest.
`He may not have known of it beforehand,' said Mr. Lorry. `But that very circumstance would be alarming, when we remember how identified he is with his son-in-law.'
`That's true,' Mr. Lorry acknowledged, with his troubled hand at his chin, and his troubled eyes on Carton.
`In short,' said Sydney, `this is a desperate time, when desperate games are played for desperate stakes. Let the Doctor play the winning game; I will play the losing one. No man's life here is worth purchase. Any one carried home by the people to-day, may be condemned to-morrow. Now, the stake I have resolved to play for, in case of the worst, is a friend in the Conciergerie. And the friend I purpose to myself to win, is Mr. Barsad.'
`You need have good cards, sir,' said the spy.
`I'll run them over. I'll see what I hold.--Mr. Lorry, you know what a brute I am; I wish you'd give me a little brandy.'
It was put before him, and he drank off a glassful--rank off another glassful--pushed the bottle thoughtfully away.
`Mr. Barsad,' he went one `in the tone of one who really was looking over a hand at cards: `Sheep of the prisons, emissary of Republican committees, now turnkey, now prisoner, always spy and secret informer, so much the more valuable here for being English that an Englishman is less open to suspicion of subornation in those characters than a Frenchman, represents himself to his employers under a false name. That's a very good card. Mr. Barsad, now in the employ of the republican French government, was former!y in the employ of the aristocratic English government, the enemy of France and freedom. That's an excellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of suspicion, that Mr. Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocratic English government, is the spy of Pitt, the treacherous foe of the Republic crouching in its bosom, the English traitor and agent of all mischief so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That's a card not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?' 
`Not to `understand your play,' returned the spy, somewhat uneasily.
`I play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest Section Committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and see what you have. Don't hurry.'
He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of brandy, and drank it off. He saw that the spy was fearful of his drinking himself into a fit state for the immediate denunciation of him. Seeing it, he poured out and drank another glassful.
Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time.' It was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losing cards in it that Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of his honourable employment in England, through too much unsuccessful hard swearing there--not because he was not wanted there: our English reasons for vaunting our superiority to secrecy and spies are of very modern date--he knew that he had crossed the Channel, and accepted service in France: first, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among his own countrymen there: gradually, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among the natives. He knew that under the overthrown government he had been a spy upon Saint Antoine and Defarge's wine-shop; had received from the watchful police such heads of information concerning Doctor Manette's imprisonment, release, and history, as should serve him for an introduction to familiar conversation with the Defarges; and tried them on Madame Defarge, and had broken down with them signally. He always remembered with fear and trembling, that that terrible woman had knitted when he talked with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingers moved. He had since seen her, in the Section of Saint Antoine, over and over a gain produce her knitted registers, and denounce people whose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up. He knew, as every one employed as he was did, that he was never safe; that flight was impossible; that he was tied fast under the shadow of the axe; and that in spite of his utmost tergiversation and treachery in furtherance of the reigning terror, a word mightbring it down upon him. Once denounced, and on such grave grounds as had just now been suggested to his mind, he foresaw that the dreadful woman of whose unrelenting character he had seen many proofs, would produce against him that fatal register,and would quash his last chance of life. Besides that all secret men are men soon terrified, here were surely cards enough of one black suit, to justify the holder in growing rather livid as he turned them over.
`You scarcely seem to like your hand,' said Sydney, with the greatest composure. `Do you play?'
`I think, sir,' said the spy, in the meanest manner, as he turned to Mr. Lorry, `I may appeal to a gentleman of your years and benevolence, to put it to this other gentleman, so much your junior, whether he can under any circumstances reconcile it to his station to play that Ace of which he has spoken. I admit that I am a spy, and that it is considered a discreditable station--though it must be filled by somebody; but this gentleman is no spy, and why should he so demean himself as to make himself one?'
`I play my Ace, Mr. Barsad,' said Carton, taking the answer on himself, and looking at his watch, `without any scruple in a very few minutes.'
`I should have hoped, gentlemen both,' said the spy, always striving to hook Mr. Lorry into the discussion, `that your respect for my sister---'
`I could not better testify my respect for your sister than by finally relieving her of her brother,' said Sydney Carton.
`You think not, sir?'
`I have thoroughly made up my mind about it.'
The smooth manner of the spy, curiously in dissonance with his ostentatiously rough dress, and probably with his usual demeanour, received such a check from the inscrutability of Carton,--who was a mystery to wiser and honester men than he,--that it faltered here and failed him. While he was at a loss, Carton said, resuming his former air of contemplating cards:
`And indeed, now I think again, I have a strong impression that I have another good card here, not yet enumerated. That friend and fellow-Sheep, who spoke of himself as pasturing in the country prisons; who was he?'
`French. You don't know him,' said the spy quickly.
`French, eh!' repeated Carton, musing, and not appearing to notice him at all, though he echoed his word. `Well; he may be.'
`Is, I assure you,' said the spy; `though it's not important.' `Though it's not important,' repeated Carton in the same mechanical way--'though it's not important No, it's not important. No. Yet I know the face.'
`I think not. I am sure not. It can't be,' said the spy.
`It--can't--be,' muttered Sydney Carton, retrospectively, and filling his glass (which fortunately was a small one) again. `Can't--be. Spoke good French. Yet like a foreigner, I thought?'
`Provincial,' said the spy.
`No. Foreign!' cried Carton, striking his open hand on the table, as a light broke clearly on his mind. `Cly! Disguised, but the same man. We had that man before us at the Old Bailey.'
`Now, there you are hasty, sir,' said Barsad, with a smile that gave his aquiline nose an extra inclination to one side; `there you really give me an advantage over you. Cly (who I will unreservedly admit, at this distance of time, was a partner of mine) has been dead several years. I attended him in his last illness. He was buried in London, at the church of Saint Pancras-in-the-Fields. His unpopularity with the blackguard multitude at the moment prevented my following his remains, but I helped to lay him in his coffin.'
Here, Mr. Lorry became aware, from where he sat, of a most remarkable goblin shadow on the wall. Tracing it to its source, he discovered it to be caused by a sudden extraordinary rising and stiffening of all the risen and stiff hair on Mr. Cruncher's head.
`Let us be reasonable,' said the spy, `and let us be fair. To show you how mistaken you are, and what an unfounded assumption yours is, I will lay before you a certificate of Cly's burial, which I happen to have carried in my pocket-book,' with a hurried hand he produced and opened it, `ever since. There it is. Oh, look at it, look at it! You may take it in your hand; it's no forgery.'
Here, Mr. Lorry perceived the reflection on the wall to elongate, and Mr. Cruncher rose and stepped forward. His hair could not have been more violently on end, if it had been that moment dressed by the Cow with the crumpled horn in the house that Jack built.
Unseen by the spy, Mr. Cruncher stood at his side, and touched him on the shoulder like a ghostly bailiff.
`That there Roger Cly, master,' said Mr. Cruncher, with a taciturn and iron-bound visage. `So you but him in his coffin?' 
`I did.'
`Who took him out of it?'
Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, `What do you mean?'
`I mean,' said Mr. Cruncher, `that he warn't never in it. No! Not he! I'll have my head took off, if he was ever in it.'
The spy looked round at the two gentlemen; they both looked in unspeakable astonishment at Jerry.
`I tell you,' said Jerry, `that you buried paving-stones and earth in that there coffin. Don't go and tell me that you buried Cly. It was a take in. Me and two more knows it.'
`How do you know it?'
`What's that to you? Ecod!' growled Mr. Cruncher, `it's you I have got a old grudge again, is it, with your shameful impositions upon tradesmen! I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.'
Sydney Carton, who, with Mr. Lorry, had been lost in amazement at this turn of the business, here requested Mr. Cruncher to moderate and explain himself.
`At another time, sir,' he returned, evasively, `the present time is ill-conwenient for explainin'. What I stand to, is, that he knows well wot that there Cly was never in that there coffin. Let him say lie was, in so much as a word of one syllable, and I'll eithercatch hold of his throat and choke him for half a guinea;' Mr. Cruncher dwelt upon this as quite a liberal offer; `or I'll out and announce him.'
`Humph! I see one thing,' said Carton. `I hold another card, Mr. Barsad. Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling the air, for you to outlive denunciation, when you are in communication with another aristocratic spy of the same antecedents as yourself who, moreover, has the mystery about him of having feigned death and come to life again! A plot in the prisons, of the foreigner against the Republic. A strong card--a certain Guillotine card! Do you play?'
`No!' returned the spy. `I throw up. I confess that we were so unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from England at the risk of being ducked to death, and that Cly was so ferreted up and down, that he never would have got away at all but [or that sham. Though how this man knows it was a sham, is a wonder of wonders to me.'
`Never you trouble your head about this man,' retorted the contentious Mr. Cruncher; `you'll have trouble enough with giving your attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!'--Mr. Cruncher could not be restrained from making rather an ostentatious parade of his liberality--`I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.'
The Sheep of the prisons turned from him to Sydney Carton, and said, with more decision, `It has come to a point. I go on duty soon, and can't overstay my time. You told me you had a proposal; what is it? Now, it is of no use asking too much of me. Ask me to do anything in my office, putting my head in great extra danger, and I had better trust my life to the chances of a refusal than the chances of consent. In short, I should make that choice. You talk of desperation. We are all desperate here. Remember! I may denounce you if I think proper, and I can swear my way through stone walls, and so can others. Now, what do you want with me?'
`Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?'
`I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape possible,' said the spy, firmly.
`Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?'
`I am sometimes.'
`You can be when you choose.'
`I can pass in and out when I choose.'
`Sydney Carton filled another glass with brandy, poured it slowly out upon the hearth, and watched it as it dropped. It being all spent, he said, rising:
`So far, we have spoken before these two, because it was as well that the merits of the cards should not rest solely between you and me. Come into the dark room here, and let us have one final word alone.' 
幸好普洛丝小姐并不知道家里的祸事。她穿过几条小街走过了九号桥，心里计算着要想买的东西。克朗彻先生拎着篮子走在她身边。他们走进路边的大部分店铺，东看看西看看，对于成群结伙的人提高警惕，对谈得激动的人群敬而远之。那是个阴寒的夜晚，薄雾笼罩的河面灯光白炽耀眼，噪音震耳欲聋，表明了铁匠们为共和国部队制造枪炮的平底船就在那儿。跟那支部队玩花头或是在其中得到非分提拔的人要倒霉了！但愿他的胡子还没有长出来，因为“国民剃刀”总会给他剃个精光的。
普洛丝小姐买了几样东西，买了点灯油，又想起他们还需要买点酒。他们在几家酒店看了看，来到了“共和古英豪布鲁塔斯”的招牌下。那地方离国民宫（亦即两度的杜伊勒利宫）不远，那里的景象引起了她的兴趣。它看去要比她们已去过的类似地方安静一些，虽然爱国者的便帽也红成一片，却不如别的地方红得厉害。她探听了一下克朗彻先生的口气，觉得跟自己意见相同，便在这位“骑士”护送下往“共和古英豪布鲁塔斯”走去。
这两位带点外国味的顾客走进了朦胧的灯光里，经过了口里衔着烟斗、手上玩着软沓沓的纸牌或泛黄的多米诺骨牌的人，走过了一个光着上身、满身烟尘、大声读着报的人和他的听众，走过了人们挂在世卜或放在手边备用的武器，也走过了两三个躬着身子睡觉的人一一他们穿着流行的高肩粗布黑短衫，像是几头酣睡的熊或狗。他俩对这些都不加理睬，径直走到了柜台边，交代了要买的东西。
他们正打着酒，角落里有—个人跟另—个人告了别，站起身来要离开。这人必须跟普洛丝打个照面才能出去。普洛丝小姐一见到他，却鼓起掌来，而且发出尖叫。
在场的人立即全部站起身子。最大的可能是发生了争吵，有人被杀了，大家都以为会看见什么人倒下，却只见到一个男人和一个女人彼此望着。男的具有法国人和地道的共和派的一切外形特征，女的显然是个英国人。
“共和古英豪布鲁塔斯”的信徒们对这个虎头蛇尾的事件发表了什么意见，普洛丝小姐和她的保护者即使竖起耳朵也只能听见一大片喧嚷，跟听见希伯莱文或查尔底亚神谶差不多。可是两人正在惊讶，对那喧哗并未注意。必须指出，不但是普洛丝小姐又吃惊又激动，不知所措，就连克朗彻也是大出意料之外——不过他的惊诧似乎别有道理。
“怎么回事？”那位使普洛丝小姐尖叫的人说话简短，口气很烦恼，声音也很低，说的是英语。
“啊，所罗门，亲爱的所罗门！”普洛丝小姐拍着掌叫道。“多年不见，也没有听到过你的消息，却在这儿碰见了！”
“别叫我所罗门。你想害死我么？”那入悄悄地、紧张地说。
“弟弟！弟弟！”普洛丝小姐放声痛哭。“我难道就这么对不起你，你竟问起我这样残忍的问题来？”
“那就收起你那爱管闲事的舌头吧，”所罗门说，“你要想跟我说话就出来，付了酒钱出来吧。这人是谁？”
普洛丝小姐摇着她那满是爱意却又沮丧的头，流着眼泪对于动于衷的弟弟介绍道，“克朗彻先生。”
“让他也出来吧，”所罗门说。“他难道认为我是个幽灵么？”
从克朗彻先生的样子后来，他倒真像是见到了幽灵。不过，他一句话也没说。普洛丝小姐流着泪好不容易才从午提包里摸索出了酒钱付了。这时所罗门转向并和古英豪市鲁塔斯的跟随者们，用法语解释了几句，大家便各回座位去干自已的事去了。
“现在，”所罗门在黑暗的街角站住说，“你要做什么？”
“我还是那么爱他，可我的弟弟对我却冷淡得那么可怕！”普洛丝小姐叫道，“跟我见了面就像这样没有一点热情表现么？”
“行了，行了，倒霉！”他用自己的嘴唇碰了碰普洛丝的嘴唇。“现在你该满意了吧？”
普洛丝小姐一声不响，只是摇头哭泣。
“你若是以为我会吃惊的话，”她的弟弟所罗门说，“其实我并不吃惊，我早知道你在这儿；这儿的人大多数我都知道。若是你真的不想害我一一这我有一半相信一—就趁早去干自己的事，也让我干我的事去。我忙着呢，我是公事人，”
“我的英国弟弟所罗门，”普洛丝小姐抬起泪汪汪的眼睛惋惜地说，“是全国天分最好最了不起的人，却跑到外国来当公事人，又遇上这样的外国佬！我倒宁可看到这可爱的孩子躺在他的——”
“我早说过了，”她的弟弟插嘴叫道，“我早就知道你想害死我。我正是一帆风顺，我的嫡亲姐姐却要想害得人家来怀疑我。”
“慈悲的老天爷不允许的！”普洛丝小姐叫道。“我总是巴心巴肝地爱你，永远爱你，亲爱的所罗门。我可以再也不见你，只要你跟我说一句真心实意的亲热话，只要你说我们俩彼此没有生气，也没有隔阂，我就再也不来耽误你。”
善良的普洛丝小姐呀！姐弟俩疏远的责任竟仿佛落到了她的身上！好像罗瑞先生多年前在索霍时并不知道她这个宝贝弟弟是花了她的钱才跑掉的似的！
不过，他还是说了句亲热的话，态度勉强，居高临下，若是两人的长处和地位颠倒过来，她可是绝不至于如此的（这在全世界都一样）。这时克朗彻先生却拍了拍他的肩膀，沙声沙气发出了一个出人意外的怪问题：
“我说！能向你请教一个问题么？你究竟叫约翰.所罗门，还是叫所罗门.约翰？”
那公事人突然怀疑地转过身来——这人至今没说过话。
“说呀！”克朗彻先生说。“说呀，你心里是有数的。”（附带说一句，他心里其实无数）“约翰.所罗门，还是所罗门.约翰？她是你姐姐，当然知道你的姓名，她叫你所罗门。可我又知道你叫约翰，这你明白。这两个哪一个在前？还有普洛丝这个姓，也请你解释解释。在海那边你可不姓这个！”
“你这是什么意思？”
“唔，我也弄不清楚我的意思，因为我想不起你在海那边的姓。”
“想不起？”
“想不起。不过我可以发誓，它有两个音节。”
“真的？”
“真的。另外一个人的姓只有一个音节。我认得你。你在老贝勒是个在法庭作证的密探。以谎言之父，也就是你爸爸的名义回答我，你那时叫什么名字？”
“巴萨，”另一个声音插了进来。
“就是这个名字，我敢以一千镑打赌！”杰瑞叫道。
插嘴的人是西德尼.卡尔顿。他两手背在骑马大地的下摆里，站在克朗彻先生身边，一副满不在乎的神气，跟在老贝勒时一样。
“不要吃惊，亲爱的普洛丝小姐。我昨天晚上就到了罗瑞先生住处，他倒是吃了一惊；我们双方同意在一切正常之前，或是在用得着我之前，我哪儿都不露面。我到这儿来是想求你的弟弟赏光谈一谈的。我希望你有一个职业比巴萨先生更好的弟弟。为了你的缘故，我真希望巴萨先生不是监狱里的绵羊。”
“绵羊”是那时牢房里的黑话，意思是由典狱长控制的密探。那脸色苍白的密探脸色更苍白了，他问他怎么竟然敢一—
“我告诉你，”西德尼说，“一个小时或更早以前我在观察附属监狱的墙壁时发现了你。你从那里出来。你有一张很好记的面孔，而我又善于记住面孔。你跟那监狱有关系，这叫我很好奇。我有理由把你跟一个现在很不幸的朋友的灾难联系起来（其中的道理你不会不知道），我便跟着你来了。我紧跟你进了酒店，坐到了你身旁。我从你肆无忌惮的谈话和你的崇拜者们公开散播的谣言毫不费力就推断出了你职业的性质。这样，我偶然涉足的一件事便似乎逐渐变成了我的一个目标，巴萨先生。”
“什么目标？”密探回答。
“在街上解释怕会惹起麻烦，甚至危险。你能否赏光让我占用你几分钟时间密谈几句？比如在台尔森银行办公室？”
“是要挟我去么？”
“啊，我说过那话吗？”
“那我为什么要去？”
“倒也是，你若是不能去，我也就不愿意说了。”
“你的意思是不愿意说么，先生？”密探迟疑不决地问。
“你很理解，巴萨先生。你不去我是不会说的。”
对他心里长期秘密思考的问题和要对付的人，卡尔顿那满不在乎的神气极有利于表现他的敏捷与技巧。他那老练的眼光看清了这一点，而且充分地利用了它。
“你看，我早告诉过你不是，”密探抱怨地望了他姐姐一眼，“我要是出了事就是你害的。”
“好了，好了，巴萨先生，”西德尼叫道，“别忘恩负义了。要不是因为我非常尊重你的姐姐，我是用不着采取这种愉快的方式提出这个想让双方满意的小小建议的。你跟我去银行吗？”
“我倒想听听你的想法。好吧，我跟你去。”
“我建议先把你姐姐安全送到她住处的街角。让我搀着你的手，普洛丝小姐。这可不是一座好城市，在这种时候你没有人保护是不能上街的。既然你的保护人认识巴萨，我就打算邀请他也跟我们一起到罗瑞先生家去。想好了没有？走吧！”
普洛丝小姐随后就回忆起，而且到死也还记得，在她用手握住西德尼的胳膊、抬头望着他的脸、请求他不要伤害所罗门时，她感到那胳膊有一种鼓舞的动作，他眼里也有一种激动的表情。这不但对消了他那满不在乎的神气，而且改变了他，使他高大起来。只是那时她注意力分散，一方面要为那不值得她爱的弟弟担心，一方面还要听西德尼友好的保证，所以对自己的感觉并没有认真注意。
他们把她留在街角之后卡尔顿便领路往罗瑞先生住处走去。那地方只有几分钟的路程。约翰.巴萨，或是所罗门.普洛丝，走在他身边。
罗瑞先生刚吃完晚饭，正坐在一两小块木头燃出的快活的火焰旁。他也许是在火光里寻找当年那位年轻得多的台尔森老人吧！那人在多佛的乔治王旅馆里也曾凝视过红色的炭火，可那已是许多年前的事了。一行人走进屋，他回过脸来，看见个陌生人，脸上不禁露出意外。
“普洛丝小姐的弟弟，先生，”西德尼说。“巴萨先生。”
“巴萨？”老人重复道，“巴萨？这名字叫我想起了什么——这脸也叫我想起了什么。”
“我告诉过你，你那脸容易让人记住吧，巴萨先生？”卡尔顿冷冷地说。“请坐下。”
卡尔顿自己坐下时向罗瑞先生皱了皱眉头说，“那次审判的证人。”他为罗瑞先生填补了迷失的环节。罗瑞先生立即想了起来，用并不掩饰的厌恶之情望了望新来的客人。
“普洛丝小姐认出了巴萨先生，他就是你听说过的很爱她的那位弟弟，”西德尼说，“他也认了姐姐。我带来了更坏的消息。达尔内又被逮捕了。”
老人大惊失色，叫道，“你说什么！我离开他还不到两个钟头呢，那时他还好好的。我正打算回他那儿去！”
“可他还是给抓走了。什么时候的事，巴萨先生？”
“若是已被捕的话，就是刚才。”
“巴萨先生的话是最权威的，先生，”西德尼说，“我是从巴萨先生喝酒时告诉他一个绵羊同伙时知道的。他跟提供信息的人才在监狱门口分了手，眼见他们被看门的放进牢去的。达尔内已再次被捕，这已无可怀疑。”
罗瑞先生精通业务的眼睛已从说话人的脸上看出了再谈这个问题只是浪费时间。他感到慌乱，却也明白某些事得靠此时的冷静，便竭力镇定，没有说话，只认真听着。
“现在我相信，”西德尼对他说，“明天曼内特医生的名字和威望还能对达尔内大有帮助——你刚才说过明天他会第二次受审，是么，巴萨？”
“是的，我相信是的。”
“明天医生还可以像今天一样对他大有帮助。可也未必尽然。我向你承认，罗瑞先生，曼内特医生竟然无法制止这次逮捕，这很，叫我震惊。”
“他可能事先并不知道，”罗瑞先生说。
“这一事实就令人吃惊，想想看，他跟他的女婿有多么亲密！”
“确实如此，”罗瑞先生承认了，一只手着急地摸着下巴，两眼着急地望着卡尔顿。
“一言以蔽之，”西德尼说，“这是一个铤而走险的时代，这个时代为粉而走险的赌博下着铤而走险的赌注。请医生去赌赢家，我来赌输家吧！在这儿谁的生命都不值得赎买。今天被抬回家的人，明天就可能被处死刑。现在，我决定下的赌注就是在形势最不利的时候把一个押在附属监狱里的朋友赢回来，而我想要击败的朋友正是巴萨先生。”
“那你可得有一手好牌呢，先生，”密探说。
“我要瞧一瞧手上有什么牌——罗瑞先生，你知道我是个粗线条的汉子，我希望你能给我一点白兰地。”
酒放到了他面前，他喝下了一杯，又喝下了一杯，这才沉思着推开酒瓶。
“巴萨先生，”他以确实在看着手上牌的人的口气说下去，“监狱里的绵羊，共和国委员会的特派员，有时管牢，有时坐牢，永远是密探和告密者。因为是英国人，所以更有价值得多。因为英国人比法国人干这种差使更少引人怀疑。不过这位英国人在老板面前用了一个假名。这可是一张有分量的牌。此时受雇于法兰西共和政府的巴萨先生当年却受颜于法兰附和自由的敌人—一英国的贵族政府。这张牌很精采，在这个引人怀疑的天地里可以作出一个明白得像白天的推论：巴萨先生仍然拿着英国政府的津贴，做着匹特的密探，正是大家谈得很多、却难得抓到的那种潜伏在共和国内部的无恶不作的英国奸细。这可是一张所向无敌的牌，你听懂了我的牌没有，巴萨先生？”
“我不明白你的打法，”密探回答，有些不安了。
“我打出一张Ａ：向最近的地区委员会告发。看牌，巴萨先生，看你有什么牌。别着急。”
他拉过酒瓶，再斟上一杯，一口灌下去。他看出那密探很怕他真喝醉了马上去揭发。看明白了这一点，他又倒了一杯酒灌下去。
“仔细看看你的牌，巴萨先生。慢慢打。”
密探那手牌比卡尔顿猜到的还要坏。他看到了西德尼;卡尔顿根本不知道的输牌。他在英国丢掉了那份体面的差使——是因为多次咬着牙作伪证失败，而不是因为那儿不需要伪证。我们英国人夸耀自己鄙视干涉隐私和密探行当的种种根据，其实是新近才出现的。巴萨心里明白，他跨过海峡到法国来当差，起初是在自己的侨胞之间做套诱和窃听的工作，后来逐渐干到法国人当中去了。他在被推翻的政府下曾做过圣安托万区和德伐日酒店的密探，曾经从密切注视着的警察当局得到有关曼内特医生的幽囚、释放和历史的资料，以便跟德伐日夫妇搭讪、从而作亲近的谈话，结果却碰了一个大钉子，败下阵来。他一想起那可怕的女人心里便发毛，那女人跟他谈话时老打毛线，老是一边动手指，一边不怀好意地望着他。以后他在圣安托万区曾见过她一次又一次地提出她所织下的记录揭露别人，而那些人的生命则一律被断头台吞掉。他跟当初干过同样差使的所有同行都知道，他一直就不安全；他已被紧紧地拴在了斧头的阴影之下，想逃也是逃不掉了。他也知道尽管他竭尽反复无常、狡猾欺诈之能事，为统治时局的恐怖活动火上加油，但要叫那斧头落到他头上只需要一句话。他可以预见只要他因刚才向他提示的严重问题受到揭发，那可怕的女人就会提出那要命的记录来控诉他，粉碎他生命的最后希望——那女入的冷酷无情他早已见识过多次了。何况干秘密活动的人都是孬种，偏又摊上这么一手黑牌，难怪他掂量着牌时早已面如死灰。
“你好像不太喜欢你那手牌呢，”西德尼非常镇定地说，“你玩不玩？”
“我看，先生，”密探转向罗瑞先生，露出一副最卑躬屈膝的神态，“老先生年高德劭，希望您向这位比您年轻得多的先生说说，请他无论如何高抬贵手，别打他那张Ａ了。我承认我是个密探，而这又是大家瞧不起的行当—一虽然密探总得有人做。这位先生既不是密探，又何苦降低身份去刺探别人的隐私呢。”
“再过几分钟，巴萨先生，”卡尔顿看看表，自己作了回答，“我就要毫不客气地打出我的Ａ了。”
“我有一种希望，两位先生，”密探说，他总想引诱罗瑞先生加人谈话，“两位对我姐姐的尊重——”
“为了表示对你姐姐的尊重，没有比让她摆脱这样一个弟弟更好的办法了，”西德尼.卡尔顿说。
“你这样想么，先生？”
“我已经完全下定了决心。”
密探那圆滑的态度跟他那身故意装得粗鄙的打扮出奇地不协调，也许跟他平时的态度也不协调。可他那圆滑却在卡尔顿的莫测高深面前碰了个大钉子——卡尔顿在比他更高明更诚实的人面前都是个谜呢！——密探犹豫了，圆滑不下去了。他正在不知所措，卡尔顿又恢复了刚才那玩牌的神气：
“我现在又想了想，的确，这几我还有张好牌没报——这牌也给了我很深的印象。你那绵羊同伙，那位朋友，说是在乡下监狱里吃草的，那人是谁？”
“法国人，你不认识的，”密探赶紧说。
“法国人，呃！”卡尔顿思考着似乎根本没有注意他，虽然重复着他的话。“唔，也许是吧。”
“的确是，我向你保证，”密探说，“虽然这并不重要。”
“虽然这并不重要，”卡尔顿以同样的机械方式重复道——“虽然不重要，确实不重要，不重要。可那张脸我确实见过。”
“我看不会的，我相信不会的，不可能，”密探说。
“不——可——能，”西德尼.卡尔顿回忆着，斟着酒（幸好那杯子不大），“不——可一—能。法语说得挺好。可我总觉得像个外国人，是么？”
“是外省口音，”密探说。
“不，是外国口音，”一道光线清楚闪过他心头，卡尔顿一掌拍在桌上。“是克莱！化了装，可还是他。我们在老贝勒见过面的。”
“那你就太冒失了，先生，”巴萨说时笑了笑，笑得他那鹰钩鼻子更歪了。“你可让我占了上风。克莱，事隔多年，我可以不用隐瞒了。我承认他是我的搭挡，可他已经死了好几年。他最后一次生病时我还照顾过他的。他葬在伦敦乡下的潘克拉斯。那时野蛮的民众很不欢迎他，使我无法亲眼见他入土，可是送他的遗体进棺材我却帮过忙。”
说到这儿罗瑞先生发现墙上出现了一个奇特的魔影，顺眼看去却发现是克朗彻先生。他的头发全都倒竖起来了。
“咱们还是清醒一点，”密探说，“讲个公道吧。为了告诉你你错得多严重，设想得多没根据，我要给你看一张克莱的埋葬证明，碰巧从那以后我一直带在记事本里，”说时他勿匆取出那证明打开。“这不是么。啊，你看看，你看看！你可以拿过去看，这可不是伪造的。”
此时罗瑞先生看到墙上的人影拉长了，克朗彻先生站起身子走上前来，头发笔直地耸起，即使他那时叫杰克造的屋里的那头母牛下垂的角顶了个跟头，他的头发也不会竖得比现在更直了。
克朗彻站到巴萨身边，没有被他发觉，像个鬼国的差役一样碰了碰他的肩头。
“那么那个罗杰.克莱，大爷，”克朗彻先生板着面孔平静地说，“是你把他放进棺材的么？”
“我放的。”
“可又是谁把他掏走的呢？”
巴萨往椅背上一靠，结结巴巴地说，“你是什么意思？”
“我的意思是他从来就不在棺材里。不在，他不在！他要是进过棺材可以砍我的头。”
密探回头望望另外两人，两人都以难以描述的惊讶望着杰瑞。
“我告诉你，”杰瑞说，“你们在那棺材里放的是铺路石和泥土。别跟我胡说什么你埋了克莱了。那是个骗局。我知道，还有两个人也知道。”
“你们怎么会知道的？”
“那有什么关系？啐！”克朗彻咕哝道，“我对你早就一肚子气。你们欺骗生意人，真不要脸！我拿半克朗打赌，一定要抓住你的喉咙掐死你。”
情况忽然急转直下，西德尼.卡尔顿和罗瑞先生大出意外，弄得莫名其妙。他们请求克朗彻先生别生气，作个解释。
“下回再解释吧，先生，”他躲闪道，“现在解释不方便。我要坚持的是，他分明知道克莱从未进过棺材。只要他敢说他进了，我就拿半克朗打赌，一定要抓住他的喉咙掐死他，”克朗彻先生把这看作是一种宽容的建议，“否则我就出门去告发他。”
“唔，我看出了一个问题，”卡尔顿说。“我手上又有了一张新牌，巴萨先生。你跟贵族政府的另一个密探有联系，这人跟你过去的经历相同，却多了一段神秘，装过死人，又活了过来！这可是外国奸细的监牢密谋，是反对共和国的。在愤怒的巴黎，空气里弥漫着怀疑，你只要一被揭发，准死无疑。一张大牌——肯定能送你上断头台的！你打算赌一赌么？”
“不赌！”密探回答。“我认输。我承认我们很不受那些蛮横的暴民欢迎。我是冒着被按在水里淹死的危险逃出英格兰的。克莱也是四面受到追捕，若不搞假出殡是逃不掉的。不过这个人究竟是怎么戳穿了骗局的，我觉得简直是奇迹中的奇迹。”
“别去为那家伙费脑筋了，”战斗性很强的克朗彻先生反驳道，“跟这位先生打交道就够你麻烦的了。听着！我再说一遍！”——克朗彻先生忍不住要夸张地炫耀一下他的豪气，“我敢拿半克朗打赌，一定要抓住你的喉咙把你掐死。”
监牢绵羊把目光从他转向了西德尼.卡尔顿，下了更大的决心说，“问题已经告一段落，我马上要上班去了，不能迟到。你刚才说有一个建议，是什么请说出来。不过，对我要求过高是没有用的。若是要求我利用职权拿脑袋去冒额外的风险，那我倒宁可试试拒绝的风险，而不是同意的风险。总之，我的选择就是这样。”
“要你干的并不太多。你在附属监狱管牢房么？”
“我跟你一句话说断，逃跑是根本不可能的，”密探坚定地说。
“我并没有要求你让谁逃跑，你干吗要这样回答？你在附属监狱管牢房么？”
“有时管管。”
“你愿管就可以管。”
“只要我愿意，我可以随便进出。”
西德尼.卡尔顿又斟满了一杯白兰地，慢慢倒进壁炉，望着酒洒在火上。酒倒完，他站起身子说：
“到目前为止，我们是在这两位面前说话，因为我这手牌的威力不能光让你和我知道。到这边这个黑屋子里来吧，我俩单独谈谈。”
Book 3 Chapter 9 The Game Made
WHILE Sydney Carton and the Sheep of the prisons were in the adjoining dark room, speaking so low that not a sound was heard, Mr. Lorry looked at Jerry in considerable doubt and mistrust. That honest tradesman's manner of receiving the look, did not inspire confidence; he changed the leg on which he rested, as often as if he had fifty of those limbs, and were trying them all; he examined his finger-nails with a very questionable closeness of attention; and whenever Mr. Lorry's eye caught his, he was taken with that peculiar kind of short cough requiring the hollow of a hand before it, which is seldom, if ever, known to be an infirmity attendant on perfect openness of character.
`Jerry,' said Mr. Lorry. `Come here.'
Mr. Cruncher came forward sideways, with one of his shoulders in advance of him.
`What have you been, besides a messenger?'
After some cogitation, accompanied with an intent look at his patron, Mr. Cruncher conceived the luminous idea of replying, `Agricultooral character.'
`My mind misgives me much,' said Mr. Lorry, angrily shaking a forefinger at him, `that you have used the respectable and great house of Tellson's as a blind, and that you have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous description. If you have, don't expect me to befriend you when you get back to England. If you have, don't expect me to keep your secret. Tellson's shall not be imposed upon.'
`I hope, sir,' pleaded the abashed Mr. Cruncher, `that a gentleman like yourself wot I've had the honour of odd jobbing till I'm  grey at it, would think twice about harming of me, even if it wos,--so I don't say it is, but even if it wos. And which it is to be took into account that if it wos, it wouldn't, even then, be all o' one side. There'd be two sides to it. There might be medical doctors at the present hour, a picking up their guineas where a honest tradesman don't pick up his fardens--fardens! no, nor yet his half fardens--half fardens! no, nor yet his quarter--a banking away like smoke at Tellson's, and a cocking their medical eyes at that tradesman on the sly, a going in and going out to their own carriages--ah! equally like smoke, if not more so. Well, that 'ud be imposing, too, on Tellson's. For you cannot sarse the goose and not the gander. And here's Mrs. Cruncher, or leastwayswos in the Old England times, and would be to-morrow, if cause given, a floppin' again the business to that degree as is ruinating stark ruinating! Whereas them medical doctors' wives don't flop--catch 'em at it! Or, if they flop, their floppings goes in favour of more patients, and how can you rightly have one without the t'other? Then, wot with undertakers, and wot with parish clerks, and wot with sextons, and wot with private watchmen (all awaricious and all in it), a man wouldn't get much by it, even if it wos so. And wot little a man did get, would never prosper with him, Mr. Lorry. He'd never have no good of it; he'd want all along to be out of the line, if he could see his way out, being once in--even if it wos so.'
`Ugh!' cried Mr. Lorry, rather relenting, nevertheless. `I am shocked at the sight of you.'
`Now, what I would humbly offer to you, sir,' pursued Mr. Cruncher, `even if it wos so, which I don't say it is---'
`Don't prevaricate,' said Mr. Lorry.
`No, I will not, sir,' returned Mr. Cruncher, as if nothing were further from his thoughts or practice--`which I don't say it is--wot I would humbly offer to you, sir, would be this. Upon that there stool, at that there Bar, sets that there boy of mine, brought up and growed up to be a man, wot will errand you, message you, general-light-job you, till your heels is where your head is, if such should be your wishes. If it wos so, which I still don't say it is (for I will not prewaricate to you, sir), let that there boy keep his father's place, and take care of his mother; don't blow upon that boy's father--do not do it, sir--and let that father gointo the line of the reg'lar diggin', and make amends for what he would have un-dug--if it wos so--by diggin' of 'em in with a will, and with conwictions respectin' the futur' keepin' of 'em safe. That, Mr. Lorry,' said Mr. Cruncher, wiping his forehead with his arm, as an announcement that he had arrived at the peroration of his discourse, `is wot I would respectfully offer to you, sir. A man don't see all this here a goin' on dreadful round him, in the way of Subjects without heads, dear me, plentiful enough fur to bring the price down to porterage and hardly that, without havin' his serious thoughts of things. And these herewould be mine, if it wos so, entreatin' of you fur to bear in mind that wot I said just now, I up and said in the good cause when I might have kep' it back.'
`That at least is true,' said Mr. Lorry. `Say no more now. It may be that I shall yet stand your friend, if you deserve it, and, repent in action--not in words. I want no more
Mr. Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy returned from the dark room. `Adieu, Mr. Barsad,' said the former; `our arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me.'
He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done?
`Not much. If it should go ill with the prisone I have ensured access to him, Once.'
Mr. Lorry's countenance fell.
`It is all I could do,' said Carton. `To propose too much, would be to put this man's head under the axe, and, as he himself said, nothing worse could happen to him if he were denounced. It was obviously the weakness of the position. There is no help for it.'
`But access to him,' said Mr. Lorry, `if it should go ill before the Tribunal, will not save him.'
`I never said it would.'
Mr. Lorry's eyes gradually sought the fire; his sympathy with his darling, and the heavy disappointment of this second arrest, gradually weakened them; he was an old man now, overborne with anxiety of late, and his tears fell.
`You are a good man and a true friend,' said Carton, in an altered voice. `Forgive me if I notice that you are affected. I could not see my father weep, and sit by, careless. And I could not respect your sorrow more, if you, were my father. You are free from that misfortune, however.
Though he said the last words, with a slip into his usual manner, there was a true feeling and respect both in his tone and in his touch, that Mr. Lorry, who had never seen the better side of him, was wholly unprepared for. He gave him his hand, and Carton gently pressed it.
`To return to poor Darnay,' said Carton. `Don't tell Her of this interview, or this arrangement. It would not enable Her to go to see him. She might think it was contrived, in case of the worst, to convey to him the means of anticipating the sentence.'
Mr. Lorry had not thought of that, and he looked quickly at Carton to see if it were in his mind. It seemed to be; he returned the look, and evidently understood it.
`She might think a thousand things,' Carton said, `and any of them would only add to her trouble. Don't speak of me to her. As I said to you when I first came, I had better not see her. I can put my hand out, to do any little helpful work for her that my hand can find to do, without that. You are going to her, I hope? She must be very desolate to-night.
`I am going now, directly.'
`I am glad of that. She has such a strong attachment to you and reliance on you. How does she look?'
`Anxious and unhappy, but very beautiful.' `Ah!'
It was a long, grieving sound, like a sigh--almost like a sob. It attracted Mr. Lorry's eyes to Cartons face, which was turned to the fire. A light, or a shade (the old gentleman could not have said which), passed from it as swiftly as a change will sweep over a hill-side on a wild bright day, and he lifted his foot to put back one of the little flaming logs, which was tumbling forward. He wore the white riding-coat and topboots, then in vogue, and the light of the fire touching their light surfaces made him look very pale, with his long brown hair, all untrimmed, hanging loose about him. His indifference to fire was sufficiently remarkable to elicit a word of remonstrance from Mr. Lorry; his boot was still upon the hot embers of the flaming log, when it had broken under the weight of 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 Pass. 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 chi!d?'
`Yes, yes, thank God. I didn't quite mean what I said.' 
`It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?' 
`Surely, surely.'
`If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, "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 he.
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 had 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 were not confirmed in me.'
`I understand the feeling!' exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. `And you are the better for it?'
`I hope so.
Carton terminated the conversation here, by rising to help him on with his outer coat; `but you,' said Mr. Lorry, reverting to the theme, `you are young.'
`Yes,' said Carton. `I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age. Enough of me.
`And of me, I am sure,' said Mr. Lorry. `Are you going out?'
`I'll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don't be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?'
Yes, unhappily.'
`I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.'
Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry's destination. Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. `She came out here,' he said, looking about him, `turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps.
It was ten o'clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door.
`Good night, citizen,' said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively.
`Good night, citizen.'
`How goes the Republic?'
`You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!'
`Do you often go to see him---'
`Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?'
`Never.'
`Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honour!'
As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away.
`But you are not English,' said the wood-sawyer, `though you wear English dress?'
`Yes,' said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder.
`You speak like a Frenchman.'
`I am an old student here.'
`Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.'
`Good night, citizen.'
`But go and see that droll dog,' the little man persisted, calling after him. `And take a pipe with you!'
Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets--much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror--he stopped at a chemist's shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfares, by a small, dim, crooked man.
Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. `Whew!' the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. `Hi! hi! hi!'
Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said: 
`For you, citizen?' 
`For me.
`You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?'
`Perfectly.'
Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. `There is nothing more to do,' said he, glancing upward at the moon, `until to-morrow. I can't sleep.
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end.
Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father's grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. `I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.'
In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow's victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow's and tomorrow's, the chainof association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship's anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on.
With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets. 
Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to lie suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss.
`I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.' 
Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's dominion.
But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it.
The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial friend, in the morning stillness. He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light arid warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.--`Like me!'
A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the words, `I am the resurrection and the life.'
Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.
The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep--whom many fell away from in dread--pressed him into an obscure corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.
When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him, so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love and pitying tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the healthy blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated his heart. If there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her look, on Sydney Carton, it would have been seen to be the same influence exactly.
Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable hearing. There could have been no such Revolution, if all laws, forms, and ceremonies, had not first been so monstrously abused, that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them all to the winds.
Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and to-morrow and the day after. Eager and prominent among them, one man with a craving face, and his fingers perpetually hovering about his lips, whose appearance gave great satisfaction to the spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal looking, bloody-minded juryman, the Jacques Three of St. Antoine. The whole jury, as a jury of dogs empannelled to try the deer. 
Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter to-day. A fell, uncompromising, murderous business-meaning there. Every eye then sought some other eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it approvingly; and heads nodded at one another, before bending forward with a strained attention.
Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday. Re-accused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic, Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a race proscribed, for that they had used their abolished privileges to the infamous oppression of the people. Charles Evrémonde, called Darnay, in right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.
To this effect, in as few or fewer words, the Public Prosecutor. 
The President asked, was the Accused openly denounced or secretly?
`Openly, President.'
`By whom?'
`Three voices. Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor of St. Antoine.'
`Good.'
`Thérèse Defarge, his wife.' 
`Good.'
`Alexandre Manette, physician.'
A great uproar took place in the court, and in the midst of it, Doctor Manette was seen, pale and trembling, standing where he had been seated.
`President, I indignantly protest to you that this is a forgery and a fraud. You know the accused to be the husband of my daughter. My daughter, and those dear to her, are far dearer to me than my life. Who and where is the false conspirator who says that I denounce the husband of my child!
`Citizen Manette, be tranquil. To fail in submission to the authority of the Tribunal would be to put yourself out of Law. As to what is dearer to you than life, nothing can be so dear to a good citizen as the Republic.'
Loud acclamations hailed this rebuke. The President rang his bell, and with warmth resumed.
`If the Republic should demand of you the sacrifice of your child herself you would have no duty but to sacrifice her Listen to what is to follow. In the meanwhile, be silent!'
Frantic acclamations were again raised. Doctor Manette sat down, with his eyes looking around, and his lips trembling; his daughter drew closer to him. The craving man on the jury rubbed his hands together, and restored the usual hand to his mouth.
Defarge was produced, when the court was quiet enough to admit of his being heard, and rapidly expounded the story of the imprisonment, and of his having been a mere boy in the Doctor's service, and of the release, and of the state of the prisoner when released and delivered to him. This short examination followed, for the court was quick with its work. 
`You did good service at the taking of the Bastille, citizen?' 
`I believe so.'
Here, an excited woman screeched from the crowd: `You were one of the best patriots there. Why not say so? You were a cannonier that day there, and you were among the first to enter the accursed fortress when it fell. Patriots, I speak the truth!'
It was The Vengeance who, amidst the warm commendations of the audience, thus assisted the proceedings. The President rang his bell; but, The Vengeance, warming with encouragement, shrieked, `I defy that bell!' wherein she was likewise much commended. 
`Inform the Tribunal of what you did that day within the Bastille, citizen.'
`I knew,' said Defarge, looking down at his wife, who stood at the bottom of the steps on which he was raised, looking steadily up at him; `I knew that this prisoner, of whom I speak, had been confined in a cell known as One Hundred and Five, North Tower. I knew it from himself. He knew himself by no other name than One Hundred and Five, North Tower, when he made shoes under my care. As I serve my gun that day, I resolve, when the place shall fall, to examine that cell. It falls. I mount to the cell, with a fellow-citizen who is one of the Jury, directed by a gaoler. I examine it, very closely. In a hole in the chimney, where a stone has been worked out and replaced, I find a written paper. This is that written paper. I have made it my business to examine some specimens of the writing of Doctor Manette. This is the writing of Doctor Manette. I confide this paper, in the writing of Doctor Manette, to the hands of the President.
`Let it be read.'
In a dead silence and stillness--the prisoner under trial looking lovingly at his wife, his wife only looking from him to look with solicitude at her father, Doctor Manette keeping his eyes fixed on the reader, Madame Defarge never taking hers from the prisoner, Defarge never taking his from his feasting wile, and all the other eyes there intent upon the Doctor, who saw none of them--the paper was read, as follows. 
西德尼.卡尔顿跟监狱绵羊在隔壁的黑屋里谈话，声音很低，外面完全听不见。罗瑞先生却带着相当的怀疑和不信任打量着杰瑞。那位诚实的生意人承受这眼光的样子更叫人放心不下。他老是把支撑身子的两条腿换来换去，仿佛他长了五十条腿要一条一条地去检查似的。他也检查手指头，那副专心致志的样子也很令人生疑。罗瑞先主的眼光跟他的眼光一接触，他就用乎捂在嘴上咳嗽起来，咳声短促，咳法也特别。据说这种病胸中一尘不染的人是很少得的，即使有，也不多。
“杰瑞，”罗瑞先生说，“过来。”
克朗彻先生一只肩头在前侧着身子走上前来。
“你除了送信还干过什么？”
克朗彻先生思考了一会儿，又仔细地瞧着他的老板，忽然得到一个辉煌的灵感，回答道，“带点农业性质的活儿吧！”
“我心里很担心呢，”罗瑞先生伸出食指指着他，“担心你使用受人尊重的了不起的台尔森银行作幌子去干很丢人的违法活动。你若是干了，回英国之后就别想我还拿你当朋友，也别想我为你保密。台尔森银行是不准人糟踏的。”
“我希望，先生，”克朗彻先生涨红了脸恳求道，“我有幸给您干点零活，直干到头发全白。就算我干过那样的事——我没说干过，只说就算干过——我也希望像你这样的厚道人在打算跟我过不去时多想一想。就算是干过吧，也得考虑到那可不是一方面的事，而是两方面的事。现在医生捞的是金币，老实巴交的生意人却连一个铜板也捞不到——一个铜板！不，连半个钢板也捞不到—一半个钢板，不，半个铜板的一半也捞不到！—一那钱一溜烟存进了台尔森银行，医生却斜着一双能治病的眼睛偷愉地瞅生意人。医生们马车进马车出——啊，跑起来也是一溜烟，若不是更快的话。他这不也是糟踏台尔森么？吃母鹅要加酱，吃公鹅怕也得要加酱才行吧！还有个克朗彻太太，一有理由就跪下来祷告，反对他做生意，弄得他倾家荡产，倒霉透顶，至少原来在英国是这样，以后还会是这样。而医生的老婆却不用祷告——你见过她们祷告么！就算祷告吧，也不过是祷告别人多生几回病。你说这个不对，难道那个就对么？还有，就算有那么回事吧，残仪馆的人要钱，教区办事员要钱，教堂执事要钱，私家守夜人也要钱，全都要钱，全都贪心不足，到末了还能落得几个？就算落下了几个，也发不了财，阔不起来的，罗瑞先生。但凡能不干，早就想不干了，可已经干上了——我是说即使是已经干上了。”
“啊，”罗瑞先生叫道，反倒多少宽容了些。“我现在一看见你就毛骨悚然。”
“我没说有那回事，可就算有吧，”克朗彻先生接下去说，“我恭恭敬敬向你提个建议。”
不要支吾其辞了，”罗瑞先生说。
“不，我不，先生，”克朗彻先生回答，仿佛没有比那话跟他的思想行动更远的了，“我决不支吾其辞，我要恭恭敬敬向你提个建议，先生，如果你愿意，海那边那法学会板凳上坐着我的儿子，以后他长大成人，就给您老跑腿、送信，给您老办杂事，直办到您老归天，只要您老愿意要他。就算是干过了（我仍旧没说真干过，我不会对你支吾其辞的，先生），也让那孩子接替他爸爸的位子，照顾他妈妈吧。别毁了那孩子的爸爸，千万别，先生，就让他爸爸去当个正经的挖坟匠，诚心诚意挖坟，往里面埋人，算作是对当初挖坟往外面抬人这事儿（就算抬过吧）认个错，相信他永远会埋得严严实实的，”克朗彻先生说，一面用手臂擦着脑门上的汗，表示他的发言已近尾声。“我要恭恭敬敬向你建议的就是这个，罗瑞先生。这周围的事吓死人了，天呐，多少人丢了脑袋，多得连帮人下力都跌了价，还有许多别的。见了这阵势谁都得认真想一想呢！就算有那么回事吧，我求你记住我刚才说的话——我原可以不说的，可我说了，为的也就是求个平安。”
“这倒算说了真话，”罗瑞先生说。“现在你就别再说了。你若是悔改了，有行动表现，够资格作朋友，我还认你作朋友。但不是口头上的，口头上的我再也不听了。”
克朗彻先生用指关节敲敲自己的前额，这时西德尼.卡尔顿和密探从黑屋出来了。“再见，巴萨先生，”前者说，“咱俩就这样定了，你用不着怕我什么了。”
他在壁炉前的椅子上坐下，面对着罗瑞先生。两人单独相对时，罗瑞先生问他做了什么？
“没做什么。若是囚犯出了问题，我保证能见到他，一次。”
罗瑞先生脸色一沉。
“我只能做到这一步了，”卡尔顿说。“要求过高会连他的脑袋也放到斧头下面去的。那就正如他所说的，即使叫人揭发了，也不会比这更糟糕了。这显然是我们处境的弱点。无可奈何。”
“但是，如果法庭上出了问题，”罗瑞先生说，“光见面是救不了他的。”
“我并没有说救得了他。”
罗瑞先生的眼睛逐渐转到炉火上。他对他心爱的人的同情和第二次逮捕的沉重失望使他的目光暗淡下来。他难以承受近来的忧伤，不禁深感自己的衰迈，眼泪随之潸然而出。
“你是个善良的人，真诚的朋友，”卡尔顿说，改变了口气。“请原谅我注意到了你的感伤。我不能坐视我的父亲流泪而无动于衷。即使你是我的父亲，我对你的哀伤也只能尊重到这种程度了。其实这场不幸跟你并没有关系。”
尽管他说到最后一句话时又恢复了一向的满不在乎的态度，但他的口气与抚慰都带着真正的感情和尊重。罗瑞先生过去从没见到过他较为善良的一面，此时见了不免觉得意外，便向他伸出手去，卡尔顿轻轻地握了一握。
“还是谈谈可怜的达尔内吧，”卡尔顿说，“请别把这次见面或这种安排告诉露西。这办法并不能帮助她见到达尔内。她可能以为是在不得已时给他送去东西，让他抢在用刑之前自杀呢！”
这想法很出乎罗瑞先生意外，他立即看着卡尔顿，想看出他是否真有那种想法。好像是真的。他回望了他一眼，显然明白了他的想法。
“她可能想得太多，”卡尔顿说，“每一个念头都可能给她带来痛苦。别把我的事告诉她。我刚到时就告诉过你，最好别让我跟她见面。不见她我仍然可以竭尽全力给她一点我力所能及的帮助。我希望，你打算到她那儿去？她今天晚上一定非常痛苦！”
“我现在就去，马上。”
“我很高兴，她离不开你，也很仰仗你。她现在怎么样？”
“很着急，很伤心，但很美丽。”
“啊！”
这一声叫喊又悠长又凄楚，似是长叹，又似是呜咽。这使罗瑞先生的目光落到了卡尔顿脸上，那脸正对着炉火，一道光亮（也许是一道阴影吧，老人弄不清）迅速从他脸上掠过，有如在风暴初起的晴朗日子从山边掠过的乌云。他抬起一只脚要把一块快要崩塌的火光熊熊的小柴块推回炉里。他穿了一身流行的白色骑马装和一双长统靴。浅淡的眼里映着火光，使他的脸看去非常苍白，没有修剪过的棕色长发松松地披在脸旁。他对那火的满不在乎的神态很奇特，罗瑞先生急忙警告他，此刻燃烧的柴块虽已被脚踩碎，靴子却还踏在炽热的炭火上。
“我忘了，”他说。
罗瑞先生的眼睛又被吸引到了他的脸上。他注意到那张天生的漂亮面孔上笼罩了一片憔悴的阴影，这使老人清晰地面忆起法庭上囚徒们的神色，那神色在他的心中记忆犹新。
“你在这儿的公事快办完了么，先生？”卡尔顿对他转过身去说。
“快完了。我终于办完了我在这儿所能办的事。昨晚我正要告诉你，露西却出乎意外地出现了。我希望把一切都处理得万无一失，然后离开巴黎。我有个假期，我准备去度假。”
两人都沉默了。
“你这么长寿总有许多值得回忆的岁月的，是么，先生？”卡尔顿若有所思地说。
“我七十八岁了。”
“你这一辈子做了许多事，总是踏踏实实、坚持不懈地工作着，受人信任、尊敬和器重。”
“我从成年以来就是个办事的人。实际上我可以说从儿童时代起就已是个办事的人了。”
“你看你，七十八岁，处在多么重要的地位，你离开之后会有多少人想念你呀！”
“想念一个孤独的老单身汉么！”罗瑞先生摇头回答，“没有人会为我哭泣的。”
“你怎么能那样讲？她难道不会为你哭么？她的孩子难道不会么？”
“会的，会的，谢谢上帝。我想的跟我说出的并不完全一样。”
“这是一件应该感谢上帝的事，是么？”
“当然，当然。”
“若是今晚你能真心实意对自己孤独的心说，‘我完全不曾赢得任何人的爱和眷恋、感激和尊堂，不曾在任何人心里引起过柔情，没做过任何善事，没做过对人有益、令人怀念的事！’那你那七十八年岂不成了七十八个沉重的诅咒么？”
“你说得对，卡尔顿先生。我想会的。”
西德尼又把目光转向炉火，沉默了好一会几说：
“我想问问你：——你的儿童时代好像很遥远么？你坐在你母亲膝盖上的日子是否已是很久很久以前的事了？”
说时他的表情柔和起来。罗瑞先生回答道：
“二十年前倒觉得很远，可到了这个年龄反倒不远了，因为我是做圆周运动的，越是靠近终点，也就越是靠近起点了。这好像是为踏上最终的路做着善意的安慰和准备。现在我的心常为许多长期沉睡的回忆所感动，是关于我年轻美丽的母亲的。（我现在是多么衰老呀！）我想起许多往事，那时我们称作世道人心的东西对我还显得虚无缥缈，我的缺点也还没有固定。”
“我懂得你的这种感觉！”卡尔顿惊叫，忽然容光焕发，“这样你便感到更幸福了么？”
“但愿如此。”
说到这里，卡尔顿站起身子去帮他穿外衣，停止了谈话。“可是你还年轻。”罗瑞先生又回到这个话题。
“是的，”卡尔顿说。“我年轻。可是我这种年轻的日子是不会长久的。我活够了。”
“我才活够了呢，我相信，”罗瑞先生说。“你要出去么？”
“我跟你一起步行到她家门口。你知道我的这种流浪汉习惯，我是闲不住的。如果我在街上转上很久，你也不用担心。早上我又会出现的。你明天要去法庭么？”
“不幸的是，要去。”
“我也要去，但只是去当听众。我的密探会给我找到地方的。扶住我的胳膊，先生。”
罗瑞先生扶住他，两人下楼走到街上。几分钟之后他们来到了罗瑞的目的地。卡尔顿在那儿跟他分了手，却在附近留连不去。大门关上之后他又走到门前，摸了摸门。他听说过她每天都要去监狱。“她从这儿出来，”他四面望望，“往这边走，一定也常踩在这些石头上。我跟着她的脚步走走吧。”
夜里十点钟他在拉福斯监狱前露西曾数百次站立过的地方站住了。一个小个子锯木工已关上铺子，正坐在店门口抽烟。
“晚安，公民。”卡尔顿经过时停下打招呼，因为那人好奇地看他。
“晚安，公民。”
“共和国情况如何？”
“你是说断头台吧。棒着呢！今天已是六十三个。马上就要满一百了。参孙和他的部下有时抱怨说太累了。哈，哈，哈！参孙真会开玩笑。好一个剃头匠！”
“你常去看那剃头匠——”
“看他剃头？经常去，每天都去。多灵巧的剃头匠！你见过他剃头么？”
“没有。”
“在他活儿多的时候去看看吧。想想看，公民。今天他两袋烟工夫不到就剃掉了六十三个头呢！两袋烟工夫不到，真话。”
这位傻笑着的小个子取下烟斗，解释他是怎样替刽子手计算时间的。卡尔顿心里闪过一个念头，真恨不得一拳揍死他。他转身要走。
“可你不是英国人，”锯木工问，“虽然你一身英国装。”
“是英国人，”卡尔顿再次停步，回头作答。
“你说话像个法国人呢。”
“我在这儿读过书。”
“啊哈！地道的法国人！晚安，英国人。”
“再见，公民。”
“你得去看看那巧妙的玩艺儿，”小个子坚持自己的看法，在他背后叫道，“还带个烟斗去！”
西德尼走出他的视线不远，便在街心站住了。他就着闪烁朦胧的路灯在一张纸片上用铅笔写了几个字，然后驾轻就熟地穿过几条黑暗肮脏的街道——街道比平时肮脏多了，因为在恐怖时期就是县堂皇的大街也没有人打扫——来到一家药店前站住了。药店老板正在关门，那是在一条弯曲的上坡路边由一个不老实的昏聩的小个子开的一个不老实的昏暗的小店。
他走到柜台前招呼了老板一声，便把字条放到他面前。“咻！”药店老板看了条子低低地吹了声口哨，“嗨！嗨！嗨！”
西德尼.卡尔顿没答理。药店老板又问：
“是你要么，公民？”
“我要。”
“你得注意，要分开使用，公民。你知道合用的后果么？”
“很清楚。”
几包药分别包好后递给了他。他一包一包放在内展上衣的口袋里，数好钱付了帐，小心地离开了药店。“在明天到来之前，”他说，抬头望望月亮，“再没有别的事要做了。可我是睡不着的了。”
他这话是在飞速漂移的流云之下大声说出的，态度再也不是满不在乎，也不是懒散多于轻蔑，而是表现了一个厌倦者的决心。他曾旁徨漂泊，也曾作过斗争，却老是走投无路。现在他终于找到了路，看到了尽头。
很久以前，他在早年的竞争者中以头角峥嵘、前程远大著称的时候，曾随着父亲的灵柩来到墓前—一母亲多年前早已去世一一此刻，当他沿着黑暗的街道在重重的黑影里蹀躞，任月亮和流云在他头顶漂移时，父亲墓前庄严的词句忽然涌现在他心头：“复活在我，生命也在我，信仰我的人虽然死了，也必复活；凡活着信仰我的人，必永远不死。”
孑然一身的他滞留在一个由斧头统治的城市里，心里禁不住为当天处决的六十三个人，也为关在牢里明天、后天、再后天待决的无数人感到痛苦。那联想的链条，那令他回想起了当年的词句，有如从深海拔起了一根连着生锈的船锚的链条，是很容易追溯的。可是他没有去追溯，只是反复念诵着那几句话，往前走去。
西德尼.卡尔顿怀着庄严的兴趣望着还有灯光闪烁的窗户，窗里的人能得到几小时平静便忘却了四周的恐怖，要睡觉了。他望着教堂的塔楼，那儿已没有人作祈祷，因为多年来以牧师身分出现的骗子手、强盗和花花公子已普遍使人深恶痛绝到了宁肯自我毁灭的程度。他望着远处的墓地，墓地大门上标明是划拨给“永恒的休息”的。他望着爆满的监狱，望着街道，一批批囚犯就是沿着这些街道走向死亡的。死亡早已是司空见惯、不足为奇，断头台的行动在世人心里已引不起什么冤魂不散的凄惨传说。他怀着庄严的兴趣观察着这个在喧哗激怒之中落入夜间短暂休眠的城市，观察着它的生命与死亡。他再度行过了塞纳河，踏入了灯光较为明亮的市街。
街上马车稀少，因为坐马车可能引起怀疑，上流社会的人早把脑袋隐藏到红便帽之下，穿上沉重的鞋，蹒跚地步行。不过戏院仍然满座，他经过戏院时，人群正欢笑着往外涌，议论着往家里走。戏院门前有个小姑娘正和她的妈妈一起穿过泥泞要过街去。他抱起了孩子送她过街。在那怯生生的手臂放松他的脖子时，他要她让他亲一亲。
“复活在我，生命也在我，信仰我的人虽然死了，也必复活；凡活着信仰我的人，必永远不死。”
此时道路悄寂，夜色渐浓，《圣经》的词句伴和着他的脚步的回音，在空中回荡。他心里一片宁静，一念不兴，只偶然伴随着脚步在嘴里重复那些词句，可那些词句却永远在他耳里震响。
夜色渐渐淡去，他站在桥头，听着河水拍打着巴黎岛的河堤，堤边的房屋与大教堂在月光下泛着白光，融浑交汇，有如图画。白日冷清清地到来了，像从空中露出了一张死尸的脸。然后夜、月亮和星星便淡成灰白，死去了。一时之间，大千世界仿佛交给了死神统治。
但是，辉煌的太阳升起来了，仿佛用它那万丈光芒把夜间令他沉重的词句直接送进了他的心窝，给了他一片温暖。他用手肃然地遮住眼睛，迎着阳光望去，看到一道光桥架在空中，把他和太阳联结起来，阳光下河水波光粼粼地熠耀着。
清晨静谧之中的澎湃的潮水是那么迅疾，那么深沉，那么可信，有如意气相投的挚友。他远离了房舍，沿着河边走去，竟沐着太阳的光亮与温暖，倒在岸边睡着了。他醒来站起身子，还在那儿逗留了一会儿，望着一个漩涡漫无目的地旋卷着，旋卷着，终于被流水吸去，奔向大海——“跟我一样！”
一艘做生意的小艇扬起一片色调如死叶般柔和的风帆，驶入了他的视线，又驶出了他的视线消失了。那小艇的踪迹在水中隐没时，他心里爆发出一个祈祷，祈求慈悲对待他的一切盲目行为与错误。那祈祷的结尾是：“复活在我，生命也在我。”
他回到银行时，罗瑞先生已经外出。这善良的老人的去向不难猜测。西德尼．卡尔顿只喝了点咖啡，别的什么都没喝，再吃了一点面包，然后洗了洗，换了衣服，让自己清清爽爽，便到法庭去了。
那只黑色的绵羊（许多人一见他便吓得躲开）把他塞进入群中一个不起眼的角落去时，法庭里正是一片喧哗与骚动。罗瑞先生在那儿，曼内特医生在那儿，她在那儿，坐在她父亲身边。
她的丈夫被押进来时，她向他转过眼去，那目光是那样有力，那样鼓舞，那样充满钦敬的挚爱与怜惜的柔情，却又表现了她为他而具有的勇气。那目光在他脸上换回了健康的血色，使他一顾一盼都神采奕奕，使他的心活跃起来。若是有人注意到了露西的目光此刻对西德尼．卡尔顿的影响，便也会发现她对他的影响也正跟对她的丈夫一模一样。
在那不公正的法庭面前很少有保证听取被告申诉的程序，甚至根本没有。若是一切的法律、手续和仪式当初不曾受到这样恣意的践踏，致使这场革命的自杀性的报复把它们全都抛到了九霄云外，眼前这种革命就不会发生了。
每一双眼睛都转向了陪审团。陪审团员全是跟昨天、前天、明天、后天、大后天——样的坚定的爱国者、优秀的共和主义者。其中有一个人最引人注目，那人一脸饥渴、迫不及待，手指头老在嘴边抓来挠去，那样子给观众巨大的满足。那是圣安托万区的杰克三号，一个嗜杀成性、食人生番式的、满怀血腥的陪审员。整个陪审团有如一群为审判鹿而集合起来的恶狗。
每一双眼睛又转向了五位法官和公共检察长，今天这里完全没有偏私，只有一片凶残暴戾、不讲情面、杀气腾腾、公事公办的神气。每一双眼睛都转向人群中的另一双眼睛，称许地向对方眨眨眼，点点头，又再向前望去，聚精会神地听着。
查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内。昨日开释，昨日再次受到指控，重新被捕。控诉书昨夜已交该犯本人。该犯以共和国的敌人、贵族、出身残暴贵族家庭嫌疑受到揭发，该犯所属家族已因使用现己被剥夺的特权无耻欺压百姓而被剥夺法律保护。根据剥夺法律保护条令，查尔斯.埃佛瑞蒙德，又名达尔内，依法当处以死刑，绝无宽贷。
公众检察官的发言极简短，大意如此。
法庭庭长提问，被告受到的是公开揭发，还是秘密揭发。
“公开揭发，庭长。”
“谁是揭发人？”
“有三个人揭发。欧内斯特．德伐日，圣安托万区酒店主。”
“好。”
“泰雷兹．德伐日，上述德伐日之妻。”
“好。”
“亚历山大．曼内特，医生。”
法庭里爆出一片震耳的喧嚣，曼内特医生在喧嚣中从座位上站起来，面色苍白，浑身发抖。
“庭长，我向你提出愤怒的抗议。这是伪造，欺骗。你知道被告是我女儿的丈夫，而我的女儿和她所爱的人在我眼中比我的生命还要宝贵。这位硬说我揭发了我女儿的丈夫的人是谁？在哪儿？”
“曼内特公民，安静。不服从法庭的权威是能叫你失去法律的保护的。至于说比你的生命更宝贵么，对于一个好公民而言，没有什么能比共和国更宝贵的了。”
这番申斥获得了高声的喝彩。庭长摇铃要求安静，然后激动地讲了下去。
“即使共和国要求你牺牲你的女儿，你的责任也只能是拿她作牺牲。肃静，往下听！”
一片疯狂的欢呼随之而起。曼内特医生坐下，眼睛四面望着，嘴唇发抖。他的女儿更靠近了他。那满脸饥渴的人搓搓双手，又用一只手在嘴边抓挠了起来。
德伐日出庭。法庭肃静到能听见他发言时，他迅速叙述了囚禁的故事。他从孩子时起就在医生家工作，医生获释时被交给他。他的陈述受到以下的简短审查。法庭工作一向十分迅速。
“你在攻占巴士底狱时表现良好，是么，公民？”
“我相信如此。”
这时人群中传来一个女人激动的尖叫，“你在巴士底是最出色的爱国者，你为什么不说？你那天在那儿是个炮手，那受到诅咒的要塞被攻垮时，你是最早冲进去的。爱国者们，我说的是真话吧！”
那在听众的热烈赞扬声中像这样促进了审讯过程的是复仇女神。庭长摇铃，受到鼓动、头脑发热的复仇女神尖叫道，“我才不理你那铃声呢，”因而她再次受到赞赏。
“向法庭报告那天你在巴士底狱做的事吧，公民！”
“我知道我所说的囚犯曾被关在一间叫作北塔一Ｏ五的牢房里，”德伐日低头望了望他的妻子，她站在他证人席的台阶下面，目不转睛地望着他。“我是从医生那儿听说的。他在我的照顾下做鞋的时候只知道自己叫北塔一０五，别的名字都不知道。我那天开炮时已下定决心，只要攻下了要塞，一定要去检查那间牢房。我跟一个公民在一个管牢的人带领之下爬上了牢房。那公民现在是在座的一个陪审员。我很仔细地检查了那屋子。我在烟囱的一个洞里发现了一块被取下又重新安好的石头，从那里面找到了一份手稿。这就是。我曾研究过曼内特医生好些笔迹，把那当作一项工作。这份手稿确实是曼内特医生的手迹。我把曼内特医生这份亲笔手稿呈交庭长处理。”
“宣读手稿。”
死一样的沉默和安静。受审的囚徒满怀爱意望着他的妻子；他的妻子不断焦灼地从他望到自己的父亲；曼内特医生目不转睛地望着朗读者；德伐日太太目不转睛地盯着囚徒；德伐日目不转睛地望着看得正高兴的妻子；法庭上其他的眼睛都专注地望着医生；医生对他们却一个也没看见。法庭宣读了那份手稿，全文如下。
Book 3 Chapter 10 The Substance of the Shadow 
`I, ALEXANDRE MANETTE, unfortunate physician, native of Beauvais, and afterwards resident in Paris, write this melancholy paper in my doleful cell in the Bastille, during the last month of the year 1767. I write it at stolen intervals, under every difficulty. I design to secrete it in the wall of the chimney, where I have slowly and laboriously made a place ofconcealment for it. Some pitying hand may find it there, when I and my sorrows are dust.`These words are formed by the rusty iron point with which I write with difficulty in scrapings of soot and charcoal from the chimney, mixed with blood, in the last month of the tenth year of my captivity. Hope has quite departed from my breast. I know from terrible warnings I have noted in myself that my reason will not long remain unimpaired, but I solemnly declare that I am at this time in the possession of my right mind--that my memory is exact and circumstantial--and that I write the truth as I shall answer for these my last recorded words, whether they be ever read by men or not, at the Eternal Judgment-seat.
`One cloudy moonlight night, in the third week of December (I think the twenty-second of the month) in the year 1757, I was walking on a retired part of the quay by the Seine for the refreshment of the frosty air, at an hour's distance from my place of residence in the Street of the School of Medicine, when a carriage came along behind me, driven very fast. As I stood aside to let that carriage pass, apprehensive that it might otherwise run me down, a head was put out at the window, and a voice called to the driver to stop.
`The carriage stopped as soon as the driver could rein in his horses, and the same voice called to me by my name. I answered. The carriage was then so far in advance of me that two gentlemen had time to open the door and alight before I came up with it. I observed that they were both wrapped in cloaks and appeared to conceal themselves. As they stood carriage door, I also observed that they both looked of about my own age, or rather younger, and that they were greatly alike, in stature, manner, voice, and (as far as I could see) face too.
`"You are Doctor Manette?" said one.
`"I am."
`"Doctor Manette, formerly of Beauvais," said the other; "the young physician, originally an expert surgeon, who within the last year or two has made a rising reputation in Paris?"
`"Gentlemen," I returned, "I am that Doctor Manette of whom you speak so graciously."
`"we have been to your residence," said the first, "and not being so fortunate as to find you there, and being informed that you were probably walking in this direction, we followed, in the hope of overtaking you. Will you please to enter the carriage?"
`The manner of both was imperious, and they both moved, as these words were spoken, so as to place me between themselves and the carriage door. They were armed. I was not.
`"Gentlemen," said I, "pardon me; but I usually inquire who does me the honour to seek my assistance, and what is the nature of the case to which I am summoned."
`The reply to this was made by him who had spoken second. "Doctor, your clients are people of condition. As to the nature of the case, our confidence in your skill assures us that you will ascertain it for yourself better than we can describe it. Enough.Will you please to enter the carriage?"
`I could do nothing but comply, and I entered it in silence. They both entered after me--the last springing in, after putting up the steps. The carriage turned about, and drove on as its former speed.
`I repeat this conversation exactly as it occurred. I have no doubt that it is, work for word, the same. I describe everything exactly as it took place, constraining my mind not to wander from the task. Where I make the broken marks that follow here, I leave off for the time, and put my paper in its hiding-place. * * * *
`The carriage left the streets behind, passed the North Barrier, and emerged upon the country road. At two-thirds of a league from the Barrier--I did not estimate the distance at that time, but afterwards when I traversed it--it struck out of the main avenue, and presently stopped at a solitary house. We all three alighted, and walked, by a damp soft footpath in a garden where a neglected fountain had overflowed, to the door of the house. It was not opened immediately, in answer to the ringing of the bell, and one of my two conductors struck the man who opened it, with his heavy riding-glove, across the face.
`There was nothing in this action to attract my particular attention, for I had seen common people struck more commonly than dogs. But, the other of the two, being angry like-wise, struck the man in like manner with his arm; the look and bearing of the brothers were then so exactly alike, that I then first perceived them to be twin brothers.
`From the time of our alighting at the outer gate (which we found locked, and which one of the brothers had opened to admit us, and had re-locked), I had heard cries proceeding from an upper chamber. I was conducted to this chamber straight, the cries growing louder as we ascended the stairs, and I found a patient in a high fever of the brain, lying on a bed.
`The patient was a woman of great beauty, and young; assuredly not much past twenty. Her hair was torn and ragged, and her arms were bound to her sides with sashes and handkerchiefs. I noticed that these bonds were all portions of a gentleman's dress. On one of them, which was a fringed Scarf for a dress of ceremony, I saw the armorial bearings of a Noble, and the letter E.
`I saw this, within the first minute of my contemplation of the patient; for, in her restless strivings she had turned over on her face on the edge of the bed, had drawn the end of the scarf into her mouth, and was in danger of suffocation. My first act was to put out my hand to relieve her breathing; and in moving the scarf aside, the embroidery in the corner caught my sight.
`I turned her gently over, placed my hands upon her breast to calm her and keep her down, and looked into her face. Her eyes were dilated and wild, and she constantly uttered piercing shrieks, and repeated the words, "My husband, my father, and my brother!" and then counted up to twelve, and said, "Hush!" For an instant, and no more, she would pause to listen, and then the piercing shrieks would begin again, and she would repeat the cry, "My husband, my father, and my brother!" and would count up to twelve, and say "Hush!" There was no variation in the order, or the manner. There was no cessation, but the regular moment's pause, in the utterance of these sounds.
`"How long," I asked, "has this lasted?"
`To distinguish the brothers, I will call them the elder and the younger; by the elder, I mean him who exercised the most authority. It was the elder who replied, "Since about this hour last night."
`"She has a Husband, a father, and a brother?"
`"A brother."
`"I do not address her brother?"
`He answered with great contempt, "No."
`"She has some recent association with the number twelve?"
`The younger brother impatiently rejoined, "With twelve o'clock?"
`"See, gentlemen," said I, still keeping my hands upon her breast, "how useless I am, as you have brought me! If I had known what I was coming to see, I could have come provided. As it is, time must be lost. There are no medicines to be obtained in this lonely place."
`The elder brother looked to the younger, who said haughtily, "There is a case of medicines here;" and brought it from a closet, and put it on the table. * * *
`I opened some of the bottles, smelt them, and put the stoppers to my lips. If I had wanted to use anything save narcotic medicines that were poisons in themselves, I would not have administered any of those.
`"Do you doubt them?" asked the younger brother.
`"You see, monsieur, I am going to use them," I replied, and said no more.
`I made the patient swallow, with great difficulty, and after many efforts, the dose that I desired to give. As I intended to repeat it after a while, and as it was necessary to watch its influence, I then sat down by the side of the bed. There was a timid and suppressed woman in attendance (wife of the man down-stairs), who had retreated into a corner. The house was damp and decayed, indifferently furnished--evidently, recently occupied and temporarily used. Some thick old hangings had been nailed up before the windows, to deaden the sound of the shrieks. They continued to be uttered in their regular succession, with the cry, "My husband, my father, and my brother!" the counting up to twelve, and "Hush!" The frenzy was so violent, that I had not unfastened the bandages restraining the arms, but, I had looked to them, to see that they were not painful. The only spark ofencouragement in the case, was, that my hand upon the sufferer's breast had this much soothing influence, that for minutes at a time it tranquillised the figure. It had no effect upon the cries: no pendulum could be more regular.
`For the reason that my hand had this effect (I assume), I had sat by the side of the bed for half an hour, with the two brothers looking on, before the elder said:
`"There is another patient."
`I was startled and asked, "Is it a pressing case?"
`"You had better see," he carelessly answered; and took up a light. * * *
`The other patient lay in a back room across a second staircase, which was a species of loft over a stable. There was a low plastered ceiling to a part of it; the rest was open, to the ridge of the tiled roof, and there were beams across. Hay and straw were stored in that portion of the place, fagots for firing, and a heap of apples in sand. I had to pass through that part, to get at the other. My memory is circumstantial and unshaken. I try it with these details, and I see them all, in this my cell in the Bastille, near the close of the tenth year of my captivity, as I saw them all that night.
`On some hay on the ground, with a cushion thrown under his head, lay a handsome peasant-boy-a boy of not more than seventeen at the most. He lay on his back, with his teeth set, his right hand clenched on his breast, and his glaring eyes looking straight upward. I could not see where his wound was, as I kneeled on one knee over him; but, I could see that he was dying of a wound from a sharp point.
`"I am a doctor, my poor fellow," said I. "Let me examine it."
`"I do not want it examined," he answered; "let it be."
`It was under his hand, and I soothed him to let me move his hand away. The wound was a sword-thrust, received from twenty to twenty-four hours before, but no skill could have saved him if it had been looked to without delay. He was then dying fast. As I turned my eyes to the elder brother, I saw him looking down at this handsome boy whose life was ebbing out, as if he were a wounded bird, or hare, or rabbit; not at all as if he were a fellow-creature.
`"How has this been done, monsieur?" said I.
`"A crazed young common dog! A serf! Forced my brother to draw upon him, and has fallen by my brother's Sword--like a gentleman."
`There was no touch of pity, sorrow, or kindred humanity, in this answer. The speaker seemed to acknowledge that it was inconvenient to have that different order of creature dying there, and that it would' have been better if he had died in the usual obscure routine of his vermin kind. He was quite incapable of any compassionate feeling about the boy, or about his fate.
`The boy's eyes had slowly moved to him as he had spoken, and they now slowly moved to me.
`"Doctor, they are very proud, these Nobles; but we common dogs are proud too, sometimes. They plunder us, outrage us, beat us, kill us; but we have a little pride left, sometimes. She--have you seen her, Doctor?"
`The shrieks and the cries were audible there, though subdued by the distance. He referred to them, as if she were lying in our presence.
`I said, "I have seen her."
`"She is my sister, Doctor. They have had their shameful rights, these Nobles, in the modesty and virtue of our sisters, many years, but M have had good girls among us. I know it, and have heard my father say so. She was a good girl. She was betrothed to a good young man, too: a tenant of his. We are all tenants of his--that man's who stands there. The other is his brother, the worst of a bad race."
`It was with the greatest difficulty that the boy gathered bodily force to speak; but, his spirit spoke with a dreadful emphasis.
`We were so robbed by that man who stands there, as all we common dogs are by those superior Beings--taxed by him without mercy, obliged to work for him without pay, obliged to grind our corn at his mill, obliged to feed scores of his tame birds on our wretched crops, and forbidden for our lives to keep a single tame bird of our own, pillaged and plundered to that degree that when we chanced to have a bit of meat, we ate it in fear, with the door barred and the shutters closed, that his people should not see it and take it from us--I say, we were so robbed, and hunted, and were made so poor, that our fathertold us it was a dreadful thing to bring a child into the world, and that what we should most pray for, was, that our women might be barren and our miserable race die out!"
`I had never before seen the sense of being oppressed, bursting forth like a fire. I had supposed that it must be latent in the people somewhere; but, I had never seen it break out, until I saw it in the dying boy.
`"Nevertheless, Doctor, my sister married. He was ailing at that time, poor fellow, and she married her lover, that she might tend and comfort him in our cottage--our dog-hut, as that man would call it. She had not been married many weeks, when that man's brother saw her and admired her, and asked that man to lend her to him--for what are husbands among us! He was willing enough, but my sister was good and virtuous, and hated his brother with a hatred as strong as mine. What did the two then, to persuade her husband to use his influence with her, to make her willing?"
`The boy's eyes, which had been fixed on mine, slowly turned to the looker-on, and I saw in the Mo faces that all he said was true. The two opposing kinds of pride confronting one another, I can see, even in this Bastille; the gentleman's all negligent indifference; the peasant's, all trodden-down sentiment, and passionate revenge.
`"You know, Doctor, that it is among the Rights of these Nobles to harness us common dogs to carts, and drive us. They so harnessed him and drove him. You know that it is among their Rights to keep us in their grounds all night, quieting the frogs, in order that their noble sleep may not be disturbed. They kept him out in the unwholesome mists at night, and ordered him back into his harness in the day. But he was not persuaded. No! Taken out of harness one day at noon, to feed--if he could find food--he sobbed twelve times, once for every stroke of the bell, and died on her bosom."
`Nothing human could have held life in the boy but his determination to tell all his wrong. He forced back the gathering shadows of death, as he forced his clenched right hand to remain clenched, and to cover his wound.
`"Then, with that man's permission and even with his aid, his brother took her away; in spite of what I know she must have told his brother--and what that is, will not be long unknown to you, Doctor, if it is now--his brother took her away--for his pleasure and diversion, for a little while. I saw her pass me on the road. When I took the tidings home, our father's heart burst; he never spoke one of the words that filled it. I took my young sister (for I have another) to a place beyond the reach of this man, and where, at least, she will never be his vassal. Then, I tracked the brother here, and last night climbed in-a common dog, butsword in hand.--Where is the loft window? It was somewhere here?"
`The room was darkening to his sight; the world was narrowing around him. I glanced about me, and saw that the hay and straw were trampled over the floor, as if there had been a struggle.
`"She heard me, and ran in. I told her not to come near us till he was dead. He came in and first tossed me some pieces of money; then struck at me with a whip. But I, though a common dog, so struck at him as to make him draw. Let him break into as many pieces as he will, the sword that he stained with my common blood; he drew to defend himself--thrust at me with all his skill for his life."
`My glance had fallen, but a few moments before, on the fragments of a broken sword, lying among the hay. That weapon was a gentleman's. In another place, lay an old sword that seemed to have been a soldier's.
`"Now, lift me up, Doctor; lift me up. Where is he?"
`"He is not here," I said, supporting the boy, and thinking that he referred to the brother.
`"He! Proud as these nobles are, he is afraid to see me. Where is the man who was here? Turn my face to him."
`I did so, raising the boy's head against my knee. But, invested for the moment with extraordinary power, he raised himself completely: obliging me to rise too, or I could not have still supported him.
`"Marquis," said the boy, turned to him with his eyes opened wide, and his right hand raised, "in the days when all these things are to be answered for, I summon you and yours, to the last of your bad race, to answer for them. I mark this cross of blood upon you, as a sign that I do it. In the days when all these things are to be answered for, I summon your brother, the worst of the bad race, to answer for them separately. I mark this cross of blood upon him, as a sign that I do it.
`Twice, he put his hand to the wound in his breast, and with forefinger drew a cross in the air. He stood for an instant with the finger yet raised, and, as it with it, and I laid him down dead. * * * *
`When I returned to the bedside of the young woman, I found her raving in precisely the same order and continuity. I knew that this might last for many hours, and that it would probably end in the silence of the grave.
`I repeated the medicines I had given her, and I sat at the side of the bed until the night was far advanced. She never abated the piercing quality of her shrieks, never stumbled in the distinctness or the order of her words. They were always "My husband, my father, and my brother! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Hush!"
`This lasted twenty-six hours from the time when I first saw her. I had come and gone twice, and was again sitting by her, when she began to falter. I did what little could be done to assist that opportunity, and by-and-by she sank into a lethargy, and lay like the dead.
`It was as if the wind and rain had lulled at last, after a long and fearful storm. I released her arms, and called the woman to assist me to compose her figure and the dress she had torn. It was then that I knew her condition to be that of one in whom the first expectations of being a mother have arisen; and it was then that I lost the little hope I had had of her.
`"Is she dead?" asked the Marquis, whom I will still describe as the elder brother, coming booted into the room from his horse.
`"Not dead," said I; "but like to die."
`"what strength there is in these common bodies!" he said, looking down at her with some curiosity.
`"There is prodigious strength," I answered him, "in sorrow and despair."
`He first laughed at my words, and then frowned at them. He moved a chair with his foot near to mine, ordered the woman away, and said in a subdued voice,
`"Doctor, finding my brother in this difficulty with these hinds, I recommended that your aid should be invited. Your reputation is high, and, as a young man with your fortune to make, you are probably mindful of your interest. The things that you see here, are things to be seen, and not spoken of."
`I listened to the patient's breathing, and avoided answering.
` "Do you honour me with your attention, Doctor?
`"Monsieur," said I, "in my profession, the communications of patients are always received in confidence." I was guarded in my answer, for I was troubled in my mind with what I had heard and seen.
`Her breathing was so difficult to trace, that I carefully tried the pulse and the heart. There was life, and no more. Looking round as I resumed my seat, I found the brothers intent upon me. * * * *
`I write with so much difficulty, the cold is so severe, I am so fearful of being detected and consigned to an underground cell and total darkness, that I must abridge this narrative. There is no confusion or failure in my memory; it can recall, and could detail, every word that was ever spoken between me and those brothers.
`She lingered for a week. Towards the last, I could understand some few syllables that she said to me, by placing my ear close to her lips. She asked me where she was, and I told her; who I was, and I told her. It was in vain that I asked her for her family name. She faintly shook her head upon the pillow, and kept her secret, as the boy had done.
`I had no opportunity of asking her any question, until I had told the brothers she was sinking fast, and could not live another day. Until then, though no one was ever presented to her consciousness save the woman and myself, one or other of them had always jealously sat behind the curtain at the head of the bed when I was there. But when it came to that, they seemed careless what communication I might hold with her; as if--the thought passed through my mind--I were dying too.
`I always observed that their pride bitterly resented the younger brother's (as I call him) having crossed swords with a peasant, and that peasant a boy. The only consideration that appeared to affect the mind of either of them was the consideration that thiswas highly degrading to the family, and was ridiculous. As often as I caught the younger brother's eyes, their expression reminded me that he disliked me deeply, fur knowing what I knew from the boy. He was smoother and more polite to me than the elder; but I saw this. I also saw that I was an incumbrance in the mind of the elder, too.
`My patient died, two hours before midnight--at a time, by my watch, answering almost to the minute when I had first seen her. I was alone with her, when her forlorn young head trooped gently on one side, and all her earthly wrongs and sorrows ended.
`The brothers were waiting in a room down-stairs, impatient to ride away. I had heard them, alone at the bedside, striking their boots with their riding-whips, and loitering up and down.
`"At last she is dead?" said the elder, when I went in.
`"She is dead," said I.
`"I congratulate you, my brother," were his words as he turned round.
`He had before offered me money, which I had postponed taking. He now gave me a rouleau of gold. I took it from his hand, but laid it on the table. I had considered the question, and had resolved to accept nothing.
`"Pray excuse me," said I. "Under the circumstances, no." `They exchanged looks, but bent their heads to me as I bent mine to them, and we parted without another word on either side. * * * *
`I am weary, weary, weary--worn down by misery. I cannot read what I have written with this gaunt hand.
`Early in the morning, the rouleau of gold was left at m' door in a little box, with my name on the outside. From the first, I had anxiously considered what I ought to do. I decided, that day, to write privately to the Minister, stating the nature of the two eases to which I had been summoned, and the place to which I had gone: in effect, stating all the circumstances. I knew what Court influence was, and what the immunities of the Nobles were, and I expected that the matter would never be heard of; but, I wished to relieve my own mind. I had kept the matter a profound secret, even from my wife; and this, too, I resolved to state in my letter. I had no apprehension whatever of my real danger; but I was conscious that there might be danger for others, if others were compromised by possessing the knowledge that I possessed.
`I was much engaged that day, and could not complete my letter that night. I rose long before my usual time next morning to finish it. It was the last day of the year. The letter was lying before me just completed, when I was told that a lady waited, who wished to see me. * * * *
`I am growing more and more unequal to the task I have set myself. It is so cold, so dark, my senses are so benumbed, and the gloom upon me is so dreadful.
`The lady was young, engaging, and handsome, but not marked for long life. She was in great agitation. She presented herself to me as the wife of the Marquis St. Evrémonde. I connected the title by which the boy had addressed the elder brother, with the initial letter embroidered on the scarf, and had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that I had seen that nobleman very lately.
`My memory is still accurate, but I cannot write the words of Our conversation. I suspect that I am watched more closely than I was, and I know not at what times I may be watched. She had in part suspected, and in part discovered, the main facts of the cruel story, of her husband's share in it, and my being resorted to. She did not know that the girl was dead. Her hope had been, she said in great distress, to show her, in secret, a woman's sympathy. Her hope had been to avert the wrath of Heaven from a House that had long been hateful to the suffering many.
`She had reasons for believing that there was a young sister living, and her greatest desire was, to help that sister. I could tell her nothing but that there was such a sister; beyond that, I knew nothing. Her inducement to come to me, relying on my confidence, had been the hope that I could tell her the name and place of abode. Whereas, to this wretched hour I am ignorant of both. * * * *
`These scraps of paper fail me. One was taken from me, with a warning, yesterday. I must finish my record to-day.
`She was a good, compassionate lady, and not happy in her marriage. How could she be! The brother distrusted and disliked her, and his influence was all opposed to her; she stood in dread of him, and in dead of her husband too. When I handed her down to the door, there was a child, a pretty boy from two to three years old, in her carriage.
`"For his sake, Doctor," she said, pointing to him in tears, "I would do all I can to make what poor amends I can. He will never prosper in his inheritance otherwise. I have a presentiment that if no other innocent atonement is made for this, it will one day be required of him. What I have left to call my own--it is little beyond the worth of a few jewels--I will make it the first charge of his life to bestow, with the compassion and lamenting of his dead mother, on this injured family, if the sister can be discovered."
`She kissed the boy, and said, caressing him, "It is for thine own dear sake. Thou wilt be faithful, little Charles?" The child answered her bravely, "Yes!" I kissed her hand, and she took him in her arms, and went away caressing him. I never saw her more.
`As she had mentioned her husband's name in the faith that I knew it, I added no mention of it to my letter. I sealed my letter, and, not trusting it out of my own hands, delivered it myself that day.
`That night, the last night of the year, towards nine o'clock, a man in a black dress rang at my gate, demanded to see me, and softly followed my servant, Ernest Defarge, a youth, upstairs. When my servant came into the room where I sat with my wife--O my wife, beloved of my heart! My fair young English wife!--we saw the man, who was supposed to be at the gate, standing silent behind him.
`An urgent case in the Rue St. Honoré', he said. It would not detain me, he had a coach in waiting.
`It brought me here, it brought me to my grave. When I was clear of the house, a black muffler was drawn tightly over my mouth from behind, and my arms were pinioned. The two brothers crossed the road from a dark corner, and identified me with a single gesture. The Marquis took from his pocket the letter I had written, showed it me, burnt it in the light of a lantern that was held, and extinguished the ashes with his foot. Not a word was spoken. I was brought here, I was brought to my living grave.
`If it had pleased GOD to put it in the hard heart of either of the brothers, in all these frightful years, to grant me any tidings of my dearest wife--so much as to let me know by a word whether alive or dead--I might have thought that He had not quite abandoned them. But, now I believe that the mark of the red cross is fatal to them, and that they have no part in His mercies. And them and their descendants, to the last of their race, I, Alexandre Manette, unhappy prisoner, do this last night of the year 1767, in my unbearable agony, denounce to the times when all these things shall be answered for. I denounce them to Heaven and to earth.'
A terrible sound arose when the reading of this document was done. A sound of craving and eagerness that had nothing articulate in it but blood. The narrative called up the most revengeful passions of the time, and there was not a head in the nation but must have dropped before it.
Little need, in presence of that tribunal and that auditory, to show how the Defarges had not made the paper public, with the other captured Bastille memorials borne in procession, and had kept it, biding their time. Little need to show that this detestedfamily name had long been anathematised by Saint Antoine, and was wrought into the fatal register. The man never trod ground whose virtues and Services would have sustained him in that place that day, against such denunciation.
And all the worse for the doomed man, that the denouncer was a well-known citizen, his own attached friend, the father of his wife. One of the frenzied aspirations of the populace was, for imitations of the questionable public virtues of antiquity, and for sacrifices and self-immolations on the people's altar. Therefore when the President said (else had his own head quivered on his shoulders), that the good physician of the Republic would deserve better still of the Republic by rooting out an obnoxious family of Aristocrats, and would doubtless feel a sacred glow and joy in making his daughter a widow and her child an orphan, there was wild excitement, patriotic fervour, not a touch of human sympathy.
`Much influence around him, has that Doctor?' murmured Madame Defarge, smiling to The Vengeance. `Save him now, my Doctor, save him!'
At every juryman's vote, there was a roar. Another and another. Roar and roar.
Unanimously voted. At heart and by descent an Aristocrat, an enemy of the Republic, a notorious oppressor of the People. Back to the Conciergerie, and Death within four-and-twenty hours! 
“我，不幸的医生亚历山大.曼内特，波维市人，后居巴黎，于一七六七年最后一个月在巴士底狱凄凉的牢房里写下这份悲惨的记录。我打算把它藏在烟囱墙壁里——我花了很长的时间，下了极大的功夫才挖出了这个隐藏之地。在我和我的悲哀都归于尘土之后也许会有人怀着怜惜之情在这里找到它。
“我是在被幽禁的第十年的最后一个月用生锈的铁尖蘸着从烟囱刮下的烟炭和木炭末拌和了我的血很吃力地书写的。我心里已不再存有希望。我从自己身上的可怕征兆看出，我的神智不久即将遭到破坏。但我庄严宣布我现在神智绝对清楚，记忆完全准确，我所写下的全是事实，我可以在永恒的审判席位上为我所写的最后记录负责，无论是否有人会读到它。
“一七五七年十二月第三周一个多云的月夜（我想是二十二日夜），我在塞纳河码头边一个行人已稀的地点散步，想借霜冻的空气清凉一下。“那地方距我在医学院街的住处有一小时路程。这时一辆飞驰的马车从我身后赶来，我怕被它撞伤，急忙闪到路边，让它过去，车窗里却伸出一个头来，一个声音命令车夫停下。
“车夫一收马缰，车停下了，刚才那个声音叫着我的名字，我答应了。那时马车已在我前面颇远，在我走到车前时，两位绅士已开门下了车。我观察到两人都用大氅裹紧，仿佛不愿叫别人认出。他俩并排站在车门边，我观察到他们跟我年纪相仿，也许略小一点，而且两人的高矮、神态、声音和面貌（就我所能看到的部分而言）都十分相像。
“‘你是曼内特医生么？’一个说。
“‘是的。’
“‘曼内特医生，以前住在波维，’另一个说，‘年轻的内科医生，最初原是外科专家，近一两年在巴黎名气越来越大，是么？’
“‘先生们，’我回答道，‘我就是曼内特医生，你们过奖了。’
“‘我们到你家去过，’第一个说，‘运气不好，没找到你，听说你可能往这个方向走，便跟着来了，希望能赶上你。请上车吧！’
“两人架子都很大，一边说话，一边走了上来，把我夹在他们和马车车门之间。两人都带着武器，我却没有。
“‘先生们，’我说，‘对不起，但我一向是要事先了解是谁赏光要我出诊，病号的情况如何的。’
“回答的是第二个说话的人。‘医生，你的病家是有地位的人。至于病人情况，我们信服你的医术，用不着我们介绍，你自己会知道的。行了，请上车吧！’
“我无可奈何，只好服从，一言不发上了车。两人也跟着上来了——第二个人是收了踏脚板跳上来的。马车掉过头，用刚才的速度飞驰而去。
“我是按实际情况复述这次谈话的，字字句句都如实记录，这我毫不怀疑。我控制了我的思想，不让它游离我的工作。我如实准确地描述了一切。我在这里划上暂停号，把我写下的文件隐藏起来，准备以后再写。”
“马车把街道丢在后面，穿过北门关隘进入乡间道路。在离开关隘三分之二里格时——当时我没有估计距离，是在下次通过时估计的—一马车离开了大路，在一套独立的宅院前停下了。我们下了车，沿着花园潮湿柔软的小径走去。那儿有一温泉水，由于无人管理，已经溢流出来，流到宅院门口。拉了门铃却无人立即开门，等到门开了，引我来此的其中一人便用他那厚重的骑马手套揍了来开门的人一个耳光。
“这个行为并未引起我多大注意，普通老百姓像狗一样挨打我已司空见惯。但是，另一个人也生气了，伸出胳膊又揍了那人一家伙。这时我才第一次发现他们是孪生兄弟。
“住宅的门锁着。两兄弟之一开了门让我们进去，然后又反锁上了。从我们刚在院落大门下车时起我就听见楼上屋里有哭喊声。我被径直带进了那屋子。上楼时那叫声越来越大，我发现一个病人躺在床上，害了脑炎，发着高烧。
“病人是个绝色美女，很年轻，无疑刚过二十。她头发蓬松披散，两臂用带子和手巾捆在身体两侧。我注意到这些捆绑用品都来自男人的服装。其中之一是穿礼服用的绣有花边的围巾。在那上面我看到一个贵族纹章和字母E。
“这一切是我在研究病人的第一分钟发现的，因为病人在不断挣扎时已翻过身子把脸转向了床边，让围巾的一角卷进了嘴里，有被窒息而死的危险。我的第一个动作是伸出手来解除她的危险；在拉开围巾时，巾角上的刺绣落入了我的眼里。
“我把她轻轻翻过身来，双手放在她胸上，让她平静，也让她躺好，同时看看她的脸。她瞪大了眼睛，神志不清，不断发出尖锐的呼喊，反复地叫着：‘我的丈夫，我的爸爸，我的弟弟！’接着便从一数到十二，然后说，‘嘘！’像这样周而复始，次序不变，态度也不变。除了那固定的停顿之外一直没有住口。
“‘这种情况有多久了？’我问。
“为了区别两个弟兄，我把他俩分别叫作哥哥和弟弟。我把那最权威的叫哥哥。哥哥回答道，‘大约从咋天晚上这时候开始的。’
“‘她有丈夫、父亲和弟弟吗？’
“‘有一个弟弟。’
“‘我不是在跟她的哥哥说话吧？’
“他非常轻蔑地回答道，‘不是。’
“‘她近来有什么跟数字十二有关的事么？’
“弟弟不耐烦地插嘴道，‘十二点钟！’
“‘你们看，先生们，’我说，我的手仍在她胸口上，‘你们像这样把我带了来，我是无能为力的！我若早知道是来看什么病，就可以带好应用的药品。像现在这样，只能是浪费时间。在这种偏远的地方哪几有药呢。’
“哥哥望了弟弟一眼，弟弟傲慢地说，‘有个药品箱。’他便从一间小屋里把它取了出来，放在桌上。”
“我打开几个药瓶，嗅了嗅，用嘴唇碰了碰瓶塞，这里的药除了本身就是毒药的麻醉剂之外，并没有我要用的药。
“‘这些药你不放心么？’弟弟问。
“‘你看，先生，我会用的，’我回答，就再也没说话。
“我费了很大的力气，想了许多办法把我要用的药给她喂了下去。因为过一会儿还得用药，现在也要观察疗效，我便在床边坐了下来。有一个很胆小的怯生生的妇女在服侍（她是楼下那人的妻子），此刻退到了一个角落里。那房子非常潮湿腐朽，家具也很平常——显然是最近才临时使用的。窗前钉了些陈旧的厚窗帘，想要挡住那尖叫声。尖叫继续有规律地发出，‘我的丈夫，我的爸爸，我的弟弟：’数到十二，然后是‘嘘!’病人很疯狂，我没敢解掉捆缚她双臂的带子，却也作了检查，设法不让她疼痛。病人溅出的唯一令我鼓舞的火星是我放在她胸前的手产生了抚慰的效果，有时能让那身躯平静一点，但是对尖叫却没有作用：没有钟摆比它更准时的
“因为自以为我的手有这种效果，我在床边坐了半个小时，弟兄俩在旁边看着。后来哥哥说：
“还有一个病人。’
“我吃了一惊问，‘是危重病么？’
“‘你还是自己去看吧，’他满不在乎地回答，说时拿起了一盏灯。”
“另一个病人在另一道楼梯后的一间房里。那房间在马厩的上方，也可算是一种阁楼。楼顶有低矮的天花板，一部分抹了石粉，剩下的部分却空着，露出瓦房顶的屋脊和横梁。那是堆放麦秸和干草的地方，也放木柴，还存放着一堆埋在沙里的苹果。我穿过那地方来到病号面前。我的记忆精确无误。我用这些细节来审查我的记忆力。在我被幽禁快满十年的此刻，在巴士底狱我的牢房里，那天晚上的景象全都历历如在我眼前。
“一个英俊的农村少年躺在地上的干草里，头下枕着一个扔在地上的垫子。他最多只有十七岁。他右手捂着胸口躺在地上，咬紧牙关，圆睁着双眼望着头顶。我在他身边跪下一条腿，却看不见他的伤在哪里。我可以看出他因锐器刺伤，快要死去了。
“‘我是个医生，可怜的朋友，’我说，‘让我检查一下吧。’
“‘我不要检查，’他回答，‘随它去。’
“伤口在他捂住的地方，我说服他拿开了手。是剑伤，受伤时间大约在二十至二十四小时以前。但是即使他当时立即得到治疗也已无术可治。他正在迅速死去。我转过眼去看那位哥哥，只见他低头望着这个英俊少年的生命在消逝，只如看着一只受了伤的鸟或兔，一点也不像看着跟他相同的人类。
一这是怎么回事，先生？’我问。
“‘一条小疯狗！一个农奴！逼着我弟弟拔剑决斗，把他杀了——倒像个贵族一样。’
“那答话里没有一丝怜悯、痛苦，或是人类的同情。说话人似乎承认那个卑贱的生物死在这儿不太方便，认为他还是像虫子那样默默无闻地死去为好。对于那少年和他的命运，他根本不可能表示同情。
“他说话时，那少年的眼睛慢慢转向了他，这时又慢慢转向了我。
“‘医生，这些贵族非常骄傲。可我们这些卑贱的狗有时也很骄傲。他们掠夺我们、侮辱我们、殴打我们、杀死我们，可我们有时也还剩下点自尊心。她——你见到她了么，医生？’
“虽然距离很远，但那尖叫在这儿也还隐约可闻。他指的就是那尖叫，仿佛她就躺在我们身边。
“我说，‘我见到她了。’
她是我姐姐，医生。多少年来这些贵族对我们的姐妹们的贞操和德行就拥有一种可耻的权利，可我们也有好姑娘。这我知道，也听我爸爸说过。我姐姐就是个好姑娘，而且跟一个好青年订了婚，我姐夫是他的佃户。我们都是他的佃户——站在那边那个家伙。那另一个是他的弟弟，是一个恶劣的家族里最恶劣的人。’
“那少年是克服了最大的困难才集中了全身的力量说出话来的，但是他的神色却起着可怕的强调作用。
“‘我们这些卑贱的狗就要挨那些高贵的家伙的抢掠。站在那边的那个家伙，他抢夺我们，逼我们交苛捐杂税，逼我们给他们做事、不给报酬，逼我们到他的磨坊磨面。他的鸡鸭鹅大群大群地吃我们少得可怜的庄稼，却一只鸡鸭都不准我们喂养。他把我们抢得干干净净，我们若是有了一小片肉，只好闩上门，闭上窗，提心吊胆地吃，怕被他的人看见拿走—一我说，我们给抢得、逼得、刮得太苦了，我爸爸对我们说生孩子很可怕，我们最应当祈祷的就是让我们的妇女不要生育，让我们悲惨的种族灭绝！’
“被压迫者的痛苦像烈火一样爆发燃烧的情况我还从来没看见过。我原以为它只能隐藏在人们心里的什么地方呢！可现在我却在这个快要死去的少年身上看见了。
“‘不过，我姐姐却结婚了。那时她的情人在生病，可怜的人，她却嫁给了他。她想在我们的农家屋里—一这家伙叫它狗窝——照顾他，安慰他。她结婚才几个星期这家伙的弟弟就看见了她。他看中了她的漂亮，要求这家伙把我姐姐借给他使用——在我们这种人当中丈夫算得了什么！这家伙倒很愿意，但是我姐姐却又善良又贞洁，对这家伙的弟弟怀着跟我一样强烈的仇恨。为了逼迫我的姐夫对姐姐施加影响，让她同意，这一对弟兄干出了些什么样的事呀！’
“那少年一双眼睛原先望着我，此时却慢慢转向了我身边那个人。我从这两张面孔上看出那少年的话全是真的。就是此刻在巴士底狱里我也还能看到两种针锋相对的骄傲彼此的对峙。一面是贵族的骄傲，轻蔑，冷淡；一面是农民的骄傲，被践踏的感情和强烈的复仇情绪。
“‘你知道，医生，按照贵族的权利，我们只是些卑贱的狗，他们可以把我们套在车辕上赶着走。他们便这样把我姐夫套上车辕赶着走了。你知道，他们有权让我们通夜在地里轰青蛙，不让它们干扰老爷们高贵的睡眠。他们夜里逼迫我姐夫在有害的雾气里干活，白天又命令他回来套车。可是我姐夫仍然不听他们的。不听！一天中午他被从车轭上放下来吃东西——若是他还找得到东西吃的话——他呜咽了十二声，每一声呜咽正好有一声钟声相伴，然后便死在我姐姐怀里。’
“若不是有他倾诉冤情的决心支持，人世间是没有力量让他活下去的。他的右手仍然紧握着，捂住伤口，逼退了逐渐加重的死亡的阴影。
“‘然后，那弟弟得到了这家伙的同意，甚至帮助，把我姐姐弄来了，尽管她告诉了他一件事——我知道她一定会告诉他的，这事如果你现在还不知道，马上也会知道的。他的弟弟把我姐姐带走’了。他拿她寻开心，消遣了几天。我在路上看见她路过，把消息带回家里，我爸爸便心碎而死。他满腹冤屈，却一个字也没说。我把我的小妹妹（我还有个妹妹）带到了一个这家伙找不到的地方，她在那儿至少可以不做他的奴仆。然后我便跟踪他的弟弟来到这里，昨天晚上刻进了院子——一条卑贱的狗，手里却有一柄剑。阁楼的窗户在哪儿？就在这旁边么？’
“在他眼中全屋黑了下来，周围的世界越缩越小。我向四面望望，看到麦秸干草踩得乱成一片，似乎这里有过搏斗。
“‘我姐姐听见我的声音，跑了进来。我要她在我杀掉那家伙之前别靠近我。那家伙进来了，先是扔给我一些钱，然后便用鞭子抽我。可是我却用剑刺他，逼他跟我决斗一—虽然我是条卑贱的狗。他拔出剑来保护自己，为了保住性命，他施展出了浑身解数。我使他把他那剑折成了几段，因为那上面染上了我卑贱的血。’
“刚才我曾在干草堆里瞥见一把折成几段的剑。那是贵族的佩剑。在另一个地方，还有一把老式的剑，似乎是士兵用的。
“‘现在，扶我起来吧，医生，扶我起来。他在哪儿？’
“‘他不在这儿。’我扶起少年，估计他指的是那哥哥。
“‘他！这些贵族尽管骄傲，他却害怕见我。刚才还在这儿的那个人呢？把我的脸转向他。’
“我照办了，抬起少年的头靠在我的膝盖上。但是少年此刻却具有了超乎寻常的力气，完全站直了身子，逼得我也站了起来，否则我便扶不住他。
“‘侯爵’少年圆睁了双眼对他转过身去，举起右手，‘等到清算这一笔笔血债的日子，我要你和你全家，直到你的种族的最后一个人对这一切承担责任。我对你画上这个血十字，记下我的要求。等到清算这一笔笔血债的日子，我要你的弟弟，你那卑劣种族中最卑劣的家伙，单独对此承担责任。我对他画上这个血十字，记下我的要求。’，
“他两次伸手到胸前的伤口上，然后用食指在空中画着十字。他举着手还站了一会儿，手落下时人也倒下了。我放下了他，他已经死了。”
“我回到那年轻妇女身边时，发现她仍按刚才的顺序一成不变地吃语尖叫。我知道那种情况还可能继续许多小时，十之八九要在坟墓的沉默里才能结束。
“我又让她服下刚才用的药，然后在她身边直坐到深夜。她的呼喊仍然尖利，她的话语仍然清楚，顺序也从不改变。总是‘我的丈．夫，我的爸爸，我的弟弟！一，二，三，四，五，六，七，八，九，十，十一，十二。嘘！’
“从我初见她时算起，她一直喊叫了二十六个小时。其间我曾离开过她两次。在我又一次坐到她身边时，她开始虚弱下来。我竭尽全力帮助她，但愿能有几分希望，可是不久她便昏沉了，像死人一样躺着。
“仿佛是一场可怕的漫长的风暴终于过去，风停了，雨止了。我放下了她的双臂，叫那个妇女来帮助我整理好她的容貌和撕开的衣衫。那时我才发觉她已经出现了最初的妊娠迹象，也是在那时我对她怀着的一点点希望终于破灭了。
她死了吗？’侯爵问，我还是把他称作哥哥吧。那哥哥刚下了马，穿着靴子进到屋里。
“‘没有死，’我说，‘但看来是要死了。’
一这些卑贱的家伙精力多么旺盛呀！’他低头看她，好奇地说。
“‘痛苦和绝望之中存在着极其强大的力量！’我回答他。
“他听见这话先是笑了笑，可马上便皱起了眉头。他用脚推了一把椅子到我的椅子面前，命令那仆妇出去，然后压低了嗓子说：
医生，在发现我的弟弟跟这些乡巴佬有了麻烦之后，我推荐了你来帮忙。你很有名气，是个前程远大的青年，也许懂得关心自己的前程。你在这儿见到的一切是只可以看、不可以外传的。’
“我只听着病人的呼吸，避而不答。
“‘你给我面子，听见我的话了么，医生？’
“‘先生，’我说，‘干我这种职业的人对病家的话都是保密的。’我的回答很警惕，因为我的所见所闻使我心里很痛苦。
“她的呼吸已很难听见，我仔细地把了把脉，摸了摸胸口。还活着，但也只是活着而已。我回到座位上回头一看，两弟兄都在注视着我。”
“我写得非常吃力，天气很寒冷，我非常害怕被发现后关到漆黑一团的地牢里去，因此，我得压缩我的叙述。我的记忆没有混乱，也没有失误。对我和那两弟兄之间的对话，我能回忆起每一个字和每一个细节。，
“她拖了一个礼拜，在她快死的时候，我把耳朵放到她的唇边，听见了她对我说的一些音节。她问我她在哪儿，我回答了；她问我是谁，我也回答了。我问她姓什么，她却没有回答。她在枕上轻轻摇了摇头，跟她弟弟一样保守了秘密。
“我告诉那两弟兄她的病情已急剧恶化，再也活不到一天了。这时我才有了机会问她问题。在那以前，除了那个妇女和我之外再也没有让她意识到还有别人在场。而只要我在场，那两兄弟总有一个警惕地坐在床头的帘子背后。可到那以后，他俩对我可能跟她说些什么仿佛已不在乎了。一个念头闪过我心里：我大约也快死了。
“我一直感到两弟兄都以弟弟曾跟一个农民（而且是个少年）决斗为奇耻大辱。他们唯一关心的好像只是这事非常有辱门风，荒唐可笑。我每一次看见那弟弟的眼光都感到他很憎恶我，因为我听见了那少年的话，知道了许多内情。他比他哥哥对我要圆滑些，客气些，但我仍看出了这一点。我也明白我是那哥哥心里的一块病。
“我的病人在午夜前两小时死去了——从我的表看，跟我初见她的时刻几乎分秒不差。她那年轻的悲伤的头轻轻向旁边一歪、结束了她在人间的冤屈与悲痛时，只有我一个人在她身边。
“那两弟兄在楼下一间房里不耐烦地等着，他们急着要走。我一个人坐在床前时就已听见他们用马鞭抽打着靴子，踱来踱去。
“‘她终于死了么？’我一进屋哥哥便说。
“‘死了，’我说。
“‘祝贺你，弟弟，’他转过身子说出的竟是这样的话。
“以前他曾给我钱，我都拖延不肯接受。现在他又递给我一纸筒金币，我从他手里接下，却放到了桌上。我已经考虑过了，决定什么也不收。
“‘请原谅，’我说，‘在目前情况下，我不能收。’
“两弟兄交换了一下眼色，却对我点了点头，因为我正在对他们点头。我们分了手，再也没有说话。”
“我很厌倦，厌倦，厌倦—一痛苦使我憔悴不堪。我无法读我这只瘦骨嶙峋的手写下的文字。
“清晨一大早那筒金币又装在一个小匣子里放在了我的门口，外面写着我的名字。从一开始我就在焦虑着该怎么办，那天我便决定写封私信给大臣，把我所诊治的两个病号的性质和地点告诉了他。实际上我把我所知道的一切全部讲了。我明白宫廷权势的意义，也知道贵族的种种豁免权，也估计这件事不会有人知道，但我只想解除良心上的不安。我把这事严格保密，连我的妻子也没告诉。我决定把这一点也写在信里。我并不懂得我所面临的真正危险，但我意识到若是让别人知道了，卷了进来，他们也可能会遇到危险。
“我那天很忙，晚上没来得及写完信。第二天我比平时早起了许多，把它写完了。那是那一年的最后一天。我写完了信，信还摆在面前，便听说有一位夫人等着要见我。”
“我要想完成自己规定的任务越来越感到力不从心了。天太冷，牢房太黑，我的知觉太麻木，笼罩在我身上的阴云也太可怖。
“那位夫人年轻漂亮，令人倾倒，看去却已寿命不长了。她十分激动，向我介绍自己是圣.埃佛瑞蒙德侯爵夫人。我把那少年对那哥哥的称呼跟围巾上的字母E一对号，便不难得出结论：我最近所见到的便是那位贵族。
“我的记忆仍然准确，但是我不能把我跟侯爵夫人的谈话都写出来。我怀疑自己受到了更加严密的监视，而又不知道什么时候受到监视。侯爵夫人半靠发现、半靠推测明白了那残暴事件的主要情节，也知道了她丈夫在其中扮演的角色和请我治疗的事。她并不知道那姑娘已经死了。她非常痛苦地说，希望秘密地对那姑娘表示一个女人的同情。长期以来这个家族遭到了许多含冤受苦者的痛恨，她希望这不至引来上天的震怒。
“她有理由相信这家还有一个小妹妹活着。她的最大愿望便是帮助那小妹妹。我除了告诉她确实有这么一个妹妹之外说不出什么其它的话，因为我此外一无所知。她来找我的动力是希望我信任她，把那小妹妹的名字和地点告诉她。可是直到眼前这悲惨的时刻我却对此一无所知。”
“这些七零八碎的纸不够用了。昨天他们从我这几拿走了一张，还警告了我。我今天必须写完我的记录。
“她是个富于同情心的好太太，婚姻很不幸福。她怎么可能幸福呢！小叔子不信任她，不喜欢她。在他的势力之下大家都跟她作对。她怕他，也怕她的丈夫。我送她下楼来到门口时，她的马车里有一个孩子，一个漂亮的孩子，大约两三岁。
“‘为了孩子的缘故，医生，’她流着眼泪指着孩子说，‘我愿竭尽我可怜的一点力量进行弥补。否则他继承下来的东西对他绝不会有好处。我有一种预感，对这次事件若是没有作出清清白白的弥补，总有一天是会叫孩子来承担责任的。我仅有的一点可以称作个人所有的东西只是一些珠宝首饰。若是能找到那小妹妹，我给孩子的平生第一个任务就是把这点珠宝连同她亡母的同情与哀悼赠送给这个受到摧残的家庭。’
“她吻了吻孩子，爱抚着说，‘那是为了你好呢。你会守信用么，小查尔斯？’孩子勇敢地回答道，‘会的！’我吻了吻夫人的手，她抱起那孩子爱抚着他离开了。从此我再也没见过她。
“由于她深信我知道她丈夫的姓名，所以提起了它，我在信里却井未提名道姓。我封好了信，不愿交给别人，那天便亲自去付了邮费。
“那天晚上，亦即那年除夕晚上九点钟，一个穿黑衣的人拉响了我家的门铃，要求见我。他轻乎轻脚跟在我年轻的仆人欧内斯特．德伐日身后上了楼。我的仆人走进屋子，我跟我的妻子——啊，我的妻子，我心里最爱的人！我年轻美丽的英国妻子！——正坐在屋里，她看见那人不声不响站在他身后，而他是应当留在大门外的。
“他说圣奥诺雷街有人得了急病，不会耽误我多少时间，他有马车等候。
“那马车便把我带到了这儿，带进了我的坟墓。我刚出门，一条黑色的围巾便从身后勒紧了我的嘴，我的双手被反剪了起来。那两个弟兄从一个黑暗角落走出，打了一个手势，表示已验明正身。侯爵从口袋里取出我写的信，让我看了看，一言未发，在举起的风灯上点燃、烧掉了，又用脚踩灭了灰烬。我被带到了这里。带进了我的坟墓。
“若是上帝高兴，在这些可怕的岁月里曾让那铁石心肠的弟兄之一想起给我一点有关我最亲爱的妻子的消息，哪怕是一句话——她究竟是死是活——我也能认为上帝还没有完全抛弃他们。但是现在，我却相信那血十字已决定了他们的命运，上帝的怜悯已全没有他们的份。我，亚历山大.曼内特’，不幸的囚徒，在一七六七年的最后一夜，在我无法忍受的痛苦之中，对他们和他们的后裔，直到他们家族的最后一人，发出我的控诉。我向这一切罪孽得到清算的日子发出控诉。我向上天和大地控诉他们。”
手稿一读完便爆发出一片可怕的喧嚣。是渴望与急切的喧嚣，喧嚣中除了“血”字之外别的话都听不清。这番叙述唤起了那个时代最强烈的复仇情绪。这种情绪的锋芒所向是没有一个人头不会落地的。
当初在巴士底狱缴获的纪念品都曾被抬着游行，而德伐日夫妇却把这份手稿隐藏起来，秘而不宣，等待时机。这是为什么？可这样的法庭和这样的听众是不想追究的。这个受人憎恨的家族的名字长期以来就受到圣安托万的诅咒，而且被列入了死亡名单，这也是用不着追究的。世界上还没有任何人的德行和功勋能在那一天的那个地方抵挡得住那样的控诉的冲击。
使那注定要灭亡的人特别倒霉的是，那控诉他的人是一个声望很高的公民，是他自己的亲密朋友，他妻子的父亲。人群的一个疯狂理想是追效一种颇有问题的古代道德，以自我牺牲作为人民祭坛上的祭品。因此，庭长便说（他若不这样说，他的脑袋在他肩上也保不住）那善良的医生是会因为根除了一个令人憎恶的贵族家庭而更加受到共和国尊敬的。他无疑会因为把他的女儿变作寡妇、把外孙变作孤儿而感到一种神圣的光荣和快乐。此话唤起了一片疯狂的激动和爱国的狂热，此时人类的同情已荡然无存。
“那医生在他周围不是很有影响么？”德伐日太太对复仇女神笑笑说，“现在你来救他吧，医生，来救他吧！，
陪审团员每投一票，便掀起一片鼓噪。一票，又一票；鼓噪，又鼓噪。
全票通过。从心灵到血统的贵族、共和国的敌人、臭名昭著的人民压迫者，押回附属监狱，二十四小时之内执行死刑。
Book 3 Chapter 11 Dusk 
THE wretched wife of the innocent man thus doomed to die, under the sentence, as if she had been mortally stricken. But, she uttered no sound; and so strong was the voice within her, representing that it was she of all the world who must uphold him in his misery and not augment it, that it quickly raised her, even from that shock.
The judges having to take part in a public demonstration out of doors, the tribunal adjourned. The quick noise and movement of the court's emptying itself by many passages had not ceased, when Lucie stood stretching out her arms towards her husband, with nothing in her face but love and consolation.
`If I might touch him! If I might embrace him once! O, good citizens, if you would have so much compassion for us!'
There was but a gaoler left, along with two of the four men who had taken him last night, and Barsad. The people had all poured out to the show in the streets. Barsad proposed to the rest, `Let her embrace him then; it is but a moment.' It was silently acquiesced in, and they passed her over the seats in the hall to a raised place, where he, by leaning over the dock, could fold her in his arms.
`Farewell, dear darling of my soul. My parting blessing on my love. We shall meet again, where the weary are at rest!'
They were her husband's words, as he held her to his bosom.
`I can bear it, dear Charles. I am supported from above: don't suffer for me. A parting blessing for our child.'
`I send it to her by you. I kiss her by you. I say farewell to her by you.'
`My husband. No! A moment!' He was tearing himself apart from her. `We shall not be separated long. I feel that this will break my heart by-and-by; but I will do my duty while I can, and when I leave her, God will raise up friends for her, as He did for me.'
Her father had followed her, and would have fallen on his knees to both of them, but that Darnay put out a hand and seized him, crying:
`No, no! What have you done, what have you done, that you should kneel to us! We know now, what a struggle you made of old. We know now, what you underwent when you suspected my descent, and when you knew it. We know now, the natural antipathy you strove against, and conquered, for her dear sake. We thank you with all our hearts, and all our love and duty. Heaven be with you!'
Her father's only answer was to draw his hands through his white hair, and wring them with a shriek of anguish.
`It could not be otherwise,' said the prisoner. `All things have worked together as they have fallen out. It was the always-vain endeavour to discharge my poor mother's trust that first brought my fatal presence near you. Good could never come of such evil, a happier end was not in nature to so unhappy a beginning. Be comforted, and forgive me. Heaven bless you!'
As he was drawn away, his wife released him, and stood looking after him with her hands touching one another in the attitude of prayer, and with a radiant look upon her face, in which there was even a comforting smile. As he went out at the prisoners' door, she turned, laid her head lovingly on her father's breast, tried to speak to him, and fell at his feet.
Then, issuing from the obscure corner from which he had never moved, Sydney Carton came and took her up. Only her father and Mr. Lorry were with her. His arm trembled as it raised her, and supported her head. Yet, there was an air about him that was not all of pity--that had a flush of pride in it.
`Shall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her weight.'
He carried her lightly to the door, and laid her tenderly down in a coach. Her father and their old friend got into it, and he took his seat beside the driver.
When they arrived at the gateway where he had paused in the dark not many hours before, to picture to himself on which of the rough stones of the street her feet had trodden, he lifted her again, and carried her up the staircase to their rooms. There, he laidher down on a couch, where her child and Miss Pross wept over her. 
`Don't recall her to herself,' he said, softly, to the latter, `she is better so. Don't revive her to consciousness, while she only faints.'
`Oh, Carton, Carton, dear Carton!' cried little Lucie, springing up and throwing her arms passionately round him, in a burst of grief. `Now that you have come, I think you will do something to help mamma, something to save papa! O, look at her, dear Carton! Can you, of all the people who love her, bear to see her so?'
He bent over the child, and laid her blooming cheek against his face. He put her gently from him, and looked at her unconscious mother.
`Before I go,' he said, and paused--'I may kiss her?'
It was remembered afterwards that when he bent down and touched her face with his lips, he murmured some words. The child, who was nearest to him, told them afterwards, and told her grandchildren when she was a handsome old lady, that she heard him say, `A life you love.'
When he had gone out into the next room, he turned suddenly on Mr. Lorry and her father, who were following, and said to the latter:
`You had great influence but yesterday, Doctor Manette; let it at least be tried. These judges, and all the men in power, ire very friendly to you, and very recognisant of your services; are they not?'
`Nothing connected with Charles was concealed from me. I had the strongest assurances that I should save him; and I did.' He returned the answer in great trouble, and very slowly.
`Try them again. The hours between this and to-morrow afternoon are few and short, but try.'
`I intend to try. I will not rest a moment.'
`That's well. I have known such energy as yours do great things before now--though never,' he added, with a smile and a sigh together, `such great things as this. But try! Of little worth as life is when we misuse it, it is worth that effort. It would cost nothing to lay down if it were not.'
`I will go,' said Doctor Manette, `to the Prosecutor and the President straight, and I will go to others whom it is better not to name. I will write too, and--But stay! There is a celebration in the streets, and no one will be accessible until dark.'
`That's true. Well! It is a forlorn hope at the best, and not much the forlorner for being delayed till dark. I should like to know how you speed; though, mind! I expect nothing! When are you likely to have seen these dread powers, Doctor Manette?'
`Immediately after dark, I should hope. Within an hour or two from this.'
`It will be dark soon after four. Let us stretch the hour or two. If I go to Mr. Lorry's at nine, shall I hear what you have done, either from our friend or from yourself?'
`Yes.' `May you prosper!'
Mr. Lorry followed Sydney to the outer door, and, touching him on the shoulder as he was going away, caused him to turn.
`I have no hope,' said Mr. Lorry, in a low and sorrowful whisper.
`Nor have I.'
`If any one of these men, or all of these men, were disposed to spare him--which is a large supposition; for what is his life, or any man's to them!--I doubt if they durst spare him after the demonstration in the court.'
`And so do I. I heard the fall of the axe in that sound.'
Mr. Lorry leaned his arm upon the door-post, and bowed his face upon it.
`Don't despond,' said Carton, very gently; `don't grieve. I encouraged Doctor Manette in this idea, because I felt that it might one day be consolatory to her. Otherwise, she might think "his life was wantonly thrown away or wasted," and that might trouble her.'
`Yes, yes, yes,' returned Mr. Lorry, drying his eyes, `you are right. But he will perish; there is no real hope.
`Yes. He will perish: there is no real hope,' echoed Carton. And walked with a settled step, down-stairs. 
像这样被无辜判处死刑者的悲惨的妻子一听见判决就倒下了，仿佛受了致命的创伤。但是她一声没响；她心里的声音告诉她，在他痛苦的时候世上只有她能支持他，她绝不能增添他的痛苦。这个念头让她从打击下迅速站了起来。
法官们要到外面去参加公众游行，下面的审判延期了。法庭里的人从几道门迅速往外走。喧闹和行动还没有结束，露西便起立向丈夫伸出了双臂，脸上只有挚爱和安慰，没有别的。
“但愿我能碰一碰他！但愿我能拥抱他一次！啊，善良的公民们，希望你们能这样深刻地同情我们！”
人们全上街看热闹去了，只剩下一个典狱官和昨晚来提犯人的四人中的两个，还有一个是巴萨。巴萨对剩下的人说，，就让她拥抱他吧，也不过一会儿工夫。”没人说话，默认了。他们让她穿过法庭座位来到一个高起的地方，囚犯在那儿可以从被告席弯过身子，来拥抱他的妻子。
“再见了，我灵魂中亲爱的宝贝。我给我的爱人临别的祝福，在厌倦的人们长眠的地方我们还会再见的。”
她的丈夫把她搂在胸前这样说。
“我能受得住，亲爱的查尔斯。我有上天的支持，不要因为我而痛苦。给我们的孩子一个临别的祝福吧！”，
“我通过你祝福她。我通过你亲吻她。我通过你向她告别。”
“我的丈夫。不！再呆一会儿！”他已在恋恋不舍地离开她。“我俩分手不会久的。我感到这事不久就会使我心碎而死，但只要我还能行，我便要履行我的职责，等到我离开女儿的时候上帝已经培养出了她的朋友，为了我上帝就曾这样做过。”
她的父亲已跟了上来。他几乎要在两人面前脆下，但是达尔内伸出一只手拉住了他，叫道：
“不，不！你做过什么？你做过什么？为什么要向我们跪下？我们现在才明白了你那时的斗争有多么痛苦。我们现在才明白了在你怀疑、而且知道了我的家世时受了多大的折磨。现在我才明白了你为她的缘战跟发自天性的憎恶作了多少年斗争，并且克服了它。，我们用整个的心、全部的爱和孝顺感谢你。愿上天保佑你！”
她父亲的唯一回答是双手插进满头白发，绞着头发发出惨叫。
“不可能有别的结果的，”囚徒说。“目前的结局是各种因素造成的，是命定的。最初把我带到你身边的是我完成亡母遗愿的永远无法成功的努力。那样的罪恶绝对产生不了善果，就其本质而言，那样不幸的开头是不可能产生什么幸运的结尾的。不要难过，原谅我吧！上天保佑你！”
他被带走了。他的妻子放了手，站在那儿望着他，双手合十，像在祈祷，脸上却泛出了光彩，甚至绽出一种安慰的微笑。在他从囚徒进出的门出去之后，她转过身来，把头靠在父亲胸前，打算跟他说话，却晕倒在他的脚下。
这时西德尼．卡尔顿走上前来扶起了她。他是从一个僻静的角落出来的，一直就在那儿没有离开过。当时只有她的父亲和罗瑞先生跟她在一起。他的手臂搀起她时颤抖着，并扶住了她的头。但他脸上却有一种并非完全是怜悯的神气，其中泛着骄傲的红晕。
“我抱她上马车去好不好？我不会觉得她沉的。”
他轻轻地抱起她，来到门外，温柔地放进了一辆马车。她的父亲和他们的老朋友也上了车，卡尔顿坐在马车夫旁边。
他们来到了大门口——几个小时前他还曾在这儿的黑暗中留连，想象过哪些粗糙的石头是她亲爱的脚踩过的——他又抱起她上了楼，进入了他们的房间，放到了床上。她的孩子和普洛丝小姐在她身边哭了起来。
“别叫醒她，”他轻声对普洛丝小组说，“这样还好些。她不过是晕过去了，别催她恢复知觉吧！”。
“啊，卡尔顿，卡尔顿，亲爱的卡尔顿，小露西哭着出来、叫着跳起来用两臂热烈地搂着他的脖子。“现在你来了，我想你会有办法帮助妈妈和救出爸爸的！啊，你看看她吧，亲爱的卡尔顿！在这么多爱她的人中，你能眼睁睁看着她这样么？”
他对孩子弯下身去，把她那娇艳的面颊靠着自己的脸，然后轻轻放开了她，望着她昏迷的母亲。
“在我离开之前，”他说，却又踌躇了——“我可以亲亲她么？”
事后他们记得，在他弯下身子用双唇碰着她的脸的时候，曾轻轻说了几个字。当时离他最近的孩子曾告诉他们，她听见他说的是“你所爱的生命”。这话在她自己做祖母之后也还讲给孙子们听。
卡尔顿来到隔壁房间，突然转过身面对着跟在后面的罗瑞先生和她的父亲，并对后者说：
“就是在昨天你也还很有影响，曼内特医生，现在至少还可以试试你的影响。法官和当权的人对你都很友好，也很承认你的贡献，是么？”
“跟查尔斯有关的事他们从不曾隐瞒过我，我曾得到过很坚决的保证一定能救他，而且也救出了他，”他沉痛而缓慢地回答。
“再试试吧。从现在到明天下午时间已经不多，但不妨一试。”
“我打算试一试，我是片刻也不会停止的。”
“那就好。我见过具有停你这样活动能力的人做出过了不起的大事——尽管，”他笑了笑，叹了口气说，“尽管还没有做出过这么了不起的大事。不过，试试吧！生命使用不当就没有价值，使用到这个问题上倒是很有价值的。即使不行，也不会有什么损失。”
“我马上去找检察长和庭长，”曼内特医生说，“还要去找别的人。他们的姓名还是不说的好。我还要写信——且慢！街上在搞庆祝会，天黑之前怕是谁也找不到的。”
“倒也是真的。行了！原本不过是个渺茫的希望，拖到天黑也未见得会更渺茫。我很想知道你的进展情况，不过，记住！我不抱奢望！你什么时候可以跟这些可怕的权势人物见面呢，曼内持医生？”
“我希望天一黑就见到。从现在算起一两个钟头之后。”
“四点一过天就黑了。我们不妨再延长一两个小时。若是我九点到罗瑞先生那儿，能从他或者你自己那里听到进展情况么？”
“能。”
“祝你顺利！”
罗瑞先生跟着西德尼来到外面大门口，在他离开时拍了拍他的肩头，让他转过身来。
“我不抱希望，”罗瑞先生放低了嗓子悲伤地说。
“我也不抱希望。”
“即使这些人里有个把人想宽恕他，甚至是全体都想宽恕他——这是想入非非的，因为他的生命或是任何其他人的生命跟他们有什么相干！——在法庭的那种场面之后，我也怀疑他们有没有胆量那样做。”
“我也怀疑。我在那一片喧嚣之中听到了斧头落下的声音。”
罗瑞先生一只手撑住门框，低头把脸靠在手上。
“别灰心，”卡尔顿极轻柔地说，“别悲伤。我也用这个意思鼓励过曼内特医生。因为我感到到了某一天对露西可能是一种安慰，否则，她可能认为达尔内的生命是被人随意抛弃了的、浪费了的，因而感到痛苦。”
“是的，是的，是的，”罗瑞先生擦着眼泪回答，“你说得不错。但是他会死的，真正的希望并不存在。”
“是的，他会死的，真正的希望并不存在，”卡尔顿应声回答，然后踏着坚定的步子走下楼去。
Book 3 Chapter 12 Darkness
SYDNEY CARTON paused in the street, not quite decided where to go. `At Tellson's banking-house at nine,' he said, with a musing face. `Shall I do well, in the mean time, to show myself? I think so. It is best that these people should know there is such a man as I here; it is a sound precaution, and may be a necessary preparation. But care, care, care! Let me think it out!'
Checking his steps, which had begun to tend towards an object, he took a turn or two in the already darkening street, and traced the thought in his mind to its possible consequences. His first impression was confirmed. `It is best,' he said, finally resolved, `that these people should know there is such a man as I here.' And he turned his face towards Saint Antoine.
Defarge had described himself, that day, as the keeper of a wine-shop in the Saint Antoine suburb. It was not difficult for one who knew the city well, to find his house without asking any question. Having ascertained its situation, Carton came out of those closer streets again, and dined at a place of refreshment and fell sound asleep after dinner. For the first time in many years, he had no strong drink. Since last night he had taken nothing but a little light thin wine, and last night he had dropped the brandy slowly down on Mr. Lorry's hearth like a man who had done with it.
It was as late as seven o'clock when he awoke refreshed, and went out into the streets again. As he passed along towards Saint Antoine, he stopped at a shop-window where there was a mirror, and slightly altered the disordered arrangement of his loose 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 customer 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 hehad 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 Evrémonde!'
Defarge brought him the wine, and gave him Good Evening.
`How?'
`Good evening.'
`Oh! Good evening, citizen,' filling his glass. `Ah! and good 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 to-morrow!'
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 lookedtowards 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 suffered much; you have seen him to-day; you have observed his face when the paper was read.'
`I have observed his face!' repeated madame, contemptuously and angrily. `Yes. I have observed his face. I have observed his face to be not the face of a true friend of the Republic. Let him take care of his face!'
`And you have observed, my wife,' said Defarge, in a deprecatory manner, `the anguish of his daughter, which must be a dreadful anguish to him!'
`I have observed his daughter,' repeated madame; `yes, I have observed his daughter, more times than one. I have observed her to-day, and I have observed her other days. I have observed her in the court, and I have observed her in the street by the prison. Let me but lift my finger---!' She seemed to raise it (the listener's eyes were always on his paper), and to let it fall with a rattle on the ledge before her, as if the axe had dropped.
`The citizeness is superb!' croaked the Juryman.
`She is an Angel!' said The Vengeance, and embraced her.
`As to thee,' pursued madame, implacably, addressing her husband, `if it depended on thee--which, happily, it does not--thou wouldst rescue this man even now.
`No!' protested Defarge. `Not if to lift this glass would do it! But I would leave the matter there. I say, stop there.'
`See you then, Jacques,' said Madame Defarge, wrathfully; `and see you, too, my little Vengeance; see you both! Listen! For other crimes as tyrants and oppressors, I have this race a long time on my register, doomed to destruction and extermination. Ask my husband, is that so.'
`It is so,' assented Defarge, without being asked.
`In the beginning of the great days, when the Bastille falls, he finds this paper of to-day, and he brings it home, and in the middle of the night when this place is clear and shut, we read it, here on this spot, by the light of this lamp. Ask him, is that so.'
`It is so,' assented Defarge.
`That night, I tell him, when the paper is read through, and the lamp is burnt out, and the day is gleaming in above those shutters and between those iron bars, that I have now a secret to communicate. Ask him, is that so.'
`It is so,' assented Defarge again.
`I communicate to him that secret. I smite this bosom with these two hands as I smite it now, and I tell him, "Defarge, I was brought up among the fishermen of the sea-shore, and that peasant family so injured by the two Evrémonde brothers, as that Bastille paper describes, is my family. Defarge, that sister of the mortally wounded boy upon the ground was my sister, that husband was my sister's husband, that unborn child was their child, that brother was my brother, that father was my father, those dead are my dead, and that summons to answer for those things descends to me!" Ask him, is that so.'
`It is so,' assented Defarge once more.
`Then tell Wind and Fire where to stop,' returned madame; `but don't tell me.'
Both her hearers derived a horrible enjoyment from the deadly nature of her wrath--the listener could feel how white she was, without seeing her--and both highly commended it. Defarge, a weak minority, interposed a few words for the memory of the compassionate wife of the Marquis; but only elicited from his own wife a repetition of her last reply. `Tell the Wind and the Fire where to stop; not me!'
Customers entered, and the group was broken up. The English customer paid for what he had had, perplexedly counted his change, and asked, as a stranger, to be directed towards the National Palace. Madame Defarge took him to the door, and put her arm on his, in pointing out the road. The English customer was not without his reflections then, that it might be a good deed to seize that arm, lilt it, and strike under it sharp and deep.
But, he went his way, and was soon swallowed up in the shadow of the prison wall. At the appointed hour, he emerged from it to present himself in Mr. Lorry's room again, where he found the old gentleman walking to and fro in restless anxiety. He said he had been with Lucie until just now, and had only left her for a few minutes, to come and keep his appointment. Her father had not been seen, since he quitted the banking house towards four o'clock. She had some faint hopes that his mediation might save Charles, but they were very slight. He had been more than five hours gone: where could he be?
Mr. Lorry waited until ten; but, Doctor Manette not returning, and he being unwilling to leave Lucie any longer, it was arranged that he should go back to her, and come to the banking-house again at midnight. In the meanwhile, Carton would wait alone bythe fire for the Doctor. He waited and waited, and the clock struck twelve; but Doctor Manette did not come back. Mr. Lorry returned, and found no tidings of him, and brought none. Where could he be?
They were discussing this question, and were almost building up some weak structure of hope on his prolonged absence, when they heard him on the stairs. The instant he entered the room, it was plain that all was lost.
Whether he had really been to any one, or whether he had been all that time traversing the streets, was never known. As he stood staring at them, they asked him no question, for his face told them everything.
`I cannot find it,' said he, `and I must have it. Where is it?'
His head and throat were bare, and, as he spoke with a helpless look straying all around, he took his coat off, and let it drop on the floor.
`Where is my bench? I have been looking everywhere for my bench, and I can't find it. What have they, done with my work? Time presses: I must finish those shoes.
They looked at one another, and their hearts died within them.
`Come, come!' said he, in a whimpering miserable way; `let me get to work. Give me my work.'
Receiving no answer, he tore his hair, and beat his feet upon the ground, like a distracted child.
`Don't torture a poor forlorn wretch,' he implored them, with a dreadful cry; `but give me my work! What is to become of us, if those shoes are not done to-night?'
Lost, utterly lost!
It was so clearly beyond hope to reason with him, or try to restore him,--that--as if by agreement--they each put a hand upon his shoulder, and soothed him to sit down before the fire, with a promise that he should have his work presently. He sank into the chair, and brooded over the embers, and shed tears. As if all that had happened since the garret time were a momentary fancy, or a dream, Mr. Lorry saw him shrink into the exact figure that Defarge had had in keeping.
Affected, and impressed with terror as they both were, by this spectacle of ruin, it was not a time to yield to such emotions. His lonely daughter, bereft of her final hope and reliance, appealed to them both too strongly. Again, as if by agreement, they looked at one another with one meaning in their faces. Carton was the first to speak:
`The last chance is gone: It was not much. Yes; he had better be taken to her. But, before you go, will you, for a moment, steadily attend to me? Don't ask me why I make the stipulations I am going to make, and exact the promise I am going to exact; I have a reason--a good one.'
`I do not doubt it,' answered Mr. Lorry. `Say on.'
The figure in the chair between them, was all the time monotonously rocking itself to and fro, and moaning. They spoke in such a tone as they would have used if they had been watching by a sick-bed in tile night.
Carton stooped to pick up the coat, which lay almost entangling his feet. As he did so, a small case in which the Doctor was accustomed to carry the list of his day's duties, fell lightly on the floor. Carton took it up, and there was a folded paper in it. `We should look at this!' he said. Mr. Lorry nodded his consent. He opened it, and exclaimed,
`Thank GOD'
`What is it?' asked Mr. Lorry, eagerly.
`A moment! Let me speak of it in its place. First,' he put his hand in his coat, and took another paper from it, `that is the certificate which enables me to pass out of this city. Look at it. You see--Sydney Carton, an Englishman?'
Mr. Lorry held it open in his hand, gazing in his earnest face.
`Keep it for me until to-morrow. I shall see him to-morrow, you remember; and I had better not take it into the prison.'
`Why not?'
`I don't know; I prefer not to do so. Now, take this paper that Doctor Manette has carried about him. It is a similar certificate, enabling him and his daughter and her child at any time, to pass the barrier and the frontier? You see?"
`Yes!'
`Perhaps he obtained it as his last and utmost precaution against evil, yesterday. When is it dated? But no matter; don't stay to look; put it up carefully wit!, mine and your own. Now, observe! I never doubted until within this hour or two, tat he had, or could have such a paper. It is good, until recalled. But it may be soon recalled, and, I have reason to think, will be.'
`They are not in danger?'
`They are in great danger. They are in danger of denunciation by Madame Defarge. I know it from her own lips. I have overheard words of that woman's, to-night, which have presented their danger to me in strong colours. I have lost no time, and since then, I have seen the spy. He confirms me. He knows that a wood-sawyer, living by the prison-wall, is under the control of the Defarges, and has been rehearsed by Madame Defarge as to his having seen Her'--he never mentioned Lucie's name--'making signs and signals to prisoners. It is easy to foresee that the pretence will be the common one, a prison plot, and that it will involve her life--and perhaps her child's--and perhaps her father's--for both have been seen with her at that place. Don't look so horrified. You will save them all.'
`Heaven grant I may, Carton! But how?'
`I am going to tell you how. It will depend on you, and it could depend on no better man. This new denunciation will certainly not take place until after to-morrow; probably not until two or three days afterwards; more probably a week afterwards. You know it is a capital crime, to mourn for, or sympathise with, a victim of the Guillotine. She and her father would unquestionably be guilty of this crime, and this woman (the inveteracy of whose pursuit cannot be described) would wait to add that strength to her case, and make herself doubly sure. You follow me?'
`So attentively, and with so much confidence in what you say, that for the moment I lose sight,' touching the back of the Doctor's chair, `even of this distress.'
`You have money, and can buy the means of travelling to tile Sea-coast as quickly as the journey can be made. Your preparations have been completed for some days, to return to England. Early to-morrow have your horses ready, so that they may be in starting trim at two o'clock in the afternoon.'
`It shall be done!'
His manner was so fervent and inspiring, that Mr. Lorry caught the flame, and was as quick as youth.
`You are a noble heart. Did I say we could depend upon no better man? Tell her, to-night, what you know of her danger as involving her child and her father. Dwell upon that, for she would lay her own fair head beside her husband's cheerfully.' He faltered for an instant; then went on as before. `For the sake of her child and her father, press upon her the necessity of leaving Paris, with them and you, at that hour. Tell her that it was her husband's last arrangement. Tell her that more depends upon it than she dare believe, or hope. You think that her father, even in this sad state, will submit himself to her; do you not?'
`I am sure of it.'
`I thought so. Quietly and steadily have all these arrangements made in the court-yard here, even to the taking of your own seat in the carriage. The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away.'
`I understand that I wait for you under all circumstances?'
`You have my certificate in your hand with the rest, you know, and will reserve my place. Wait for nothing but to have my place occupied, and then for England!'
`Why, then,' said Mr. Lorry, grasping his eager but so firm and steady hand, `it does not all depend on one old man, but I shall have a young and ardent man at my side.'
`By the help of Heaven you shall! Promise me solemnly that nothing will influence you to alter the course on which we nowstand pledged to one another.'
`Nothing, Carton.'
`Remember these words to-morrow: change the course, or delay in it--for any reason--and no life can possibly be saved, and many lives must inevitably be sacrificed.'
`I will remember them. I hope to do my part faithfully.' `And I hope to do mine. Now, good-bye!'
Though he said it with a grave smile of earnestness, and though lie even put the old man's hand to his lips, he did not part from him then. He helped him so far to arouse the rocking figure before the dying embers, as to get a cloak and hat put upon it, and to tempt it forth to find where the bench and work were hidden that it still moaningly besought to have. He walked on the other side of it and protected it to the court-yard of the house where the afflicted heart--so happy in the memorable time when he had revealed his own desolate heart to it--outwatched the awful night. He entered the court-yard and remained there for a few moments alone, loping up at the light in the window of her room. Before he went away, he breathed a blessing towards it, and a Farewell.
西德尼.卡尔顿在街头站住了。他不知道往哪里走。“九点在台尔森银行大厦见面，”他想道。“我在这个时候去抛头露面一番好不好呢？我看不错。最好是让他们知道这儿有一个像我这样的人存在。这种预防措施大有好处，也许是必要的准备。不过，还是小心为上，小心为上！我得仔细想想！”
他正往一个目标走去，却站住了，走上了已经黑下来的街道。他拐了一两个弯，掂量着心里想法的可能后果。他肯定了自己第一个印象。“最好是，”他终于下定了决心，“让这些人知道这儿有一个像我这样的人。”于是他转过身往圣安托万区走去。
那天德伐日曾说明他是圣安托万郊区的酒店老板。熟悉那城市的人是不必打听就能找到他那房子的。弄清了那屋子的位置之后，卡尔顿先生从狭窄的街道走了出来，到一家小吃店用了晚餐，吃完饭便睡着了。多少年来他是第一次没有喝烈性酒。从昨晚至今他只喝了一点度数不高的淡酒。昨天晚上他已把白兰地缓缓倒进了罗瑞先生家的壁炉里，仿佛从此跟它一刀两断了。
等他一觉醒来，头脑清醒，已是七点。他又上了街。在去圣安托万的路上他在一家橱窗前站了站。那儿有一面镜子，他略微整了整他歪斜的蝴蝶结、外衣领子和蓬乱的头发，便径直来到德伐日酒店，走了进去。
店里碰巧没有顾客，只有那手指老抓挠着、声音低沉的雅克三号。这人他在陪审团里见过，此时正站在小柜尔前喝酒，跟德伐日夫妇聊天。复仇女神也像这家酒店的正式成员一样跟他们在一起谈话。
卡尔顿走进店里坐下，用很蹩脚的法语要了少量的酒。德伐日太太随便看了他一眼，随即仔细瞧了瞧他，然后又仔细打量了他一会儿，最后索性亲自走到他面前，问他要点什么。
他重复他已说过的话。
“英国人？”德伐日太太疑问地扬起她乌黑的眉毛问。
他看着她，仿佛这个法国字也费了他好大功夫才听懂，然后带着刚才那种强烈的外国调子回答道，“是的，太太，是的，我是英国人。”
德伐日太太回到柜台去取酒。在他拿起一张雅各宾党的报纸装出吃力地读着、猜测着它的意思时，他听见她说，“我向你发誓，真像埃佛瑞蒙德！”
德伐日给他送上酒，说了声“晚上好”。
“什么？”
“晚上好。”
“啊！晚上好，公民，”他往杯里斟酒。“啊！好酒。为共和国干杯。”
德伐日回到柜台边说，“确实有点像。”老板娘板起面孔反驳，“我说很像。”雅克三号息事宁人说，“那是因为你心里老挂着那个人，你明白么，老板娘。”复仇女神快活地笑着说，“不错，说得对！你满心欢喜等着明天跟他再见一面呢！”
卡尔顿用手指慢馒指着报纸全神贯注、一字一行地苦读着。那几个人胳膊放在拒台上挤在一起低声交谈。他们只顾端详他，沉默了好一会儿，没有干扰他对雅各宾派报纸编辑的专心，然后又谈了起来。
“老板娘说得对，”雅克三号说，“我们干吗要到此为止？还有很大潜力的，干吗要到此为止？”
“好了，好了，”德伐日说，“总得到一个地方为止吧！那么到什么地方为止呢？”
“到斩草除根为止，”老板娘说。
“太好了：”雅克三号用低沉的嗓音说。复仇女神也非常赞成。
“斩草除根是个好理论，老婆，”德伐日颇感到为难，“大体说来我并不反对。但是这位医生受了太多的苦，他今天的情况你是看见的，宣读手稿的时候你也观察过他的脸。”，
“我观察过他的脸，”老板娘生起气来，轻蔑地说。“是的，我观察过他的脸。我观察出他那张脸不是共和国的真正朋友的脸。对他那张脸他还是小心为好！”
“你也观察到，老婆，”德伐日央求道，“他女儿的痛苦，这对医生也是一种可怕的折磨！”’
“我观察过他的女儿，”老板娘重复他的话，“不错，我观察过他的女儿，不止一次地观察过。我今天观察过，其它的时候也观察过。在法庭里观察过，在监狱旁的街道上也观察过。我只须举起一个指头＿＿”她大约举起了指头（旁听者的眼睛一直盯着报纸），哗一声砍在而前的货架上，仿佛是斧头砍下的。
“优秀的女公民，”陪审员低沉着噪子说。
“简直是天使！”复仇女神说着拥抱了她一下。
“至于你么，”老板娘对她的丈夫毫不客气地说，“幸好这事不由你决定，若是由你决定，你怕是现在就会去救那个人的。”
“不！”德伐日抗议。“哪怕就是举起这只杯子就可以救他，我也不会的！但是我希望到此为止。我说，到此为止。”
“你看看，雅克，”德伐日太太怒火中烧地说，“你也看看，我的小复仇。你们俩都来看！听着！在我的记录上我还记载着这个家族其它的横行霸道、欺压百姓的罪行，而且注定要消灭，斩草除根。你们问我当家的，是不是这样。”
“是这样，”德伐日不问自答。
“伟大的日子刚开始，攻陷巴士底狱的时候他找到了今天的那份手稿，带回家来，等到半夜里关了门再没有人的时候，我们就是在这个地点、这盏灯下一起读的。问他，是不是这样。”
“是这样，”德伐日同意。
“那天晚上，手稿读完，灯也熄了，百叶窗和栅栏外天已经开始蒙蒙亮。那时我才跟他讲，我要告诉他一个秘密。问问他，是不是这样。”
“是这样，”德伐日第二次承认。
“我把那秘密告诉了他。我用这两只手像现在这样捶打着我的胸口告诉他，‘德伐日，我是在海边的渔民家长大的。那份巴士底狱手稿上描写的受尽埃佛瑞蒙德弟兄残害的农民家庭就是我的家庭，德伐日，那受了致命伤躺在地上的少年的姐姐，便是我的姐姐，那丈夫便是我姐姐的丈夫，那个还没见天日的孩子便是他俩的孩子，那父亲便是我的父亲，那些死去的人都是我的亲骨肉，那清算血债的召唤是落在我身上的。问问他，是不是这样。”
“是这样，”德伐日又一次承认。
“那你就去告诉风和火如何到此为此吧，”老板娘回答，“别来跟我废话。”
听她说话的那两个人从她那必欲置于死地而后快的震怒里得到了一种令人恐怖的享受，两人都对她的话大加赞扬一—那旁听者虽没看着她，却也感到她早已一脸煞白。德伐日成了微弱的少数派，说了几句“应当记住很同情他们的侯爵夫人”之类的话，可他的妻子却只重复了最后的那句话作为回答，“去告诉风和火加何到此为止吧，别来跟我废话。”
有顾客进门，几个人散开了。英国顾客付了帐，很费劲地数清找给他的钱，又以陌生人的身份打听去国家宫的路。德伐日太太带他到门口，手臂靠在他的手臂上，指给他路。英国顾客并非没有反应：若是能抓住那胳膊往上一抬，再深深扎进一刀，倒也是一大善举。
但是，他仍走上了自己的路，不久便被监狱墙壁的黑影吞没了。到了约定的时刻他才走出黑影到罗瑞先生家赴约。他发现那位老先生在不停地走来走去。罗瑞先生很焦急地说他一直陪着露西，是几分钟前才赶到这边来的。露西的父亲四点时离开银行，至今没有回来。露西抱着几分希望，但愿他的干预可能救出查尔斯，但希望很渺茫。他已经一去五个多钟头，可能到什么地方去了呢？
罗瑞先生，一直等到十点，曼内特医生仍然没有消息，老离开露西他又不放心，便作好安排：他自己先回露西那儿去，半夜再回银行来。当中这段时间就由卡尔顿一个人在炉火前等候医生。
卡尔顿等了又等，时钟敲了十二点，曼内特医生没有回来。罗瑞先生却回来了，可他也没听见他的消息。医生究竟是到哪儿去了？
他们正在讨论这个问题，因他久久不归差不多产生了几分希望。这时却传未了医生上楼的脚步声。他一进门一切便明白了：完了。
他是真去找过谁，还是一直在街上转悠，没有人知道。他站在那儿呆望着他们。他们却没有问他，因为他那张脸已说明了一切。
“我找不到了，”他说，“我一定得找到。它到哪儿去了？”
他光着头，敞着领子，无可奈何地东望望西望望说。他脱掉了外衣，却让它落到地上。
“我的凳子呢？我哪儿都找遍了，找不着。我的活几呢？他们把它弄哪儿去了？时间很紧，我得做完鞋。”
两人彼此看看：彻底完了。．
“好了，好了！”他痛苦地低声说，“让我工作吧。把我的活儿给我。”
他得不到回答便扯头发、顿脚，像个任性的孩子。
“不要折磨一个可怜的孤老头子吧，”他凄苦地叫着乞求他们，“把活儿给我！若是今天晚上鞋做不完，我们怎么得了？”
完了，全完了！
想跟他讲道理，想使他清醒，都显然无济于事。他俩仿佛配合默契，—人伸出一只手放在他肩上，劝他在炉火前坐下，而且告诉他马上给他找到活计。医生倒在椅子里呆望着灰烬，流起泪来。罗瑞先生眼看他又完全缩回到了当初德伐日照顾他时的模样，仿佛阁楼时期以后所发生的一切都不过是瞬间的幻觉。
尽管两人都为这种心灵毁灭的惨象感到恐惧，时间却不容他们流露自已的情绪。他那孤苦伶仃的女儿太令两人难过，她已失去了最后的希望和依傍。两人再度表现出默契，彼此望望，脸上表现了同一个意思。卡尔顿第一个说话：
“本来机会就不多，可现在连身后的机会都没有了。是的，医生最好还是到他女儿那儿去。但是在你离开之前你能否用一点时间仔细听我讲一讲？我要提出一些条件，还要你答应我做一些事情＿＿别问我理由，我有理由，有充分的理由。”
“这我不怀疑，”罗瑞先生回答，“说吧！”
那坐在两人之间的人，—直在单调地一起一伏地呜咽着。两人用夜间守候在病床边的人的口气交谈起来。
卡尔顿弯下腰去拾医生的外衣—一它几乎绊住了他的脚。一个小盒子滑落到了地板上，那是医生用来登记他的工作日程的。卡尔顿拾了起来，其中有一张折好的纸条。“我们应当看一看！”他说。罗瑞先生点头同意。卡尔顿打开纸条，惊叫道，“谢谢上帝！”
“是什么？”罗瑞先生急忙问道。
“等一等！这个到时候再说，”他从衣服口袋里取出另一张纸条，“首先，这是我的通行证。瞧，西德尼.卡尔顿，英国人，是么？”
罗瑞先生捧着打开的纸条，望着他那认真的脸。
“把这东西为我保留到明天。你记得，我明天要去看看尔斯，这通行证我最好还是不带进监狱去的好。”
“为什么？”
“我说不清，总觉得还是不带的好。你拿好曼内特医生身上的这张证明。这是一份同样的证件，有了它他跟他的女儿和外孙便可以随时通过路障和边界，对不对？你看清楚了没有？”
“看清楚了！”
“他也许是昨天弄到这张证明的，是准备应付不幸的最后手段。是哪一天签发的？不过那关系不大，不用看了，把它跟我和你的证明一起仔细保存好。注意！在一两个钟头以前我一直相信他已经有了或是可能已签到了这样的证明。这证明在吊销之前是有效的，但是它也许会立即被吊销，而且我有理由相信它是会被吊销的。”
“难道连他们也有了危险？”
“非常危险。他们可能受到德伐日太太的控告。这是我听见她亲口讲的。今天晚上我从旁听到了那女人的话，口气十分严厉，才知道她俩也有了危险。我没有浪费时间，立即去找了行个密探，他也证实了我的看法。他知道德伐日夫妇掌握着一个锯木工，那人住在监狱大墙边。德伐日太太已经跟他排练过了，要他说，‘见到过她’＿＿他从不提露西的名字——‘跟囚犯打手势，发暗号。’捏造的罪名不难估计，很平常的：搞监狱阴谋。那会给她带来生命危险，说不定连她的孩子，也许连她的父亲都保不住，因为也有人看见他们俩在大墙边。用不着满脸惊惶，你是可以救他们的。”
“愿上天保佑我真能办到，卡尔顿！可是我怎么能救他们呢？”
“我来告诉你吧。这得要靠你了，你是最可靠的人。这次揭发肯定要在明天以后才进行，说不定要在两三天之后，更有可能到一周以后。你知道对断头台的牺牲品表示哀悼或是同情是杀头的罪名。她和她父亲无疑会被指控犯了这种罪，而这个女人（她那恶不、一意孤行的脾气简直难以描述）是会等待时机把这一条罪名加上去，使自己立于不败之地的。你明白我的意思么？”
“我听得很认真，也很相信你的话，一时连他的痛苦都忘掉了，”他说着摸了摸医生的椅背。
“你有钱，只要可以安排离开就能雇到交通工具。要以最快速度去海边。你已经做了准备要回英格兰几天。明天一大早把马车准备好，下午两点钟出发。”
“一定做好准备。”
卡尔顿热心热肠，令人鼓舞，罗瑞先生被他的火焰点燃了，痛快得有如年轻人。
“你心胸高贵，我不是说过你是最可靠的人么？今天晚上把你所知道的情况告诉她：她自己的危险、她的孩子和父亲的危险。强调孩子和父亲的危险，因为她是可以把自己美丽的头跟她丈夫的头欢欢喜喜放在一起的。”他迟疑了一会儿，然后像刚才一样继续说下去，“让她明白，为了孩子和父亲的安全她必须在那个时刻带着他俩和你一起离开巴黎。告诉她，这是她丈夫作出的最后安排。告诉她，此举可能会产生她不敢相信、也不敢希望的结果。你相信她的父亲即使在目前这种悲惨的状况下也会服从她么？”
“我相信会的。”
“我也相信。不声不响、扎扎实实、好好准备吧！等在下面院子里，甚至上车去坐好。只等我一到就让我上车出发。”
“你的意思是要我无论出现什么情况都要等你么？”
“你手上有我和别人的通行证，你知道，而且要给我留好座位。别的你都不管，只等我的座位坐上人就回英格兰。”
“这样说来，”罗瑞先生说，抓住他那急切而坚定的手，“这事靠的就不只是一个老头了，我身边还有一个热情的青年呢！”
“上天保佑，确实如此！请向我庄严保证，我俩此刻互相承诺完成的计划不会因任何影响而改变。”
“我保证，卡尔顿。”，
“明天要牢记这句话：无论由于什么原因，只要一改变了计划，或是拖延了时间，那就会救不了命的。好几条命就会白白断送。”
“我记住了。我希望可靠地完成任务。”
“我也希望完成我的任务。再见！”
虽然他郑重其事地笑了笑，甚至还把老人的手放到唇边吻了吻，却没有立即走掉。他帮助他唤醒了那在炉火前一起一伏的病人，给他穿上大衣，戴上帽于，劝他去寻找隐藏板凳和活计的地点，因为他还呜咽着要找，他走在病人的另一边，保护着他来到了另一座楼的院子里。那里有一颗痛苦的心正经受着漫漫长夜的可怕煎熬——在一个值得纪念的日子里，他曾向那颗心坦露过自己孤独寂寞的心，那曾是他的幸福时刻。他走进院子，抬头凝望着她屋里的灯，独自伫立许久，才在向灯光发出祝福后告别离开。
Book 3 Chapter 13 Fifty-two
IN the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited their fate. They were in number as the weeks of the year. Fifty-two were to roll that afternoon on the life-tide of the city to the boundless everlasting sea. Before their cells were quit of them, new occupants were appointed; before their blood ran into the blood spilled yesterday, the blood that was to mingle with theirs to-morrow was already set apart.
Two score and twelve were told off From the farmer-general of seventy, whose riches could not buy his life, to the seamstress of twenty, whose poverty and obscurity could not save her. Physical diseases, engendered in the vices and neglects of men, will seize on victims of all degrees; and the frightful moral disorder, born of unspeakable suffering, intolerable oppression, and heartless indifference, smote equally without distinction.
Charles Darnay, alone in a cell, had sustained himself with no flattering delusion since he came to it from the Tribunal. In every line of the narrative he had heard, he had heard his condemnation. He had fully comprehended that no personal influence could possibly save him, that he was virtually sentenced by the millions, and that units could avail him nothing.
Nevertheless, it was not easy, with the face of his beloved wife fresh before him, to compose his mind to what it must bear. His hold on life was strong, and it was very, very hard to loosen; by gradual efforts and degrees unclosed a little here, it clenched the tighter there; and when he brought his strength to bear on that hand and it yielded, this was closed again. There was a hurry, too, in all his thoughts, a turbulent and heated working of his heart, that contended against resignation. If for a moment, he did feel resigned, then his wife and child who had to live after him, seemed to protest and to make it a selfish thing.
But, all this was at first. Before long, the consideration that there was no disgrace in the fate he must meet, and that numbers went the same road wrongfully, and trod it firmly every day, sprang up to stimulate him. Next followed the thought that much of the future peace of mind enjoyable by the dear ones, depended on his quiet fortitude. So, by degrees he calmed into the better state, when he could raise his thoughts much higher, and draw comfort down.
Before it had set in dark on the night of his condemnation, he had travelled thus far on his last way. Being allowed to purchase the means of writing, and a light, he sat down to write until such time as the prison lamps should be extinguished.
He wrote a long letter to Lucie, showing her that he had known nothing of her father's imprisonment, until he had heard of it from herself, and that he had been as ignorant as she of his father's and uncle's responsibility for that misery, until the paper had been read. He had already explained to her that his concealment from herself of the name he had relinquished, was the one condition--fully intelligible now--that her father had attached to their betrothal, and was the one promise he had still exacted on the morning of their marriage. He entreated her, for her father's sake, never to seek to know whether her father had become oblivious of the existence of the paper, or had had it recalled to him (for the moment, or for good), by the story of the Tower, on that old Sunday under the dear old plane-tree in the garden. If he had preserved any definite remembrance of it, there could be no doubt that he had supposed it destroyed with the Bastille, when he had found no mention of it among the relics of prisoners which the populace had discovered there, and which had been described to all the world. He besought her--though he added that he knew it was needless--to console her father, by impressing him through every tender means she could think of, with the truth that he had done nothing for which he could justly reproach himself, but had uniformly forgotten himself fortheir joint sakes. Next to her preservation of his own last grateful love and blessing, and her overcoming of her sorrow, to devote herself to their dear child, he adjured her, as they would meet in Heaven, to comfort her father.
To her father himself he wrote in the same strain; but, he told her father that he expressly confided his wife and child to his care. And he told him this, very strongly, with the hope of rousing him from any despondency or dangerous retrospect towards which he foresaw he might be tending. 
To Mr. Lorry, he commended them all, and explained his worldly affairs. That done, with many added sentences of grateful friendship and warm attachment, all was done. He never thought of Carton. His mind was so full of the others, that he never once thought of him.
He had time to finish these letters before the lights were put out. When he lay down on his straw bed, he thought he had done with this world.
But, it beckoned him back in his sleep, and showed itself in shining forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in Soho (though it had nothing in it like the real house), unaccountably released and light of heart, he was with Lucie again, and she told him it was all a dream, and he had never gone away. A pause of forgetfulness, and then lie had even suffered, and had come back to her, dead and at peace, and yet there was no difference in him. Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the sombremorning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, until it flashed upon his mind, `this is the day of my death'
Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the fifty-two heads were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and hoped that he could meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action began in his waking thoughts, which was very difficult to master.
He had never seen the instrument that was to terminate his life. How high it was from the ground, how many steps it had, where he would be stood, how he would be touched, whether the touching hands would be dyed red, which way his face would be turned, whether he would be the first, or might be the last: these and many similar questions, in no wise directed by his will, obtruded themselves over and over again, countless times. Neither were they connected with fear: he was conscious of no fear. Rather, they originated in a strange besetting desire to know what to do when the time came; a desire gigantically disproportionate to the few swift moments to which it referred; a wondering that was more like the wondering of some other spirit within his, than his own.
The hours went on as lie walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine cone for ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away. After a hard contest with that eccentric action of thought which had last perplexed him, he had got the better of it. He walked up and down, softly repeating their names to himself. The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them.
Twelve gone for ever.
He had been apprised that the final hour was Three, and he knew he would be summoned some time earlier, inasmuch as the tumbrils jolted heavily and slowly through the streets. Therefore, he resolved to keep Two before his mind, as the hour, and soto strengthen himself in the interval that he might be able, after that time, to strengthen others.
Walking regularly to and fro with his arms folded on his breast, a very different man from the prisoner, who had walked to and fro at La Force, he heard One struck away from him, without surprise. The hour had measured like most other hours. Devoutly thankful to Heaven for his recovered self-possession, he thought, `There is but another now,' and turned to walk again.
Footsteps in the stone passage outside the door. He stopped. 
The key was put in the lock, and turned. Before the door was opened, or as it opened, a man said in a low voice, in English: `He has never seen me here; I have kept out of his way. Go you in alone; I wait near. Lose no time!'
The door was quickly opened and closed, and there stood before him face to face, quiet, intent upon him, with the light of a smile on his features, and a cautionary finger on his lip, Sydney Carton.
There was something so bright and remarkable in his look, that, for the first moment, the prisoner misdoubted him to be an apparition of his own imagining. But, he spoke, and it was his voice; he took the prisoner's hand, and it was his real grasp.
`Of all the people upon earth, you least expected to see me?' he said.
`I could not believe it to be you. I can scarcely believe it now. You are not'--the apprehension came suddenly into his mind--`a prisoner?'
`No. I am accidentally possessed of a power over one of the keepers here, and in virtue of it I stand before you. I come from her--your wife, dear Darnay.'
The prisoner wrung his hand.
`I bring you a request from her.' 
`What is it?'
`A most earnest, pressing, and emphatic entreaty, addressed to you in the most pathetic tones of the voice so dear to you, that you well remember.'
The prisoner turned his face partly aside.
`You have no time to ask me why I bring it, or what it means; I have no time to tell you. You must comply with it--take off those boots you wear, and draw on these of mine.'
There was a chair against the wall of the cell, behind the prisoner. Carton, pressing forward, had already, with the speed of lightning, got him down into it, and stood over him, barefoot.
`Draw on these boots of mine. Put your hands to them; put your will to them. Quick!'
`Carton, there is no escaping from this place; it never can be done. You will only die with me. It is madness.'
`It would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? 
When I ask you to pass out at that door, tell me it is madness and remain here. Change that cravat for this of mine, that coat for this of mine. While you do it, let me take this ribbon from your hair, and shake out your hair like this of mine!'
With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and action, that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his hands.
`Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be accomplished, it never can be done, it has been attempted, and has always failed. I implore you not to add your death to the bitterness of mine.
`Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your hand steady enough to write?'
`It was when you came in.
`Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend, quick!'
Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at the table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close beside him.
`Write exactly as I speak.'
`To whom do I address it?'
`To no one.' Carton still had his hand in his breast.
`Do I date it?' 
`No.'
The prisoner looked up, at each question. Carton, standing over him with his hand in his breast, looked down.
```If you remember,''' said Carton, dictating, ```the words that passed between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this when you see it. You do remember them, I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.'''
He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner chancing to look up in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing upon something.
`Have you written ``forget them!'' Carton asked.
`I have. Is that a weapon in your hand?'
`No; I am not armed.'
`What is it in your hand?'
`You shall know directly. Write on; there are but a few words more.' He dictated again. ```I am thankful that the time has come, when I can prove them. That I do so is no subject for regret or grief.''' As he said these words with his eyes fixed on the writer, his hand slowly and softly moved down close to the writer's face.
The pen dropped from Darnay's fingers on the table, and he looked about him vacantly.
`What vapour is that?' he asked.
`Vapour?'
`Something that crossed me?'
`I am conscious of nothing; there can be nothing here. Take up the pen and finish. Hurry, hurry!'
As if his memory were impaired, or his faculties disordered, the prisoner made an effort to rally his attention. As he looked at Carton with clouded eyes and with an altered manner of breathing, Carton--his hand again in his breast--looked steadily at him.
`Hurry, hurry !`
The prisoner bent over the paper, once more.
```If it had been otherwise;''' Carton's hand was again watchfully and softly stealing down; ```I never should have used the longer opportunity. If it had been otherwise;''' the hand was at the prisoner's face; ```I should but have had so much the more to answer for. If it had been otherwise---''' Carton looked at the pen and saw it was trailing off into unintelligible signs.
Carton's hand moved back to his breast no more. The prisoner sprang up with a reproachful look, but Carton's hand was close and firm at his nostrils, and Carton's left arm caught him round the waist. For a few seconds he faintly struggled with the manwho had come to lay down his life for him; but, within a minute or so, he was stretched insensible on the ground.
Quickly, but with hands as true to the purpose as his heart was, Carton dressed himself in the clothes the prisoner had laid aside, combed back his hair, and tied it with the ribbon the prisoner had worn. Then, he softly called, `Enter there! Come in!' and the Spy presented himself.
`You see?' said Carton, looking up, as he kneeled on one knee beside the insensible figure, putting the paper in the breast: `is your hazard very great?'
`Mr. Carton,' the Spy answered, with a timid snap of his fingers, `my hazard is not that, in the thick of business here, if you are true to the whole of your bargain.'
`Don't fear me. I will be true to the death.'
`You must be, Mr. Carton, if the tale of fifty-two is to be right. Being made right by you in that dress, I shall have no fear.
`Have no fear! I shall soon be out of the way of harming you, and the rest will soon be far from here, please God! Now, get assistance and take me to the coach.'
`You?' said the Spy nervously.
`Him, man, with whom I have exchanged. You go out at the gate by which you brought me in?
`Of course.'
`I was weak and faint when you brought me in, and I am fainter now you take me out. The parting interview has overpowered me. Such a thing has happened here, often, and too often. Your life is in your own hands. Quick! Call assistance!'
`You swear not to betray me?' said the trembling Spy, as he paused for a last moment.
`Man, man!' returned Carton, stamping his foot; `have I sworn by no solemn vow already, to go through with this, that you waste the precious moments now? Take him yourself to the court-yard you know of, place him yourself in the carriage, show him yourself to Mr. Lorry, tell him yourself to give him no restorative but air, and to remember my words of last night, and his promise of last night, and drive away!' 
The Spy withdrew, and Carton seated himself at the table, resting his forehead on his hands. The Spy returned immediately, with two men.
`How, then?' said one of them, contemplating the fallen figure. `So afflicted to find that his friend has drawn a prize in the lottery of Sainte Guillotine?'
`A good patriot,' said the other, `could hardly have been more afflicted if the Aristocrat had drawn a blank.'
They raised the unconscious figure, placed it on a litter they had brought to the door, and bent to carry it away. `The time is short, Evrémonde,' said the Spy, in a warning Voice.
`I know it well,' answered Carton. `Be careful of my friend, I entreat you, and leave me.
`Come, then, my children,' said Barsad. `Lift him, and come away!'
The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote suspicion or alarm. There was none. Keys turned, doors clashed, footsteps passed along distant passages: no cry was raised, or hurry made, that seemed unusual. Breathing more freely in a little while, he sat down at the table, and listened again until the clock struck Two. Sounds that he was not afraid of, for he divined their meaning, then began to be audible. Several doors were opened in succession, and finally his own. A gaoler, with a list in his hand, looked in, merely saying, `Follow me, Evrémonde!' and he followed into a large dark room, at a distance. It was a dark winter day, and what with the shadows within, and what with the shadows without, he could but dimly discern the others who were brought there to have their arms bound. Some were standing; some seated. Some were lamenting, and in restless motion; but, these were few. The great majority were silent and still, looking fixedly at the ground.
As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, while some of the fifty-two were brought in after him, one man stopped in passing, to embrace him, as having a knowledge of him. It thrilled him with a great dread of discovery; but the man went on. A very few moments after that, a young woman, with a slight girlish form, a sweet spare face in which there was no vestige of colour, and large widely opened patient eyes, rose from the seat where he had observed her sitting, and came to speak to him.
`Citizen Evrémonde,' she said, touching him with her cold hand. `I am a poor little seamstress, who was with you in La Force.
He murmured for answer: `True. I forget what you were accused of?'
`Plots. Though the just Heaven knows I am innocent of any. Is it likely? Who would think of plotting with a poor little weak creature like me?'
The forlorn smile with which she said it, so touched him, that tears started from his eyes.
`I am not afraid to die, Citizen Evrémonde, but I have done nothing. I am not unwilling to die, if the Republic which is to do so much good to us poor, will profit by my death; but I do not know how that can be, Citizen Evreémonde. Such a poor weak little creature!'
As the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, it warmed and softened to this pitiable girl.
`I heard you were released, Citizen `Evrémonde. I hoped it was true?'
`It was. But, I was again taken and condemned.'
`If I may ride with you, Citizen Evrémonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, hut I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage.'
As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his lips.
`Are you dying for him?' she whispered.
`And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.'
`O you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?'
`Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.
The same shadows that are falling on the prison, are falling, in that same hour of the early afternoon, on the Barrier with the crowd about it, when a coach going out of Paris drives up to be examined.
`Who goes here? Whom have we within? Papers!'
The papers are handed out, and read.
`Alexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is he?'
This is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old man pointed out. 
`Apparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his right mind? The Revolution-fever will have been too much for him?'
Greatly too much for him.
`Hah! Many suffer with it. Lucie. His daughter. French. Which is she?'
This is she.
`Apparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evrémonde; is it not'."
It is.
`Hah! Evrémonde has an assignation elsewhere. Lucie, her child. English. This is she?'
She and no other.
`Kiss me, child of Evrémonde. Now, thou hast kissed a good Republican; something new in thy family; remember it! Sydney Carton. Advocate. English. Which is he?'
He lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out.
`Apparently the English advocate is in a swoon?'
It is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is represented that he is not in strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is under the displeasure of the Republic.
`Is that all? It is not a great deal, that! Many are under the displeasure of the Republic, and must look out at the little window. Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which is he?'
`I am he. Necessarily, being the last.'
It is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions. It is Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the coach door, replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurely mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach doors and greedily stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has its short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine.
`Behold your papers, Jarvis Lorry, countersigned.'
`One can depart, citizen?'
`One can depart. Forward, my postilions! A good journey!'
`I salute you, citizens.--And the first danger passed!'
These are again the words of Jarvis Lorry, as he clasps his hands, and looks upward. There is terror in the carriage, there is weeping, there is the heavy breathing of the insensible traveller. 
`Are we not going too slowly? Can they not be induced to go faster?' asks Lucie, clinging to the old man.
`It would seem like flight, my darling. I must not urge them too much; it would rouse suspicion.'
`Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued!'
`The road is clear, my dearest. So far, we are not pursued.'
Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, ruinous buildings, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, open country, avenues of leafless trees. The hard uneven pavement is under us, the soft deep mud is on either side. Sometimes, we strike into the skirting mud, to avoid the stones that clatter us and shake us; sometimes we stick in ruts and sloughs there. The agony of our impatience is then so great, that in our wild alarm and hurry we are for getting out and running--hiding--doing anything but stopping.
Out of the open country, in again among ruinous buildings, solitary farms, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, cottages in twos and threes, avenues of leafless trees. Have these men deceived us, and taken us back by another road? Is not this the same place twice over? Thank Heaven, no. A village. Look back, look back, and see if we are pursued! Hush! the posting-house.
Leisurely, our four horses are taken out; leisurely, the coach stands in the little street, bereft of horses, and with no likelihood upon it of ever moving again; leisurely, the new horses come into visible existence, one by one; leisurely, the new postilions follow, sucking and plaiting the lashes of their whips; leisurely, the old postilions count their money, make wrong additions, and arrive at dissatisfied results. All the time, our overfraught hearts are beating at a rate that would far outstrip the fastest gallop of the fastest horses ever foaled.
At length the new postilions are in their saddles, and the old are left behind. We are through the village, up the hill, and down the hill, and on the low watery grounds. Suddenly)', the postilions exchange speech with animated gesticulation, and thehorses-are pulled up, almost on their haunches. We are pursued.
`Ho! Within the carriage there. Speak then!'
`What is it?' asks Mr. Lorry, looking out at window.
`How many did they say?
`I do not understand you.'
` At the last post. How many to the Guillotine to-day?' 
`Fifty-two.'
`I said so! A brave number! My fellow-citizen here would have it forty-two; ten more heads are worth having. The Guillotine goes handsomely. I love it. Hi forward. Whoop!'
The night comes on dark. He moves more; he is beginning to revive, and to speak intelligibly; he thinks they are still together; he asks him, by his name, what he has in his hand. D pity us, kind Heaven, and help us! Look out, look out, and see if we are pursued.
The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by nothing else. 
附属监狱的黑牢里当天的死刑犯静候着他们的命运。他们的数目跟一年里的礼拜数相同。那天下午，五十二个人将随着那城市的生命之潮滚入永恒的无底深渊。他们的牢房还没有腾出，新的房客又已经派好；他们的血还没有跟昨天的血洒到一起，明天要跟他们的血混合的血又已经选定。
五十二个，一个一个点了名，从七十岁的赋税承包商到二十岁的女裁缝。前者的全部财富买不回他的命，后者的贫穷与低贱也救不了她的命。生理的疾病产生于人们的罪恶和疏忽，它对病人是不分尊卑一律折磨的。道德上的严重混乱产生于难以描述的苦难、无法忍受的压迫和没有人性的冷酷，它也是不分良莠一律打击的。
查尔斯.达尔内单独住在一间牢房里。自从离开法庭来到这里，他就不曾用幻想安慰过自己。昨天他听到了控诉，在每一行控诉词里他都听出了自己的毁灭。他充分理解，无论是什么人的影响也救不了他的命了。实际上判他死刑的是千百万群众，区区几个人的努力显然是无济于事的。
然而他心爱的妻子的面影在他眼前总还是那么鲜活，使他很难心安理得地引颈就戮，他对生命很执著，极其难以割舍。好不容易在这边慢慢撬松了，那边却又咬合了；把力气用到那边，略有进展，这一边却又关闭了。他感到万千愁绪滚滚而来，不禁心潮澎湃，心急如焚，无法做到听天安命。即使他确实平静了一会儿，在他死后还要活下去的妻儿却似乎又在抗议，把那平静叫作了自私。
不过，这也只是刚开头时的事。不久之后，他想起他所面临的命运之中并无耻辱的成份，又想起还有无数的人也曾含冤受屈走过同一一条路，而且每天有人从容走过，便也鼓起了勇气。然后他想起要让他的亲人将来能处之泰然，自己现在也必须能处之泰然，这样，他才逐渐稳定下来，心里也好过一些，这时他的思想达到了更高的境界，从上天汲取到了安慰。
在他被判处死刑的那天天黑之前，他已在临终的道路上到达了这种境地。他可以买纸笔和灯烛，便坐下来写信，直写到牢里规定的熄灯时间。
他写了一封长信给露西，说在她告诉他之前他并不知道她父亲被幽禁的事，又说在那篇手稿宣读之前他跟她一样并不知道自己的父亲和叔叔对这场苦难所负的责任。他曾对她解释过他何以没有告诉她他已放弃的姓氏，因为那是她父亲对他俩订婚所提出的唯一条件，也是在他们结婚那天早上他所要求的唯一承诺＿＿现在看来这要求是完全可以理解的了。他要求她，为了她父亲的缘故不要去打听他是否已忘掉了这份手稿，也不要去打听很久以前那个星期天在花园里的梧桐树下那有关伦敦塔的谈话是否暂时或永久让他想起了那份手稿。若是他还清楚记得，便无疑是以为它已随着巴士底狱一起毁掉了，因为他发现向全世界宣传的巴士底狱囚犯遗物中并没有这件东西。他请求她——虽然他也说用不着他提醒——用一切她所能想出的委婉办法去说服父亲，让他明白一个事实：他并没有做过任何应当负责的事，相反他倒是为了他们一直忘了自己。他希望她牢记自己对她最后的充满感激之情的爱和祝福，希望她节哀顺变，把她的爱奉献给他们亲爱的孩子。他们是会在天堂重逢的。他还恳求她安慰她的父亲。
他以同样的口气给她的父亲写了一封信，向他重托了妻子和孩子。他用十分郑重的口气作出委托，希望他振作起来，不要感到绝望，不要沉溺于回忆——他担心他会出现这种倾向——那是很危险的。
他向罗瑞先生托付了全家，安排了他的世俗事务。写完这些，他又加上许多话作为结束，表示了深沉的友情和殷切的怀念。他没有想到卡尔顿。他心里塞满了别人，一次也没想到他。
熄灯之前他写完了信。他躺上草荐的时候只觉得已跟这个世界永别。
但是这个世界却从梦中召回了他，在他面前露出了辉煌的形象。不知道怎么回事，他已被释放了，轻松愉快地跟露西一起自由幸福地回到了索霍老屋，虽然那屋跟它真正的样子已完全不同。她告诉他，这一切都只是一场梦，他根本没离开过家，一阵脚步之后，他又被砍了头，死了，平平静静地回到了她身边，一切都没有变。又是—阵昏沉，他在幽暗的清晨醒了过来。他已想不起自己在什么地方，出了什么事，直到他突然想起，“今天是我的死期！”
就这样他度过了这几个钟头，进入了那五十二个人头就要落地的日子。此时他心情泰然，只希望一言不发、勇敢地迎接死亡。但他清醒的头脑里却突然思潮起伏，出现了种种难以抑制的新的活动。
他还从来没见过那部快要结束他生命的机器。它离地有多高？有几步？他会被押到什么地方站住？别人会怎样碰他？那碰他的手是不是染红了的？他会不会是第一个？也许是最后一个吧？这些问题，还有许多类似的问题都无数次不由自主地闯进他的心里，并反复出现。种种思想都与害怕无关；他丝毫不觉得害怕，它们只仿佛产生于一种奇怪的无法摆脱的欲望，想知道到时候该怎么办。那件事时间那么短促，而他的欲望却是那么不相称地巨大，这种心理倒不像是产生于他自己，而是产生于他内心的某种精神。
时间一小时一小时地消逝，他不断地走来走去。钟声报着他以后再也听不见的时辰。九点永远过去了，十点永远过去了，十一点永远过去了，十二点也快要来到而且过去。在跟刚才困扰着他的那些奇怪的思想活动狠狠地斗争了一番之后，他终于控制了它们。他不断走来走去，对自己悄悄重复着亲人的名字。最艰苦的斗争过去了。他可以全无杂念地徘徊，一心只为自己和亲人们祈祷了。
十二点永远过去了。
他收到过通知，最后的时辰是三点。他知道押走的时间会早一点，死囚车还得在街上缓慢沉重地颠簸呢！因此他决心把两点钟记在心里，作为那件事的时辰。在那之前他得让自己坚强起来，然后再去让别人坚强。
他把双臂抱在胸前从容沉着地走着。他跟曾在拉福斯监狱走来走去的那个囚犯已是截然不同的两个人。他听见一点钟敲过，离开了他，并不感到惊讶，这一小时跟别的一小时完全一样长。因为恢复了自我控制，他真诚地感谢上天，想道，“只有一个钟头了。”他于是又走了起来。
门外的石头走道上有脚步声，他停了步。
钥匙插进锁孔，一拧，门还没开，或正要开，他听见有人在低声说话，说的是英语：“他从没有在这几见过我，我是避开他的。你一个人进去吧，我就在附近等候，抓紧时间。”
门匆匆打开又关上了。面对面站在他眼前，脸上挂着笑意，一声不响，凝望着他，一根手指警告地放在嘴唇前的是西德尼．卡尔顿。
他的形象是那样光辉，那样出众，囚犯刚见到他时几乎误以为是产生于自己想象中的幽灵。但是他却说话了，声音也是他的声音。他抓住囚犯的手，那手也确实是他的手。
“在全世界的人里你最想不到会跟你见面的恐怕就是我吧？”他说。
“我简直不能相信是你。现在也还难以相信。你不会是也坐牢了吧？”他突然担心起来。
“没有。我只偶然控制了这儿一个管牢的，信此机会来看看你。我是从她一—你的妻子——那儿来的，亲爱的达尔内。”
囚犯绞着自己的手。
“我给你带来了她的一个请求。”
“什么请求？”
“一个最真诚、最迫切、最重要的请求。是你最难忘的亲爱的声音以灶动人的口气提出的请求。”
囚犯把脸微微地扭到了一边。
“你没有时间了，别问我为什么带来这个愿望，也别问它是什么意思，我没有时间告诉你。你得照办＿＿脱掉脚上的靴子，穿上我的。”
牢房里靠墙有一把椅子，正在囚徒身后。卡尔顿往前一挤，像闪电一样把他推进椅子，自己光着脚，俯看着他。
“穿上我的靴子。用手拉，使劲，快！”
“卡尔顿，从这个地方是逃不掉的。根本办不到。你会跟我一起死去的。这是发疯。”
“我要是叫你逃倒真是发疯。可我叫你逃了没有？到我叫你逃出那道门的时候再说是发疯吧，你还可以不走呢！把你的蝴蝶结跟我的交换，上衣也跟我交换。你换衣服，我取下你这条发带，把你的头发抖散，弄得跟我的一样。”
卡尔顿动作神速。他们靠仿佛超自然的意志力和行动力强迫他迅速换了装＿＿囚犯在他手下完全像个儿童。
“卡尔顿，亲爱的卡尔顿！这是发疯。这是办不到的，根本不行的。有人干过，全都失败了。我请求你别在我的痛苦之上再赔上你的这条命了。”
“我要你走出那道门没有？到我要你走的时候再拒绝吧。桌于上有笔，有墨水，有纸。你的手还能写字而不发抖么？”
“你刚进来的时候，我的手倒是不发抖的。”
“那就别再发抖，照我所说的写吧！快，朋友，快！”
达内尔一手摸着感到困惑的头，在桌旁坐了下来。卡尔顿右手放在前襟里，逼近他站着。
“照我所说的写。”
“给谁写？”
“不给谁。”卡尔顿一只手仍然插在前襟里。
“要写日期么？”
“不写。”
囚徒每问一个问题都抬头看看。卡尔顿一只手插在前襟里，低头望着他。
“‘若是你还记得我俩很久以前说过的话，”卡尔顿念，让他写，“‘见了这信你就会明了的。我知道你记得，因为你的天性使你不会忘记。”
他正要从前襟中抽出手来，囚徒写到中途忽然感到不解，又匆勿抬头看了一眼。那手停住了，手上捏着个什么东西。
“写完‘忘记’了么？”卡尔顿问。
“写完了。你手上是武器么？”
“不是。我没带武器。”
“你手里是什么？”
“你马上就会知道的。写下去，只有几个字了。”他又念，让他写。“‘我感谢上帝给了我机会证明我的话；我感谢上帝，我的行为再也不会令人遗憾或悲伤了。’”说这话时，他眼睛盯着写信人，慢慢地、轻轻地把手放到了他面前。
笔从达尔内指间落下，他迷迷糊糊往周围看了看。
“那是什么雾气？”他问。
“雾气？”
“有什么东西在我面前飘过。”
“我什么都没感到；不可能有什么东西。拾起笔写完吧！快，快！”
囚徒努力集中注意，好像记忆力受到了伤害，或者器官功能已出现了紊乱。他双眼昏沉地望着卡尔顿，呼吸也不匀了。卡尔顿注视着他，手又伸进了前襟。
“快，快！”
囚徒又低头写信。
“‘要不然，’”卡尔顿的手又警惕地、轻轻地偷着往下移动。“‘我就无从使用这个作用更为长久的机会了。要不然，’”那手伸到了囚徒面前，我的责任就会更重大。要不然—一卡尔顿看着笔，笔下拖出的字已无法辨认。
卡尔顿的手再也不回到前襟里。囚徒跳了起来，脸上露出责备的意思。但是卡尔顿的右手已使劲捂住了他的鼻孔，左手搂住了他的腰。囚徒对前来为他献出生命的人作了几秒钟微弱的挣扎，但是不到一分钟他已倒在地上人事不省了。
卡尔顿用一双跟他的心同样急于达到目的的手迅速穿上囚犯脱在一旁的衣服，又把自己的头发往后梳，用囚犯的带子束住，然后轻轻地叫道，“进来吧，进来！”密探进来了。
“你看见没有？”卡尔顿一条腿跪在昏迷的人身边，同时把写好的信揣进他上衣口袋，抬起头来，“你的风险大么？”
“卡尔顿先生，”密探胆怯地打了一个响指，回答，“这里很忙乱，只要你照你的全套办法去做，我的风险并不太大。”
“别担心我。我是到死都会守信用的。”
“若要五十二个人的故事完整无缺，你确实得守信用，卡尔顿先生。只要你穿上这身衣服去顶数，我就不用怕。”
“别怕！我马上就不会麻烦你了，他们也会马上走得远远的。上帝保佑！现在，找人来帮忙把我送到马车里去。”
“你？”密探紧张地问。
“他，我跟他换了呀。你是从带我进来的门出去吧？”
“当然。”
“你带我进来的时候，我已经虚弱晕眩。现在你带我出去，我受不了生离死别的刺激，已经人事不省。这样的情况在这儿早已司空见惯，十分平常。你的生命纂在你自己手里。快！找人来帮忙！”
“你发誓不会出卖我么？”密探发着抖，好一会儿才说。
“喂，喂！”卡尔顿跺着脚说，“我不是早发过大誓，一定按计划办到底的么？你干吗浪费宝贵的时间１那院子你是知道的，你亲自送他进马车，交给罗瑞先生；亲自告诉他只给他新鲜空气，别给他用解药；叮嘱他记住我昨晚的话和他自己的承诺，赶了车就走！
密探走了，卡尔顿在桌边坐了下来，额头落在双手上。密探立即带了两个人回来。
“怎么回事？”两人中的一人望着倒在地下的人说。“他的朋友抽中了圣断头台彩票，他就那么难过么？”，
“若是这贵族没抽中，”另一个说，“优秀的爱国者也不会比他更难过的。”
带来的担架就在门口，他们把失去知觉的人放进了担架，弯下身子打算抬走。
“时间不多了，埃佛瑞蒙德，”密探用警告的口气说。
“我很明白，”卡尔顿回答。“求你小心照顾我的朋友，去吧。”
“来吧，弟兄们，”巴萨说，“抬起来，走！”
门关上了，只剩下了卡尔顿一个人。他竭尽全力仔细听着，怕出现怀疑或报警的声音。脚步声沿着远处的通道消失了！没有近乎异常的惊呼或忙乱。一会儿工夫之后他呼吸得自由了些，便在桌边坐下再听。钟敲了两点。
某些声音开始出现，他懂得那声音的意思，并不害怕。几道门依次打开，最后，他自己的门也开了。一个看守拿着名单往门里望了望，只说了句，“随我来，埃佛瑞蒙德！”便带了他来到远处一个黑暗的大屋里。那是个阴沉的冬日，因为室内幽暗，也因为天色阴沉，他对带进来上绑的人犯看不清楚。有的人站着，有的人坐着，有的人不停地哭喊躁动，不过哭闹的人是少数。绝大部分的人都不闹不动，呆呆地望着地面。
他被带到一个昏暗的角落站住，五十二人之中有些人随着他被带了进来。有个人因为认识达尔内，路过时停下脚步拥抱了他一下。他非常怕被看出破绽，不禁心惊胆战，但是那人却出去了。过了一会儿一个年轻妇女从座位上站起，向他走来，要跟他说话。他刚才还看见她坐在那儿。小小个子，像个姑娘，一张瘦瘦的甜甜的脸，没有丝毫血色，一对睁得很大的大眼睛，表现出听天由命的神态。
“埃佛瑞蒙德公民，”她用冰凉的手碰碰他说，“我是个可怜的小女裁缝，跟你在拉福斯一起坐过牢的。”
他回答时声音很含糊：“不错，他们说你犯什么罪来着？我忘了。”
“说我搞阴谋。公正的上天知道我的清白，我不会搞阴谋的。像我这么个瘦弱可怜的小女人，谁会来找我搞阴谋呢？可能么？”
她说话时那凄凉的微笑打动了他，他眼里也涌出了泪水。
“我并不怕死，埃佛瑞蒙德公民，可是我毕竟什么也没干过呀！能给穷人办那么多好事的共和国若是能因为我的死得到好处，我是不会不愿意死的。可是我不明白这能有什么好处，埃佛瑞蒙德公民，我是这么个瘦弱可怜的小女人！”
那是世界上最后一个使他心疼心软的人了。他的心为这个可怜的姑娘感到激动，充满了怜悯。
“我听说已经释放了你，埃佛瑞蒙德公民。我希望那是真的，是么？”
“是真的。可是我又被抓了回来，而且判了死刑。”
“若是我跟你在一辆囚车上，你能让我握住你的手么，埃佛瑞蒙德公民？我不害怕，可是我个子小，身体弱，握住你的手可以增加我的勇气。”
她抬起那一双无怨无仇的眼睛看着他的脸；他发现其中猛然闪过了怀疑的神色，然后是诧异。他握了握那几根被辛苦和饥饿弄得纤瘦的年轻的手指。
“你是代替他去死么？”她低声地说。
“还代替他的妻子和孩子。嘘！是的。”
“啊，你愿让我握住你勇敢的手么，陌生人？”
“嘘！愿意，可怜的妹妹，直到最后。”
落在监狱上的阴云在下午的同一时刻也落在路障上，那儿有一大群人。一辆从巴黎驶出的马车前来接受检查。
“是谁？车上是什么人？证件！”．
证件递了出来，受到了检查。
“亚历山大．曼内特，医生，法国人。是谁？”
这就是。这个说话含糊，神智不清的病弱的老头被指了出来。
“医生公民的头脑显然是出了问题，是么？革命的高烧叫他吃不消了么？”
太吃不消了。．
“哈！吃不消的人多的是。露面，他的女儿。法国人。是谁？”
这就是。
“显然是她。露西，埃佛瑞蒙德的老婆，是么？”
是的。
“哈！埃佛瑞蒙德有另案处理。露西，她的女儿。英国人。这就是么？”
是的，不是别人。
“亲亲我，，埃佛瑞蒙德的孩子。现在你亲了一个优秀的共和主义者。记住：这可是你家的新鲜事呢！西德尼．卡尔顿，律师，英国人。是谁？”
在这几，躺在马车这边的角落里。“卡尔顿”被指了出来。
“这位英国律师显然是昏迷不醒了，是么？”
希望新鲜空气能叫他清醒。他身体原本不上好，又刚跟一个共和国不喜欢的朋友告了别，挺伤心的。
“为这就昏过去了么？那能算多大的事！共和国不喜欢的人多着呢，全都得到那小窗口去往里瞧的。贾维斯.罗瑞，银行家，英国人。是谁？”
“当然是我了，我是最后一个。”
上面的问题都是由贾维斯.罗瑞一一回答的。他下了车，一手扶住车门，回答了官员们的提问。官员们慢条斯理地绕着马车转了一圈，又慢条斯理地爬上了车厢，看了看车顶上携带的少量行李。乡下人也围了过来，靠近车门，贪婪地往里瞧。一个抱在妈妈怀里的小孩伸出短短的手臂，再想摸摸一个上了断头台的贵族的妻子。
“看看你们的证件吧！贾维斯.罗瑞，已经签过字了。”
“可以走了吗，公民？”
“可以走了。走吧，车夫，一路顺风！”
“向你们致敬，公民们。一—第一道关口总算闯过了！”
这又是贾维斯.罗瑞的话。这时他双手交握，往前望着。马车里有恐惧，有哭泣，还有昏迷的旅客的沉重呼吸。
“我们是否走得太慢了一点？能不能叫他们快点？”露西紧靠着老年人说。，
“快了会像逃跑，亲爱的。不能太催他们，否则会引起怀疑的。”
“看看后头，看看后头，有人追没有？”
“路上干干净净，亲爱的。到目前为止没有人追。”
在我们身边经过的有两三座房屋、独立的农庄、建筑物的废墟、染坊和硝皮作坊之类，还有开阔的田野、一排排落了叶的树。我们下而是凹凸不平的坚硬的路，两旁是深深的污泥。我们有时从路边的泥里穿过，因为要避开石头、免得颠簸。有时我们陷在车辙和泥洼里，便很紧张、痛苦、心惊胆战、手忙脚乱，只想赶快拖出来逃掉。只要不外下，我们什么都愿意做。
走出了空旷的田野，又走过了倾塌的建筑物、孤独的农庄、染坊和硝皮作坊之类、三三两两的农舍、一行行掉光了叶子的树木。赶车的骗了我们，要把我们从另一条路带回去么？又回到老地方了么？谢天谢地，没有。前面是一座村庄。看看后头，看看后头，有没有人追？嘘！驿站到了。
我们的四匹马给懒洋洋地牵走了，马车车厢懒洋洋地停在小街上，马匹没有了，仿佛再也不会行动了。新的驿马一匹又一匹懒洋洋地出现了。新的车夫懒洋洋地跟在后面，编着鞭梢，用嘴吮着。原来的车夫懒洋洋地数着钱，算错了加法，一肚子不高兴。在这整个儿的时间里，我们那负担过重的心都在狂跳，跳得比世界上最快的马的最迅猛的奔跑还要快。
新的车夫终于坐上了马鞍，原来的车夫留在了后面。我们穿过了村庄，上了山坡，又下了山坡，来到潮湿的平川地。突然两个车夫激动地打着手势争论起来，猛一带马，马匹几乎倒坐在地上。是有人追么？
“喂！车里的客人，回答个问题。”
“什么事？”罗瑞先生从车窗往外看，回答。
“你们说是多少？”
“我不明白你的意思。”
“在刚才那驿站里，他们说今天有多少人上断头台？”
“五十二个。”
“我不是说过么！好漂亮的数字！这位公民老兄硬说是四十二。再加十个脑袋是应该的。断头台干得真漂亮，我真喜欢它。嗨，走呀。驾，驾！”
夜渐渐降临，天黑了下来。昏迷的人的动作多了起来。他开始苏醒，说话也听得清了。他以为他俩还在一起，他叫着卡尔顿的名字，问他手上拿的是什么。啊，怜悯我们，仁慈的上天，帮助我们！小心，小心，看看是不是有人在追。
风在赶着我们猛刮，云在我们身后紧跟，月亮向我们扑了下来，整个心惊胆战的夜都对我们紧追不舍。此外跟踪上来的到目前为止却只是一片空虚。
Book 3 Chapter 14 The Knitting Done 
IN that same juncture of time when the Fifty-Two awaited their fate, Madame Defarge held darkly ominous council with The Vengeance and Jacques Three of the Revolutionary Jury. Not in the wine-shop did Madame Defarge confer with these ministers, but in the shed of the wood-sawyer, erst a mender of roads. The sawyer himself did not participate in the conference, but abided at a little distance, like an outer satellite who was not to speak until required, or to offer an opinion until invited.
`But our Defarge,' said Jacques Three, `is undoubtedly a good Republican? Eh?'
`There is no better,' the voluble Vengeance protested in her shrill notes, `in France.
`Peace, little Vengeance,' said Madame Defarge, laying her hand with a slight frown on her lieutenant's lips, `hear me speak. My husband, fellow-citizen, is a good Republican and a bold man; he has deserved well of the Republic, and possesses its confidence. But my husband has his weaknesses, and he is so weak as to relent towards this Doctor.'
`It is a great pity,' croaked Jacques Three, dubiously shaking his head, with his cruel fingers at his hungry mouth; `it is not quite like a good citizen; it is a thing to regret.
`See you,' said madame, `I care nothing for this Doctor, I. He may wear his head or lose it, for any interest I have in him; it is all one to me. But, the Evrémonde people are to be exterminated, and the wife and child must follow the husband and father.'
`She has a fine head for it,' croaked Jacques Three. `I have seen blue eyes and golden hair there, and they looked charming when Samson held them up.' Ogre that he was, he spoke like an epicure.
Madame Defarge cast down her eyes, and reflected a little. `The child also,' observed Jacques Three, with a meditative enjoyment of his words, `has golden hair and blue eyes. And we seldom have a child there. It is a pretty sight!'
`In a word,' said Madame Defarge, coming out of her short abstraction, `I cannot trust my husband in this matter. 
Not only do I feel, since last night, that I dare not confide to him the details of my projects; but also I feel that if I delay, there is danger of his giving warning, and then they might escape.
`That must never be,' croaked Jacques Three; `no one must escape. We have not half enough as it is. We ought to have six score a day.'
`In a word,' Madame Defarge went on, `my husband has not my reason for pursuing this family to annihilation, and I have not his reason for regarding this Doctor with any sensibility. I must act for myself, therefore. Come hither, little citizen.
The wood-sawyer, who held her in the respect, and himself in the submission, of mortal fear, advanced with his hand to his red cap.
`Touching those signals, little citizen,' said Madame Defarge, sternly, `that she made to the prisoners; you are ready to bear witness to them this very day?'
`Ay, ay, why not!' cried the sawyer. `Every day, in all weathers, from two to four, always signalling, sometimes with the little one, sometimes without. I know what I know. I have seen with my eyes.'
He made all manner of gestures while he spoke, as if in incidental imitation of some few of the great diversity of signals that he had never seen.
`Clearly plots,' said Jacques Three. `Transparently!'
`There is no doubt of the Jury?' inquired Madame Defarge, letting her eyes turn to him with a gloomy smile.
`Rely upon the patriotic Jury, dear citizeness. I answer for my fellow-Jurymen.'
`Now, let me see,' said Madame Defarge, pondering again. `Yet once more! Can I spare this Doctor to my husband? I have no feeling either way. Can I spare him?'
`He would count as one head,' observed Jacques Three, in a low voice. `We really have not heads enough; it would be a pity, I think.'
`He was signalling with her when I saw her,' argued Madame Defarge; `I cannot speak of one without the other; and I must not be silent, and trust the case wholly to him, this little citizen here. For, I am not a bad witness.
The Vengeance and Jacques Three vied with each other in their fervent protestations that she was the most admirable and marvellous of witnesses. The little citizen, not to be outdone, declared her to be a celestial witness.
He must take his chance,' said Madame Defarge. `No, I cannot spare him! You are engaged at three o'clock; you are going to see the batch of to-day executed.--You?'
The question was addressed to the wood-sawyer, who hurriedly replied in the affirmative: seizing the occasion to add that he was the most ardent of Republicans, and that he would be in effect the most desolate of Republicans, if anything prevented him from enjoying the pleasure of smoking his afternoon pipe in the contemplation of the droll national barber. He was so very demonstrative herein, that he might have been suspected (perhaps was, by the dark eyes that looked Contemptuously at him out of Madame Defarge's head) of having his small individual fears for his own personal safety, every hour in the day.
`I,' said madame, `am equally engaged at the same place. After it is over-say at eight to-night--come you to me, in Saint Antoine, and we will give information against these' people at my section.'
The wood-sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to attend the citizeness. The citizeness looking at him, he became embarrassed, evaded her glance as a small dog would have done, retreated among his wood, and hid his confusion over the handle of his saw.
Madame Defarge beckoned the Juryman and The Vengeance a little nearer to the door, and there expounded her further views to them thus:
`She will now be at home, awaiting the moment of his death. She will be mourning and grieving. She will be in a state of mind to impeach the justice of the Republic. She will be full of sympathy with its enemies. I will go to her.'
`What an admirable woman; what an adorable woman!' exclaimed Jacques Three, rapturously. `Ah, my cherished!' cried The Vengeance; and embraced her.
`Take you my knitting,' said Madame Defarge, placing it in her lieutenant's hands, `and have it ready for me in my usual seat. Keep me my usual chair. Go you there, straight, for there will probably be a greater concourse than usual, to-day.'
`I willingly obey the orders of my Chief' said The Vengeance with alacrity, and kissing her cheek. `You will not be late?' 
`I shall be there before the commencement.'
`And before the tumbrils arrive. Be sure you are there, my soul,' said The Vengeance, calling after her, for she had already turned into the street, `before the tumbrils arrive!'
Madame Defarge slightly waved her hand, to imply that she heard, and might be relied upon to arrive in good time, and so went through tile mud, and round the corner of the prison wall. The Vengeance and the Juryman, looking alter her as she walkedaway, were highly appreciative of her fine figure, and her superb moral endowments.
There were many women at that time, upon whom the time laid a dreadfully disfiguring hand; but, there was not one among them more to be dreaded than this ruthless woman, now taking her way along the streets. Of a strong and fearless character, of shrewd sense and readiness, of great determination, of that kind of beauty which not only seems to impart to its possessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into others an instinctive recognition of those qualities; the troubled time would have heaved her up, under any circumstances. But, imbued from her childhood with a brooding sense of, wrong, and an inveterate hatred of a class, opportunity had developed her into a tigress. She was absolutely without pity. If she had ever had the virtue in her, it had quite gone out of her.
It was nothing to her, that an innocent man was to die for the sins of his forefathers; she saw, not him, but them. It was nothing to her, that his wife was to be made a widow and his daughter an orphan; that was insufficient punishment, because they were her natural enemies and her prey, and as such had no right to live. To appeal to her, was made hopeless by her having no sense of pity, even for herself. If she had been laid low in the streets, in any of the many encounters in which she had been engaged, she would not have pitied herself; nor, if she had been ordered to the axe to-morrow, would she have gone to it with any softer feeling than a fierce desire to change places with the man who sent her there.
Such a heart Madame Defarge carried under her rough robe. Carelessly worn, it was a becoming robe enough, in a certain weird way, and her dark hair looked rich under her coarse red cap. Lying hidden in her bosom, was a loaded pistol. Lying hidden at her waist, was a sharpened dagger. Thus accoutred, and walking with the confident tread of such a character, and with the supple freedom of a woman who had habitually walked in her girlhood, bare-foot and bare-legged, on the brown sea-sand, Madame Defarge took her way along the streets.
Now, when the journey of the travelling coach, at that very moment waiting for the completion of its load, had been planned out last night, the difficulty of taking Miss Pross in it had much engaged Mr. Lorry's attention. It was not merely desirable to avoidoverloading the coach, but it was of the highest importance that the time occupied in examining it and its passengers, should be reduced to the utmost; since their escape might depend on the saving of only a few seconds here and there. Finally, he hadproposed, after anxious consideration, that Miss Pross and Jerry, who were at liberty to leave the city, should leave it at three o'clock in the lightest-wheeled conveyance known to that period. Unencumbered with luggage, they would soon overtake the coach, and, passing it and preceding it on the road, would order its horses in advance, and greatly facilitate its progress during the precious hours of the night, when delay was the most to be dreaded.
Seeing in this arrangement the hope of rendering real service in that pressing emergency, Miss Pross hailed it with joy. She and Jerry had beheld the coach start, had known who it was that Solomon brought, had passed some ten minutes in tortures of suspense, and were now concluding their arrangements to follow the coach, even as Madame Defarge, taking her way through the streets, now drew nearer and nearer to the else-deserted lodging in which they held their consultation.
`Now what do you think, Mr. Cruncher,' said Miss Pross, whose agitation was so great that she could hardly speak, or stand, or move, or live: `what do you think of our not starting from this court-yard? Another carriage having already gone from here to-day, it might awaken suspicion.
`My opinion, miss,' returned Mr. Cruncher, `is as, you're right. Likewise wot I'll stand by you, right or wrong.
`I am so distracted with fear and hope for our precious creatures,' said Miss Pross, wildly crying, `that I am incapable of forming any plan. Are you capable of forming any plan, my dear good Mr. Cruncher?'
`Respectin' a future spear o' life, miss,' returned Mr. Cruncher, `I hope so. Respectin' any present use o' this here blessed old head o' mine, I think not. Would you do me the favour, miss, to take notice o' two promises and wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis?'
`Oh, for gracious sake!' cried Miss Pross, still wildly crying, `record them at once, and get them out of the way, like an excellent man.
`First,' said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble, and who spoke with an ashy and solemn visage, `them poor things well out o' this, never no more will I do it, never no more!'
`I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher,' returned Miss Pross, `that you never will do it again, whatever it is, and I beg you not to think it necessary to mention more particularly what it is.'
`No, miss,' returned Jerry, `it shall not be named to you. Second: them poor things well out o' this, and never no more will I interfere with Mrs. Cruncher's flopping, never no more!'
`Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be,' said Miss Pross, striving to dry her eyes and compose herself, `I have no doubt it is best that Mrs. Cruncher should have it entirely under her own superintendence.--O my poor darlings!'
`I go so far as to say, miss, morehover,' proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with a most alarming tendency to hold forth as from a pulpit--`and let my words be took down and took to Mrs. Cruncher through yourself--that wot my opinions respectin' flopping has undergone a change, and that wot I only hope with all my heart as Mrs. Cruncher may be a flopping at the present time.'
There, there, there! I hope she is, my dear man,' cried the distracted Miss Pross, `and I hope she finds it answering her expectations.'
`Forbid it,' proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with additional solemnity, additional slowness, and additional tendency to hold forth and hold out, `as anything wot I have ever said or done should be wisited on my earnest wishes for them poor creeturs now! Forbid it as we shouldn't all flop (if it was anyways conwenient) to get `em out o' this here dismal risk! Forbid it, miss! Wot I say, for--BID it!' This was Mr. Cruncher's conclusion after a protracted but vain endeavour to find a better one.
And still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer and nearer. 
`If we ever get back to our native land,' said Miss Pross, `you may rely upon my telling Mrs. Cruncher as much as I may be able to remember and understand of what you have so impressively said; and at all events you may be sure that I shall bear witness to your being thoroughly in earnest at this dreadful time. Now, pray let us think! My esteemed Mr. Cruncher, let us think!'
Still, Madame Defarge, pursuing her way along the streets, came nearer and nearer.
`If you were to go before,' said Miss Pross, `and stop the vehicle and horses from coming here, and were to wait somewhere for me; wouldn't that be best?'
Mr. Cruncher thought it might be best.
`Where could you wait for me?' asked Miss Pross.
Mr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he could think of no locality but Temple Bar. Alas! Temple Bar was hundreds of miles away, and Madame Defarge was drawing very near indeed.
`By the cathedral door,' said Miss Pross. `Would it be much out of the way, to take me in, near the great cathedral door between the two towers?'
`No, miss,' answered Mr. Cruncher.
`Then, like the best of men,' said Miss Pross, `go to the posting-house straight, and make that change.'
`I am doubtful,' said Mr. Cruncher, hesitating and shaking his head, `about leaving of you, you see. We don't know what may happen.'
`Heaven knows we don't,' returned Miss Pross, `but have no fear for me. Take me in at the cathedral, at Three o'clock, or as near it as you can, and I am sure it will be better than our going from here. I feel certain of it. There! Bless you, Mr. Cruncher! Think--not of me, but of the lives that may depend on both of us !'
This exordium, and Miss Pross's two hands in quite agonised entreaty clasping his, decided Mr. Cruncher. With an encouraging nod or two, he immediately went out to alter the arrangements, and left her by herself to follow as she had proposed.
The having originated a precaution which was already in course of execution, was a great relief to Miss Pross. The necessity of Composing her appearance so that it should attract no special notice in the streets, was another relief She looked at her watch, and it was twenty minutes past two. She had no time to lose, but must get ready at once.
Afraid, in her extreme perturbation, of the loneliness of the deserted rooms, and of half-imagined faces peeping from behind every open door in them, Miss Pross got a basin of cold water and began laving her eyes, which were swollen and red. Haunted by her feverish apprehensions, she could not bear to have her sight obscured for a minute at a time by the dripping water, but constantly paused and looked round to see that there was no one watching her. In one of those pauses she recoiled and cried out, for she saw a figure standing in the room.
The basin fell to the ground broken, and the water flowed to the feet of Madame Defarge. By strange stern ways, and through much staining blood, those feet had come to meet that water.
Madame Defarge looked coldly at her, and said, `The wife of Evrémonde; where is she?'
It flashed upon Miss Pross's mind that the doors were all standing open, and would suggest the flight. Her first act was to shut them. There were four in the room, and she shut them all. She then placed herself before the door of the chamber which Lucie had occupied.
Madame Defarge's dark eyes followed her through this rapid movement, and rested on her when it was finished. Miss Pross had nothing beautiful about her; years had not tamed the wildness, or softened the grimness, of her appearance; but, she too was a determined woman in her different way, and she measured Madame Defarge with her eyes, every inch.
`You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer,' said Miss Pross, in her breathing. `Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman.
Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully, but still with something of Miss Pross's own perception that they two were at bay. She saw a tight, hard, wiry woman before her, as Mr. Lorry had seen in the same figure a woman with a strong hand, in the years gone by. She knew full well that Miss Pross was the family's devoted friend; Miss Pross knew full well that Madame Defarge was the family's malevolent enemy.
`On my way yonder,' said Madame Defarge, with a slight movement of her hand towards the fatal spot, `where they reserve my chair and my knitting for me, I am come, to make my compliments to her in passing. I wish to see her.
`I know that your intentions are evil,' said Miss Pross, `and you may depend upon it, I'll hold my own against them.'
Each spoke in her own language; neither understood the other's words; both were very watchful, and intent to deduce from look and manner, what the unintelligible words meant.
`It will do her no good to keep herself concealed from me at this moment,' said Madame Defarge. `Good patriots will know what that means. Let me see her. Go tell her that I wish to see her. Do you hear?'
`If those eyes of yours were bed-winches,' returned Miss Pross, `and I was an English four-poster, they shouldn't loose a splinter of me. No, you wicked foreign woman; I am your match.'
Madame Defarge was not likely to follow these idiomatic remarks in detail; but, she so far understood them as to perceive that she was set at naught.
`Woman imbecile and pig-like!' said Madame Defarge, frowning. `I take no answer from you. I demand to see her. Either tell her that I demand to see her, or stand out of the way of the door and let me go to her!' This, with an angry explanatory wave of her right arm.
`I little thought,' said bliss Pross, `that I should ever want to understand your nonsensical language; but I would give all I have, except the clothes I wear, to know whether you suspect the truth, or any part of it.'
Neither of them for a single moment released the other's eyes. Madame Defarge had not moved from the spot where she stood when Miss Pross first became aware of her; but she now advanced one step.
`I am a Briton,' said Miss Pross, `I am desperate. I don't care an English Two-pence for myself. I know that the longer I keep you here, the greater hope there is for my Ladybird. I'll not leave a handful of that dark hair upon your head, if you lay a finger on me!'
Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head and a flash of her eyes between every rapid sentence, and every rapid sentence a whole breath. Thus Miss Pross, who had never struck a blow in her life.
But, her courage was of that emotional nature that it brought the irrepressible tears into her eyes. This was a courage that Madame Defarge so little comprehended as to mistake for weakness. `Ha, ha!' she laughed, `you poor wretch! What are you worth! I address myself to that Doctor.' Then she raised her voice and called out, `Citizen Doctor! Wife of Evrémonde! Child of Evrémonde! Any person but this miserable fool, answer the Citizeness Defarge!'
Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some latent disclosure in the expression of Miss Pross's face, perhaps a sudden misgiving apart from either suggestion, whispered to Madame Defarge that they were gone. Three of the doors she opened swiftly, and looked in.
`Those rooms are all in disorder, there has been hurried packing, there are odds and ends upon the ground. There is no one in that room behind you! Let me look.'
`Never!' said Miss Pross, who understood the request as perfectly as Madame Defarge understood the answer.
`If they are not in that room, they are gone, and can be pursued and brought back,' said Madame Defarge to herself.
`As long as you don't know whether they are in that room or not, you are uncertain what to do,' said Miss Pross to herself; `and you shall not know that, if I can prevent your knowing it; and know that, or not know that, you shall not leave here while I can hold you.'
`I have been in the streets from the first, nothing has stopped me, I will tear you to pieces, but I will have you from that door,' said Madame Defarge.
`We are alone at the top of a high house in a solitary courtyard, we are not likely to be heard, and I pray for bodily strength to keep you here, while every minute you are here is worth a hundred thousand guineas to my darling,' said Miss Pross.
Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the instinct of the moment, seized her round tile waist in both her arms, and held her tight. It was in vain for Madame Defarge to struggle and to strike; Miss Pross, with the vigorous tenacity of love, always so much stronger than hate, clasped her tight, and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle that they had. The two hands of Madame Defarge buffeted and tore her face; but, Miss Pross, with her head down, held her round the waist, and clung to her with more than the hold of a drowning woman. 
Soon, Madame Defarge's hands ceased to strike, and felt at her encircled waist. `It is under my arm,' said Miss Pross, in smothered tones, `you shall not draw it. I am stronger than you, I bless Heaven for it. I'll hold you till one or other of us faints or dies!'
Madame Defarge's hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross looked up, saw what it was, struck at it, struck out a flash and a crash, and stood alone--blinded with smoke.
All this was in a second. As the smoke cleared, leaving an awful stillness, it passed out on the air, like the soul of the furious woman whose body lay lifeless on the ground.
In the first fright and horror of her situation, Miss Pross passed the body as far from it as she could, and ran down the stairs to call for fruitless help. Happily, she bethought herself of the consequences of what she did, in time to check herself and go back. It was dreadful to go in at the door again; but, she did go in, and even went near it, to get the bonnet and other things that she must wear. These she put on, out on the staircase, first shutting and locking the door and taking away the key. She then sat down on the stairs a few moments to breathe and to cry, and then got up and hurried away.
By good fortune she had a veil on her bonnet, or she could hardly have gone along the streets without being stopped. By good fortune, too, she was naturally so peculiar in appearance as not to show disfigurement like any other woman. She needed bothadvantages, for the marks of griping fingers were deep in her face, and her hair was torn, and her dress (hastily composed with unsteady hands) was clutched and dragged a hundred ways
In crossing the bridge, she dropped the door key in the river. Arriving at the cathedral some few minutes before her escort, and waiting there, she thought, what if the key were already taken in a net, what if it were identified, what if the door were opened and the remains discovered, what if she were stopped at the gate, sent to prison, and charged with murder! In the midst of these fluttering thoughts, the escort appeared, took her in, and took her away.
`Is there any noise in the streets?' she asked him.
`The usual noises,' Mr. Cruncher replied; and looked surprised by the question and by her aspect.
`I don't hear you,' said Miss Pross. `What do you say?'
It was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat what he said; Miss Pross could not hear him. `So I'll nod my head,' thought Mr. Cruncher, amazed, `at all events she'll see that.' And she did.
`Is there any noise in the streets now?' asked Miss Pross again, presently.
Again Mr. Cruncher nodded his head.
`I don't hear it.'
`Gone deaf in a hour?' said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, with his mind much disturbed; `wot's come to her?'
`I feel,' said Miss Pross, `as if there had been a flash and a crash, and that crash was the last thing I should ever hear in this life.'
`Blest if she ain't in a queer condition!' said Mr. Cruncher, more and more disturbed. `Wot can she have been a takin', to keep her courage up? Hark! There's the roll of them dreadful carts! You can hear that, miss?'
`I can hear,' said Miss Pross, seeing that he spoke to her, `nothing. O, my good man, there was first a great crash, and then a great stillness, and that stillness seems to be fixed and unchangeable, never to be broken any more as long as my life lasts.'
`If she don't hear the roll of those dreadful carts, now very nigh their journey's end,' said Mr. Cruncher, glancing over his shoulder, `it's my opinion that indeed she never will hear anything else in this world.'
And indeed she never did. 
在五十二个人等待着自己的命运的同时，德伐日太太召集复仇女神和革命陪审团的陪审员雅克三号开了一个阴暗不祥的会。德伐日太太跟两位命运的差役磋商的地点不在酒店，而在过去的补路工、现在的锯木工的小屋里。锯木工并未参加会议，他像个外层空间的卫星一样呆在远处，准备只在必要时或得到邀请时才发表意见。，
“可是我们的德伐日，”雅克三号说，“无疑是个优秀的共和分子，是么？”
“在法国没有比他更优秀的了，”口若悬河的复仇女神尖声尖气地肯定。
“别吵，小复仇，”德伐日太太略微皱了皱眉，伸出个指头挡在她助手的唇边，“听我说，公民伙计，我的丈夫是个优秀的共和分子，也是个大胆的人，值得共和国的尊重。他也获得了共和国的信任。但是他有他的弱点，他对医生心慈手软。”
“很遗憾，”雅克三号低沉地说，含义不明地摇着脑袋，几根残忍的手指又在嘴边猴急地抓挠。“那就不太像个好公民了，很遗憾。”
“你们要明白，”老板娘说，“我对医生没兴趣。他丢不丢脑袋我不管，那对我都一样。但是埃佛瑞蒙德一家可得要斩草除根，老婆和孩子必须跟丈夫和爸爸去。”、
“她有一个漂亮的脑袋跟着去呢，”雅克三号低沉地说。“我在这几看见过不少蓝眼睛金头发的脑袋，参孙提起那脑袋的样子可真迷人。”他虽是个吃人恶魔，说话倒像个美食家。
德伐日太太垂下眼脸想了想。
“还有那孩于也是金头发蓝眼睛，”雅克三号带着享受的神气思考着。“在那儿很少看见孩子。倒挺迷人的：”
“总而言之，”德伐日太太停顿了片刻，说道，“这事我信不过我丈夫。我从昨天晚上起就感到不但不能把我计划的细节告诉他，而旦动手要快，否则他还可能走漏消息，让他们跑掉。”
“绝不能让他们跑掉，”雅克三号低沉地说。“一个也不准。就现在这种情况人数还不到一半呢。应该每天杀他一百二十个的。”
“总而言之，”德伐日太太说下去，“我要把这一家斩草除根的道理我的老公不理解；他对医生那么关怀的道理我也想不通。因此我得亲手采取行动。来呀，小公民。”
锯木工用手碰了碰红便帽，走了过来。他对她毕恭毕敬，服服帖帖，怕得要命。
“你今天就可以作证，证明那些手势么，小公民？德伐日太太严厉地说。
“可以，可以，为什么不可以！”锯木工叫道，“每天，不论天晴下雨，从两点到四点，总在那儿打手势，有时带着那小的，有时没带。我知道的事我是知道的。我是亲眼看见的。”
他说话时做了许多手势，仿佛偶然模仿着几个他其实从没见过的复杂手势。
“显然是搞阴谋，”雅克三号说，“再清楚不过了。”
“陪审团不会有问题吧？”德伐日太太露出个阴沉的微笑把眼光转向他说。
“相信爱国的陪审团吧，亲爱的女公民，我可以为我陪审团的伙计们打包票。”
“现在我来想想，”德伐日太太又沉思起来，“再想一想吧！为了我那老公，我能不能放过医生呢？放不放过对我都一样。我能放过他么？”
“他也要算一个脑袋呢，”雅克三号低声说。“我们现有的脑袋还嫌不够，放过了怪可惜的，我觉得。”
“我见到那女人的时候，医生也跟她一样在打手势呢！”德伐日太太争辩道，“我不能谈这个不谈那个，我不能把这案子全交给这个小公民去办，因为我做起证人来也并不差。”
复仇女神和雅克三号彼此争先恐后地肯定她是最值得尊重，也是最精采的证人。小公民不甘落后，便说她是举世无双的证人。
“不，我不能放过他，”德伐日太太说，“他得凭命去闯了！你三点钟有事，要去看今天杀的这一批——是吗？”
这话问的是锯木工。锯木工赶快说他也要去，而且抓紧机会补充说，他是最积极的共和分子。实际上若是有什么东西使他失去了享受一边抽午后烟、一边欣赏国家级剃头师傅精采表演的机会，他就会成为最孤独的共和分子了。他的表白有点过分，甚至叫人怀疑他每时每刻都在为自己那渺小的安全担心。而他也许确实在受着怀疑，因为德伐日太太一双黑眼睛正轻蔑地望着他。
“我也同样要到那儿去。”老板娘说。“那儿的事结束之后，你们就到我那儿，到圣安托万去，就定在八点吧，我们要到我那个区去揭发这几个人。”
锯木工说他若是能陪伴女公民，他会引以为荣，感到骄傲的。女公民却白了他一眼，弄得他很尴尬，像小狗一样躲着她的目光，钻到木柴堆里拉起锯来，借以掩饰自己的狼狈。
德伐日太太招呼陪审员和复仇女神往门边靠了靠，向他俩进一步说明了她的观点：
“那女的现在准在家等着他死去的时刻。她会哀悼，会痛苦，一定会对共和国的审判心怀不满，对共和国的敌人满怀同情。我要到她那儿去。”
“多么令人钦佩的女人，多么值得崇拜的女人！”雅克三号欣喜若狂，叫道。“啊，我的心肝宝贝！”复仇女神叫了起来，拥抱了她。
“你把我的编织活儿拿去，”德伐日太太把毛线放到助手手里，“把它放在我平时的座位上，占好座包。马上去，因为十有八九今天的人会比平常多。”
“我衷心接受上级的命令，”复仇女神敏捷作答，而且亲了亲她的面颊。“你不会迟到吧？”
“行刑开始之前我准到。”
“囚车到达之前。一准要到，我的宝贝，”复仇女神对着她的背影说，因为她已转身上了街。“囚车到达之前！”
德伐日太太轻轻挥了挥手，表示她听见了，一定准时到达，然后便穿过泥泞、绕过了监狱大墙。复仇女神和陪审员望着她远去，对她那漂亮的身影和无与伦比的道德秉赋表示了崇高的赞赏。
那时的许多妇女都被时代之手捏弄得可怕地变了形，却没有一个妇女能比现在走在大街上的这个无情的女人更可怕的了。她有坚强勇敢的性格，精明敏捷的头脑，还有巨大的决心。她具有一种美，那美不但赋予了她稳定坚实、苦大仇深的特色，而且使人不由得由衷地赞美这一特色。无论情况如何，那“混乱的时代”是必然会使她出人头地的。但是由于她从儿童时代起就深感含冤受屈，养成了根深蒂固的阶级仇恨，机会便把她发展成了一只母老虎。她是绝对没有怜惜之情的。即使曾有过也早已泯灭了。
一个清白无辜的男人要为父辈的罪行而死亡，这在她完全不算一回事。她看见的不是他，而是他的父辈。那个男人的妻子要变成寡妇，女儿要变成孤儿，这在她也不算一回事。那种惩罚还不够，因为她们都是她天生的敌人，是她的战利品，本没有活下去的权利。要使她谅解是办不到的，她没有怜惜之心，甚至对自己也如此。若是她在自己参加过的战斗中倒下了，她也不会怜惜自己；若是她被送上断头台，她也只会咬牙切齿恨不得让送她上断头台的人跟她易地而处，却没有丝毫怨艾伤感的柔情。
在德伐日太太那粗布袍子下而的就是这样一颗心。那布袍她随意穿着，却很合身，但带几分怪诞。那一头黑发在粗糙的红便帽之下显得尤其丰密。她胸前掖了一把子弹上膛的手枪。腰间别了一把磨得飞快的匕首。她便以这样一身装束、这样一个角色的自信步伐在大街上走着：表现了习惯于光着腿赤着脚在褐色的沙滩上行走的妇女的矫健和轻松。
此时那辆旅行马车正在等着旅客到齐。昨天晚上罗瑞先生为普洛丝小姐是否坐这辆车曾经煞费踌躇。马车需要避免超重，尤其需要尽量缩短检查马车和乘客的时间，因为他们是否能逃掉大有可能决定于在这儿那儿省下的分分秒秒。经过苦苦思索，他终于决定让普洛丝小姐和杰瑞去坐那时很有名的最轻便型马车，在三点钟出发，因为他们可以自由出入巴黎。他们没有行车拖累，可以很快便赶上驿车，赶到前面去，事先给驿车雇好马匹，使它在夜间宝贵的时间里迅速前进—一夜里是最怕耽误的。
普洛丝小姐明白了照这种安排她在那千钧一发的时刻可以起到的真正作用，便高高兴兴地同意了。她跟杰瑞看到马车出发，看清楚了所罗门送来的是什么人，又提心吊胆地忙了十来分钟，现在正做着追赶驿车的最后准备。这时德伐日太太正在街上行走，距离这间寓所越来越近了一—这里的房客已全都撤离，只有他俩还在商量：
“现在，克朗彻先生，”普洛丝小姐说，她激动得话也说不出，站也站不住，动也不会动，连活都不知道该怎么活下去了。“你觉得我们若是不从这个院子出发，怎么样？今天已经从这儿走了一辆车，再走一辆车会引起疑心的。”
“我认为你说得对，小姐，”克朗彻先生回答。“而且我总是拥护你的，不管你对不对。”
“我为几个心肝宝贝又是害怕、又抱着希望，简直都急疯了，”普洛丝小姐放声大哭，“我是什么主意都想不出来了。你能出个主意么，我亲爱的可怜的克朗彻先生？”
“要说对将来的生活出点主意，我大概还能行，小姐，”克朗彻回答，“要说在此刻开动我这上帝保佑的老脑筋，我怕是办不到了。在眼前的紧急关头我想作出两个保证，发两道誓言，你能帮助我记住么，小姐？”
“啊，天呐！”普洛丝小姐还在号啕痛哭说，“我马上记住，可你得像个出色的男子汉一样别把它挂在心上。”
“首先，”克朗彻先生全身发抖，说话时面如死灰，神情庄重，“只要那几个可怜的人能安全脱险，我以后就不再干那种事了，再也不干了！”
“我很肯定，克朗彻先生，”普洛丝小姐回答，“你以后决不会再干了，不管是什么。我求你不要认为需要特别说明那是什么。”
“不会的，小姐，”杰瑞回答，“我是不会告诉你的。第二，只要那几个可怜的人能平安脱险，我就再也不会干涉克朗彻太太跪地做祈祷了。再也不会了！”
“‘不管是什么家务事，”普洛丝小姐擦着眼泪努力镇定着自己说，“我都相信，还是完全交给克朗彻太太经管为好。啊，我可怜的宝贝们！”
“我甚至还要说，小姐，”克朗彻先生接着讲下去，样子很令人吃惊，好像是在布道台上发表演说，“请你记下我的话，亲自告诉我太太，我对做祷告的事已经改变了看法。我倒打心眼里希望克朗彻太太这时在为我们跪下来做祷告呢！”
“好了，好了，好了，我希望她在祷告，亲爱的，”急得发疯的普洛丝小姐叫道，“还希望她的祷告应验！”
“千万别应验，”克朗彻先生说下去，说得更庄严、更缓慢、更有坚持到底的意思。“可不能让我说过的话、干过的事现在报应在我为这些可怜的人许的愿上！别应验，我们都应当跪下来（若是方便的话）祈祷他们逃出这种可怕的危险。别应验，小姐：我要说的是，别应—一验！”这是克朗彻先生在长期努力想得到一个更好的结论之后所下的结论。
这时，德伐日太太正沿着大街走来，越来越近了。
“你说得太动人了，”普洛丝小姐说，“若是我们能回到故乡，请相信我，我一定把我记得住而又听懂了的话转告克朗彻太太。而且，无论发生了什么事，你都可以相信我，对你在这个可怕时刻的一本正经的态度可以作证。现在，请让我们来想一想，我尊重的克朗彻先生，让我们来想一想！”
这时，德伐日太太正沿着大街走来，越来越近了。
“若是你能先走一步，”普洛丝小姐说，“叫马车别到这儿来，另找个地方等我，是不是会更好？”
克朗彻认为那样会更好。
“那你在什么地方等我呢？”普洛丝小姐问。
克朗彻满脑子糊涂，除了伦敦法学会，他想不出别的地点。可是天哪！伦敦法学会远在千里之外，而德伐日太太只不过咫尺之遥
“在大教堂门口吧，”普洛丝小姐说。“我在那地方上车不太绕道吧？在大教堂两座钟楼中间那大门口？”
“不绕道，小姐，”克朗彻回答。
“那么，就像个最好的男子汉一样，马上去车站，把路线改了，”普洛丝小姐说。
“我离开你可有点不放心，”克朗彻先生犹豫起来，摇着头说。“你看，不知道会发生什么情况的。”
“那只有天才知道，”普洛丝小姐回答。“别为我担心。三点钟或略早一点到大教堂来接我，我相信那要比从这儿出发好得多，我肯定。好了！上帝保佑你，克朗彻先生！别顾着我，顾着那几条命吧，那得靠我们呢！”
这一番言辞，再加上普洛丝小姐两只手攥住他的手，表现了痛苦的请求，使克朗彻先生下定了决心。他点了点头，表示鼓励，便去改变行车路线了，留下她一个人按自己的建议去跟他会合。
想出了这么一个预防措施，而且已经开始执行，普洛丝小姐大大她松了一口气。她的外表必须镇静如常，以免引起特别注意，这也使她安定下来。她看看表，两点二十分。她再也不能浪费时间了，必须立即作好准备。
她心里乱成一团。没了人的屋子空荡荡的，她害怕；每一道开着的门背后都仿佛有面孔在窥视，她也怕。普洛丝小姐打了一盆水开始洗她那双红肿的眼睛。她满怀莫名的恐俱，很怕眼睛上的水会暂时挡住了视线，因此不断停下来四面瞧瞧，怕有人在看她。有一次她刚停下来却不禁大叫起来，往后一退，因为她见到一个人影站在屋里。
脸盆落到地下摔碎了，水流到德伐日太太脚边——那双脚曾从血泊中走过，步伐威严而独特。”
德伐日太太冷冷地望着她说，“埃佛瑞蒙德的太太到哪儿去了？”
普洛丝小姐突然想起所有的门分开着，会叫人想到逃跑。她的第一个动作便是把门全都关了起来。屋里有四道门，她全关上了。然后她站在露西的房门口。
德伐日太太深色的眼睛跟随着她那迅速的行动，然后落在她身上。岁月并不曾驯服普洛丝小姐的野性，也不曾让她那粗糙的外形变得柔和。她也是个强悍的女人，虽然路数不同。她也用眼睛打量了德伐日太太身上的每一部分。
“别看你那样子像魔鬼的老婆，”普洛丝小姐细声说，“你占不了我的上风，我可是个英国女人。”
德伐日太太轻蔑地望着她，她的感觉跟普洛丝小姐却也差不多；她俩可算是狭路相逢了。德伐日太太眼前是个结实、健壮、矫捷的妇女，正跟多年前罗瑞先生眼前那个胳膊结实的妇女一样。德伐日太太很清楚，普洛丝小姐是这家的忠实朋友；普洛丝小姐也很清楚，德伐日太太是这家的凶恶敌人。
“我要到那边去，”德伐日太太一只手往那杀人的地方略微挥了一挥，“她们在那几给我保留了座位和我的毛线活儿。我是顺道来向她致敬的。我想见见她。”
“我知道你不怀好意，”普洛丝小姐说。“不过你放心，你那坏心眼休想在我面前得逞。”
两人一个说法语，一个说英语，谁也听不懂谁的话，可彼此都很警惕，想从对方的神色态度推测出没听懂的意思。
“这个时候把她藏起来不让她见我，对她可没有好处，”德伐日太太说。“优秀的爱国者都明白那是什么意思。让我见她。告诉她我要见她。听见了没有？”
“就算你那眼睛骨碌碌转得像辘轳，”普洛丝小姐回答，“我可是张四根柱子的英国床，任你眼睛怎么转，也别想动我一分一毫。不行，你这个恶毒的女老外，我今儿跟你泡上了。”
看来德伐日太太对这些村言俚语并不理解，但却明白对方并没有把自己放在眼里。
“白痴，蠢猪！”德伐日太太皱着眉头。“我不要你回答，我要求跟她见面。你去告诉她，我要见地，再不然就别站在门口，让我自己进去！”说时她怒气冲冲打着手势。
“我才懒得听你那瞎胡闹的外国话呢，”普洛丝小姐说，“不过为了知道你是否猜到了真象（或许只猜到一部分），我倒愿意把我的一切都送给人——除了这一身衣服之外。”
两人彼此目不转睛地盯着。德伐日太太从普洛丝小姐意识到她来到这儿以后就在原地没动，可现在她前进了一步。
“我可是个不列颠人，”普洛丝小姐说。“今天我豁出去了，我愿拿这条不值两便士的命拼了。我知道我把你缠在这里的时间越长，我那小鸟儿就越有希望。你要是敢碰我一指头，我就把你那黑头发拔个精光，一根不剩！”
这样，普洛丝小姐每匆忙说完一句话就要摇一摇脑袋，瞪一瞪眼睛，而她的每句话又都说得气喘吁吁。她像这样开始了战斗—一她可是一辈于没跟人干过仗的。
可是她的勇气却带着感情冲动的性质，她的眼里已不禁噙满了泪珠。对她这种形式的勇气表现，德伐日太太却误会了，以为是软弱。“哈！哈！”她笑了，“你这个可怜虫！还充什么好汉！我要找医生讲话。”说时便放开嗓门叫了起来，“医生公民！埃佛瑞蒙德太太！埃佛瑞蒙德家的媳妇！除了这个可怜兮的笨蛋，你们谁来跟女公民德伐日答话？”
也许是由于随之而来的沉默，也许是由于普洛丝小姐的表情无意中泄露了天机，也许是由于与两者无关的突然灵机一动，总之德伐日太太看出他们已经走掉了。她赶紧打开了三道门，往里面看。
“三间屋子都乱糟糟的，有人匆忙打过行李，七零八碎的东西扔了满地。你身后的屋里怕也是没有人了！让我看看！”
“休想！”普洛丝小姐完全明白她的要求，正如德伐日太太完全明白她的回答一样。
“他们若是不在那屋里，便是逃跑了。还可以派人去追，把他们抓回来，”德伐日太太自言自语。
“只要你弄不清楚她们究竟在不在这屋里，你就无法决定该怎么办，”普洛丝小姐自言自语。“只要我不让你弄清楚，你就别想弄清楚。不管你清楚不清楚，我只要能缠住你，你就别想离开这儿。”
“我从小就在街面上跑，什么东西也没拦住过我。我能把你撕得粉碎，我现在得把你从门口轰走，”德伐日太太说。
“我们这院子孤零零的，高楼顶上又只有我们两个，看样子不会有人听见。我祈祷上帝给我力量把你缠住，你在这儿的每一分钟对我那宝贝儿都值十万金币呢！”普洛丝小姐说。
德伐日太太往屋里便闯，普洛丝小姐一时性起，伸出双臂把她紧紧拦腰抱住。德伐日太太又是挣扎，又是殴打，但都无济于事。普洛丝小姐满怀挚爱，有坚韧的活力，把她抱得很紧——爱比恨永远要强大得多——在挣扎中她甚至把她抱离了地面。德伐日太太用两只手打她，抓她的脸，可是普洛丝小姐只顾低了头搂住她的腰，比怕淹死的女人搂得还紧。
德伐日太太马上停止了殴打，伸手往被搂紧的腰间摸去。“你那玩艺儿在我的胳膊下呢，”普洛丝小姐屏住气说，“你休想拔出来。谢谢老天爷，我的力气可比你大。我要一直抱住你，直到我们有一个昏过去或者是死掉！”
德伐日太太的手己到了胸前。普洛丝小姐抬头一看，认出了那是什么东西，便一拳打了过去，打出了一道闪光、一声巨响，然后便是她一个人站在那里，什么都看不见了。
这一切只发生在刹那之间。硝烟散去，只留下可怕的平静。硝烟就像那大发雷霆的妇女的灵魂一样在空气里消散了，那女人的身子却躺在地上，死了。
普洛丝小姐被这情况吓了一跳，怕得要命。她先是往楼下跑，想离那尸体远远的，去找其实找不到的人帮忙。幸好她想起了自己惹下的祸的后果，便赶快停步，跑了回来。她十分害怕重新进屋，可她仍然进去了，而且从尸体身边走过，取出了她必须穿戴的帽子和衣物。她然后下了楼，关了门，上了锁，取下钥匙，又坐在台阶上喘了一会儿气，哭了一会儿，这才站起身来匆匆走掉。
幸好她的帽子上垂着面纱，否则她在路上怕是难免受人盘问的。也幸好她天生长相奇特，因此不至于像别的妇女给人衣冠不整的印象。她需要这两个有利条件，因为她头发散乱，脸上留下深深的指甲印，衣服也给东拉西扯弄了个乱七八糟，只用颤抖的手匆忙整理过一下。
过桥时她把钥匙扔进了河里。她比她的保镖早几分钟到达大教堂，在等他时她想了许多。若是那钥匙叫渔网网住了会怎么样？若是鉴定出是哪家的钥匙会怎么样？若是门打开，发现了尸体会怎么样？若是在城门自把她扣留下来，送进监狱，判她杀人罪又会怎么样？她正在满脑子胡思乱想，她的保镖来了，让她上了车，把她带走了。
“街上有闹声没有？”她问他。
“有日常的闹声，”克朗彻先生回答，他因为这个问题和她那副怪像露出一脸惊讶。
“你的话我没听见，”普洛丝小姐说，“你说的是什么？”
克朗彻先生重复了他的回答，可那也没有用，普洛丝小姐仍然听不见。“那我就点头吧，”克朗彻先生大吃一惊，想道。“这她无论如何是懂得的。”她倒是懂的。
“街上现在有闹声没有？”普洛丝小姐不久又问。
克朗彻先生义点了点头。
“可我没听见。”
“才一个小时耳朵怎么就聋了？”克朗彻先生寻思，心里很着急。“她出了什么事了？”
“我觉得，”普洛丝小姐说，“好像火光一闪，又砰的一声，那一声就成了我这一辈子听见的最后一声了。”
“她这个样子可真奇怪！”克朗彻先生越来越紧张，“她喝了什么玩艺儿给自己壮胆了么？听！那吓人的囚车在隆隆地响！你听见车声了没有，小姐？”
“一点儿也没听见，”普洛丝小姐见他说话便回答。“啊，我的好人，先是一声砰，声音大极了，然后就没有声音了，再也没有声音了，永远没有了，我这一辈子怕是再也听不见声音了。”
既然她连那些可怕的四车的轰隆声都听不见，——囚车，快到目的地了，”克朗彻先生掉过头看了一眼说，“我看她确实是再也听不见这世界上的声音了。”
她确实是再也听不见了。
Book 3 Chapter 15 The Footsteps Die out for Ever 
ALONG the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrils carry the day's wine to La Guillotine. All the devouring and insatiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself, are fused in the one realisation, Guillotine. And yet there is not in France, with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a sprig, a peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more certain than those that have produced this horror. Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious licence and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind.
Six tumbrils roll along the streets. Change these back again to what they were, thou powerful enchanter, Time, and they shall be seen to be the carriages of absolute monarchs, the equipages of feudal nobles, the toilettes of flaring Jezebels, the churches that are not my father's house but dens of thieves, the huts of millions of starving peasants! No; the great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator, never reverses his transformations. `If thou be changed into this shape by the will of God,' say the seers to the enchanted, in the wise Arabian stories, `then remain so! But, if thou wear this form through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!' Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrils roll along.
As the sombre wheels of the six carts go round, they seem to plough up a long crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Ridges of faces are thrown to this side and to that, and the ploughs go steadily onward. So used are the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, that in many windows there are no people, and in some the occupation of the hands is not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the faces in the tumbrils. Here and there, the inmate has visitors to see the sight; then he points his finger, with something of the complacency of a curator or authorised exponent, to this cart and to this, and seems to tell who sat here yesterday, and who there the day before. 
Of the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all things on their last roadside, with an impassive stare; others, with a lingering interest in the ways of life and men. Some, seated with drooping heads, are sunk in silent despair; again, there are some so heedful of their looks that they cast upon the multitude such glances as they have seen in theatres, and in pictures. Several close their eyes, and think, or try to get their straying thoughts together. Only one, and he a miserable creature, of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by horror, that he sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole numberappeals by look or gesture, to the pity of the people.
There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, and faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some question. It would seem to be always the same question, for, it is always followed by a press of people towardsthe third cart. The horsemen abreast of that cart, frequently point out one man in it with their swords. The leading curiosity is, to know which is he; he stands at the back of the tumbril with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl who sits on theside of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity or care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and there in the long street of St. Honoré, cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms being bound.
On the steps of a church, awaiting the coming-up of the tumbrils, stands the Spy and prison-sheep. He looks into the first of them: not there. He looks into the second: not there. He already asks himself, `Has he sacrificed me?' when his face clears, as he looks into the third.
`Which is Evrémonde?' says a man behind him. `That. At the back there.' `With his hand in the girl's?' `Yes.'
The man cries, `Down, Evrémonde To the Guillotine all aristocrats! Down, Evrémonde!'
`Hush, hush!' the Spy entreats him, timidly. 
`And why not, citizen?'
`He is going to pay the forfeit: it will be paid in five minutes more. Let him be at peace.' 
But the man continuing to exclaim, `Down, Evrémonde!' the face of Evrémonde is for a moment turned towards him. Evrémonde then sees the Spy, and looks attentively at him, and goes his way.
The clocks are on the stroke of three, and the furrow ploughed among the populace is turning round, to come on into the place of execution, and end. The ridges thrown to this side and to that, now crumble in and close behind the last plough as it passes on, for all are following to the Guillotine. In front of it, seated in chairs, as in a garden of public diversion, are a number of women, busily knitting. On one of the foremost chairs, stands The Vengeance, looking about for her friend.
`Thérèse!' she cries, in her shrill tones. `Who has seen her? Thérèse Defarge!'
`She never missed before,' says a knitting-woman of the sisterhood.
`No; nor will site miss now,' cries The Vengeance, petulantly. `Thérèse!'
`Louder,' the woman recommends.
Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still site will scarcely hear thee. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it will hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her, lingering somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done dread deeds, it is questionable whether of their own wills they will go far enough to find her!
`Bad Fortune!' cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair, `and here are the tumbrils! And Evrémonde will be despatched in a wink, and she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her empty chair ready for her. I cry with `vexation and disappointment!'
As The Vengeance descends from her elevation to do it, the tumbrils begin to discharge their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready. Crash!--A head is held up, and the knitting-women who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could think and speak, count One.
The second tumbril empties and moves on; the third comes up. Crash--And the knitting-women, never faltering or pausing in their work, count Two.
The supposed Evrémonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crashing engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him.
`But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven.
`Or you to me,' says Sydney Carton. `Keep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no other object.'
`I mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid.'
`They will be rapid. Fear not!'
The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of victims, but they speak as if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home together, and to rest in her bosom.
`Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last question? I am very ignorant, and it troubles me--just a little.'
`Tell me what it is.'
`I have a cousin, an only relative and an orphan, like myself, whom I love very dearly. She is five years younger than I, and she lives in a farmer's house in the south country. Poverty parted us, and she knows nothing of my fate--for I cannot writ--and if I could, how should I tell her! It is better as it is.'
`Yes, yes; better as it is.'
`What I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so much support, is this:--if the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time: she may even live to be old.'
`What then, my gentle sister?'
`Do you think:' the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much endurance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and tremble: `that it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the better land where I trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?'
`It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.'
`You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to kiss you now? Is the moment come?'
`Yes.'
She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him-is gone; the knitting-women count Twenty-Two.
`I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'
The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three.
They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the peacefullest man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic.
One of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axe--a woman--Had asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not long before, to be allowed to write down the thoughts that were inspiring her. If he had given an utterance to his, and they were prophetic, they would have been these:
`I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease out of its present use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people' rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long long years to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.
`I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their friend, in ten years' time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his reward.
`I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not more honoured and held sacred in the other's soul, than I was in the souls of both.
`I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see him, foremost of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place--then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement--and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and a faltering voice.
`It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.'   
死亡之车在巴黎街上隆隆驶过，声音空洞而刺耳。六辆死囚车给断头台小姐送去了那天的美酒。自从想象得以实现以来，有关饕餮颟顸不知饱足的种种恶魔的想象便都凝聚在一个发明上了，那发明就是断头台。然而在法兰西，尽管有各种各样的土壤和气候，却没有一棵草、一片叶、一道根、一条枝、一点微不足道的东西的生长成熟条件能比产生了这个怪物的条件更为一成不变的了。即使用类似的锤子再把人类砸变了形，它仍然会七歪八扭地长回它原来那受苦受难的模样。只要种下的仍然是暴戾恣雎与欺凌压迫的种子，那么结出的必然是暴戾恣雎与压迫欺凌的果实。
六辆死囚车沿着大街隆隆走过。时间，你强大的魔术师，你若让死囚车恢复它原来的面目，它便分明是专制帝王的御辇、封建贵族的车骑、弄权的耶洗别的梳妆台，是成了贼窝而非上帝住所的教堂和千百万饥饿的农民的茅舍！不，那庄严地制定了造物主的秩序的伟大魔术师从不逆转他的变化。“若是上帝的意志把你变成这种模样，”智慧的天方夜谭中的先知对身受魔法者说，“那你就保持这副模样！但若你这形象只是来自转瞬即逝的魔法，那就恢复你的本来面目吧！”不会变化，也没有希望，死囚车隆隆地前进。
这六辆车的阴沉的轮子旋转着，似乎在街上的人群中犁出了一条弯弯曲曲的沟畦。人的脸是沟畦的脊，犁头稳定地犁过，人的脸便向两面翻开，街两边的居民太熟悉这重场面，许多窗户前都没有人，有的窗户上开窗的手连停也没停，眼睛只望了望车上的面孔。有些窗户的主人有客人来看热闹，主人便带着博物馆馆长或权威解说员的得意之情用手指着这一辆车，那一辆车，好像在解说昨天是谁坐在这儿，前天又是谁坐在那儿。
死囚车上有人注意到了上述种种和自己最后的路上的一切，却只冷漠地呆望着；有人表现出对生命和人的依恋；有人垂头坐着，沉入了无言的绝望；也有人很注意自己的仪表，照他们在舞台或图画里见到的样子在群众面前表露一番。有几个在闭目沉思，力图控制混乱的思想。只有一个可怜人吓破了胆，形象疯狂，昏沉如醉，唱着歌儿，还想跳舞。可全部死囚并无一个用目光或手势向人们乞求怜悯的。
由几个骑兵组成的卫队跟囚车并排前进着。有的人不时转向他们，向他们提出问题。问题似乎总是相同，因为问过之后，人们总往第三辆囚车挤去。跟第三辆囚车并排走着的骑兵常用战刀指着车上的一个人。人们主要的好奇心是找出那人在哪里。那人站在囚车后部低头在跟一个姑娘谈话。那站娘坐在囚车的一侧，握住他的手。那人对周围的景象并不好奇，也不在意、只顾跟姑娘淡着。在圣奥诺雷长长的街道上不时有人对他发出叫喊。那叫喊即使能打动他，也不过让他发出一个沉静的微笑，并随意甩一甩落到脸上的头发——他的手被绑着，不容易摸到脸。
在一个教堂的台阶上等着囚车到来的是密探兼监狱绵羊。他望了望第一辆，不在。他望了望第二辆，不在。他已经在问自己，“难道他拿我作了牺牲？”他脸上却立即平静了下来，望进了第三辆
“埃佛瑞蒙德是哪一个？”他身后有人问。
“那一个。后面那个。”
“手被一个姑娘握住的？”，
“是的。”
那人叫道，“打倒埃佛瑞蒙德！把全部贵族都送上断头台！打倒埃佛瑞蒙德！”
“嘘，嘘！”密探怯生生地求他。
“为什么不能叫，公民？”
“他是去抵命的，五分钟后就要完事了，让他安静一下吧。”
可是那人还继续叫着，“打倒埃佛瑞蒙德！”埃佛瑞蒙德的脸向他转过去了一会儿，看见了密探，仔细望了望他，又转向了前方。
时钟敲了三点，从人群中犁出的沟畦转了一个弯，来到刑场和目的地。人的脸向两边分开，又合拢了，紧跟在最后的铧犁后面往前走——大家都跟着去断头台。断头台前有几个妇女手中织着毛线，坐在椅子上，仿佛是在公共娱乐园里。复仇女神站在最前面的一把椅子上。她在寻找她的朋友。
“泰雷兹！”她用她那失利的声音叫道。“谁见到她了？泰雷兹．德伐日！”
“她从来不曾错过的，”姐妹行中的一个织毛线的妇女说。
“不会的，现在也不会错过，”复仇女神气冲冲地说。“泰雷兹！”
“声音大一点，”那女人建议。
是的，声音大一点，复仇女神。声音很大了，可她仍然没听见。再大一点吧，复仇女神，再加上几句咒骂什么的。可她仍然没出现。打发别的女人到各处去找找吧！是在什么地方舍不得离开了么？可是去找的人未必情愿走远，尽管她们做过许多可怕的事。
“倒霉！”复仇女神在椅子上顿脚大叫，“囚车到了！埃佛瑞蒙德一转眼工夫就要报销了，可她不在这儿！你看，她的毛线活儿还在我手里呢！她的空椅子在等她。气死我了，我太失望了，我要大喊大叫！”
复仇女神从椅子上跳下来喊叫时，囚车已开始下人。圣断头台的使者们已经穿好刑袍，做好准备。嚓——一个脑袋提了起来，在那脑袋还能思想、还能说话的时候，织毛线的妇女连抬头看一眼都不愿意，只是数道，“一。”
第二辆囚车下完了人走掉了，第三辆开了上来。“嚓”——从不迟疑、从不间断地织着毛线的妇女们数道，“二。”
被当作是埃佛瑞蒙德的人下了车，女裁缝也跟着被扶了下来。下车时他也没有放松她那无怨无尤的手，总按自己的诺言握住它。他体贴地让她用背对着那“嚓”“嚓”响着的机器——那机器正不住地呜呜响着，升起和落下。她望着他的眼睛，表示感谢。
“若不是有了你，亲爱的陌生人，我不会这么镇静，因为我天生是个可怜的小女人，胆子很小。我也不能抬头看上帝——上帝也被杀死了——向他祈求今天能给我们希望和安慰。我认为你是上天送给我的。”
“你也一样，是上天送给我的，”西德尼．卡尔顿说，“让你的眼睛总看着我，亲爱的孩子，别的什么都不要想。”
“我握住你的手就什么都不想了。若是他们很快，我放手之后甚至可以完全不想。”
“他们会很快的。别害怕！”
两人虽在迅速减少的死囚群中，说起话来却似乎没有旁人。他们眼睛相望，声音相应，手拉着手，心映着心。这一对万类之母的儿女原本距离很远，还有种种差异，现在却在这阴暗的大路上走到了一起，要同路回家，到母亲怀里去休息。
“勇敢而大度的朋友，你能回答我一个最后的问题吗？我很无知，因此这问题叫我烦恼——只有一点点烦恼。”
“什么问题？告诉我。”
“我有．一个表妹，是我唯一的亲戚，也跟我一样是个孤儿。我非常爱她。她比我小五岁，住在南方一户农民家里。我们是因为穷而分手的，她对我的命运完全不知道，因为我不会写信。若是我能写，我能怎样告诉她呢！那总比现在这样好吧！”
“是的，是的，是要好一些。”
“来的时候我就一直在想，现在我望着你那善良坚强的脸，觉得你给了我很大的支持。我仍然在想，是这么个问题：若是共和国真地为穷人办好事，穷人少挨饿了，受的各种苦也少了，我的表妹就可以活很久，甚至活到老年。”
“你的问题是什么，我温和的妹妹？”
“你认为，”那一双无怨无尤、受得起委屈的眼睛噙满了泪水，嘴唇颤抖着张得略大了些，“我在一个更好的世界里等她，我相信在那儿你和我都会受到慈祥的关注。那时你认为我会感到等得太久么？”
“不可能。那儿没有时间，也没有烦恼。”
“你给了我很多安慰！我太无知了。我现在是不是该跟你吻别了？时间到了么？”
“到了。”
她吻吻他的嘴唇，他也吻吻她的嘴唇，两人彼此郑重地祝福。他松了手，那消瘦的手没有颤抖。在那无怨无尤的脸上只有甜蜜的光明的坚韧，没有别的。她在他前面一个——她去了；打毛线的妇女们数道，“二十二。”
“主说，复活在我，生命也在我，信仰我的人虽然死了，也必复活着；凡活着信仰我的人，必永远不死。”
一大片语声唧唧哝哝；一大片面孔抬了起来；许多脚步从外围往里挤，人群往前涌动，有如潮水兴起。一切如闪电般消失。二十三。
那天晚上城里的人议论起来，说他的面孔是在那儿所见到的最平静的面孔。不少的人还说他显得崇高，像个先知。
死在同一把利斧之下的引人注目的受难者中有一个妇女，不久前曾在同一个刑架的脚下要求准许写下激荡在她胸中的思想。若是卡尔顿能抒发他的感想，而他的感想又出自先知之口，那么，他的想法会是这样：
“我看见巴萨、克莱、德伐日、复仇女神、陪审员、法官，一长串新的压迫者从被这个惩罚工具所摧毁的老压迫者们身上升起，又在这个惩罚工具还没有停止使用前被消灭。我看见一座美丽的城市和一个灿烂的民族从这个深渊中升起。在他们争取真正的自由的奋斗中，在他们的胜利与失败之中，在未来的漫长岁月中，我看见这一时代的邪恶和前一时代的邪恶（后者是前者的自然结果）逐渐赎去自己的罪孽，并逐渐消失。
“我看见我为之献出生命的人在英格兰过着平静、有贡献、兴旺、幸福的生活—一我是再也见不到英格兰了。我见到露西胸前抱着个以我命名的孩子。我看见露西的父亲衰老了、背驼了，其它方面却复了原，并以他的医术忠实地济世救人，过着平静的生活。我看见他们的好友，那个善良的老人，在十年之后把他的财产赠送给了他们，并平静地逝世，去接受主的报偿。
“我看见我在他们和他们无数代后裔心里占有神圣的地位。我看见露西成了个龙钟老妇，在我的祭日为我哭泣。我看见她跟她的丈夫正结束生命的历程，并排躺在弥留的榻上。我知道他俩彼此在对方的灵魂中占有光荣崇高的地位，而我在他俩灵魂中的地位则更光荣、更崇高。
“我看见躺在她怀里的以我命名的孩子长大成人，在我曾走过的道路上奋勇前行。我看见他业绩优异，以他的光耀使我的名字辉煌。我看见我染在那名字上的污迹消失。我看见他站在公平正直的法官和光明磊落的人们的最前列。我看见他带了一个又以我命名的孩子来到这里。那时这里已是一片美景，全没了今天的扭曲和丑恶。那孩子长了个我所熟悉的前额和一头金发。我听见他告诉孩子我的故事，声音颤抖，带着深情。
“我现在已做的远比我所做过的一切都美好；我将获得的休息远比我所知道的一切都甜蜜。”