...a young lady, who
were seated in a corner. Other company were there; two playing
cards, two playing dominoes, three standing by the counter
lengthening out a short supply of wine. As he passed behind the
counter, he took notice that the elderly gentleman said in a look to
the young lady, “This is our man.”
“What the devil do you do in that galley there?” said Monsieur
Defarge to himself; “I don’t know you.”
But, he feigned not to notice the two strangers, and fell into
discourse with the triumvirate of customers who were drinking at
the counter.
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A Tale of Two Cities
“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
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A Tale of Two Cities
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 courtyard 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 de