A Tale of Two Cities

"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 courtyard 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, Evremonde," 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, Evremonde!" 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 Evremonde," 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 that 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 Evremonde, 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 Evremonde.  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 Evremonde.  I hoped it was true?"

"It was.  But, I was again taken and condemned."

"If I may ride with you, Citizen Evremonde, will you let me hold your
hand?  I am not afraid, but 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.