“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 dead,” 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 today executed.—You?”
The question was addressed to the wood-sawyer. who hurriedly
replied in the affirmative: seizing the occasion to add that he was
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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 tonight—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
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probably be a greater concourse than usual, today,” “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 the mud, and round the corner of the prison wall.
The Vengeance and the Juryman, looking after her as she walked
away, 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 seems 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
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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
tomorrow, 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 avoid overloading 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 had proposed, 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,
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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
today, 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
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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 floppin’, 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, moreover,” 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’ floppin’ has
undergone a change, and that wot I only hope with all my heart as
Mrs. Cruncher may be a-floppin’ 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!”
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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.”
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“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 i n 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
Evremonde; where is she?”
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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.
