e stranger, as being himself a man to

whom it was no rarityand 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 garretformerly the garret where a white-haired

man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making

shoes.

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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 wall.

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