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. Be hold 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 hanged by the chainlike

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?

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“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 cir