er.

“Yes,” answered Madame Defarge; “I have a good deal to do.”

“What do you make, madame?”

“Many things.”

“For instance”

“For instance,” returned Madame Defarge, composedly,

“shrouds.”

The man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, and

the mender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it

mightily close and oppressive. If he needed a King and Queen to

restore him, he was fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for,

soon the large-faced King and the fair-faced Queen came in their

golden coach, attended by the shining Bull’s Eye of their Court, a

glittering multitude of laughing ladies and fine lords; and in jewels

and silks and powder and splendour and elegantly spurning

figures and handsomely disdainful faces of both sexes, the mender

of roads bathed himself, so much to his temporary intoxicating,

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that he cried Long live the King, Long live the Queen, Long live

everybody and everything! as if he had never heard of ubiquitous

Jacques in his time. Then, there were gardens, courtyards,

terraces, fountains, green banks, more King and Queen, more

Bull’s Eye, more lords and ladies, more Long live they all! until he

absolutely wept with sentiment. During the whole of this scene,

which lasted some three hours, he had plenty of shouting and

weeping and sent