“But I do, and you must take my word for it. Well! If you could

endure to have such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such

indifferent reputation, coming and going at odd times, I should ask

that I might be permitted to come and go as a privileged person

here; that I might be regarded as a useless (and I would add, if it

were not for the resemblance I detected between you and me), an

unornamental, piece of furniture, tolerated for its old service, and

taken no notice of. I doubt if I should abuse the permission. It is a

hundred to one if I should avail myself of it four times in a year. It

would satisfy me, I daresay, to know that I had it.”

“Will you try?”

“That is another way of saying that I am placed on the footing I

have indicated. I thank you, Darnay. I may use that freedom with

your name?”

“I think so, Carton, by this time.”

They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. Within a

minute afterwards, he was, to all outward appearance, as

unsubstantial as ever.

When he was gone, and in the course of an evening passed with

Miss Pross, the Doctor, and Mr. Lorry, Charles Darnay made some

mention of this conversation in general terms, and spoke of

Sydney Carton as a problem of carelessness and recklessness. He

spoke of him, in short, not bitterly or meaning to bear hard upon

him, but as anybody might who saw h