seeming to be hurried, or to have too much to do?”

But, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled

menacingly in the corner all through this space of time. And it was

now, about little Lucie’s sixth birthday, that they began to have an

awful sound, as of a great storm in France with a dreadful sea

rising.

On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and

eighty-nine, Mr. Lorry came in late, from Tellson’s, and sat himself

down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot,

wild night, and they were all three reminded of the old Sunday

night when they had looked at the lightning from the same place.

“I began to think,” said Mr. Lorry, pushing his brown wig back,

“that I should have to pass the night at Tellson’s. We have been so

full of business all day, that we have not known what to do first, or

which way to turn. There is such an uneasiness in Paris, that we

have actually a run of confidence upon us! Our customers over

there, seem not to be able to confide their property to us fast

enough. There is positively a mania among some of them for

sending it to England.”

“That has a bad look,” said Darnay.

“A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don’t know

what reason there is in it. People are so unreasonable! Some of us

at Tellson’s are getting old, and we really can’t be troubled out of