Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherencies, “The

Prisoners!” was the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as

if there were an eternity of people, as well as of time and space.

When the foremost billows rolled past, bearing the prison officers

with them, and threatening them all with instant death if any

secret nook remained undisclosed, Defarge laid his strong hand on

the breast of one of these mena man with a grey head, who had

a lighted torch in his handsseparated him from the rest, and got

him between himself and the wall.

“Show me the North Tower!” said Defarge. “Quick!”

“I will faithfully,” replied the man, “if you will come with me.

But there is no one there.”

“What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North

Tower?” asked Defarge. “Quick!”

“The meaning, monsieur?”

“Does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? Or do you mean

that I shall strike you dead?”

“Kill him!” croaked Jacques Three, who had come close up.

“Monsieur, it is a cell.”

“Show it me!”

“Pass this way, then.”

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Jacques Three, with his usual craving on him, and evidently

disappointed by the dialogue taking a turn that did not seem to