Emigrant Evremonde.”

“What the Devil! How many more of them!” exclaimed the man

with the bloated face.

Defarge took his receipt without noticing the exclamation, and

withdrew, with his two fellow-patriots.

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“What the Devil, I say again!” exclaimed the gaoler, left with his

wife. “How many more!”

The gaoler’s wife, being provided with no answer to the

question, merely replied, “One must have patience, my dear!”

Three turnkeys who entered responsive to a bell she rang, echoed

the sentiment, and one added, “For the love of Liberty”; which

sounded in that place like an inappropriate conclusion.

The prison of La Force was a gloomy prison, dark and filthy,

and with a horrible smell of foul sleep in it. Extraordinary how

soon the noisome flavour of imprisoned sleep, becomes manifest

in all such places that are ill cared for!

“In secret, too,” grumbled the gaoler, looking at the written

paper. “As if I was not already full to bursting!”

He stuck the paper on a file, in an ill-humour, and Charles

Darnay awaited his further pleasure for half an hour: sometimes,

pacing to and fro in the strong arched room: sometimes, resting on

a stone seat: in either case detained to be imprinted on the

memory of the chief and his subordinates.

“Come!” said the chief, at length taking up his keys, “come w