suffered much; you have seen him today; you have observed his

face when the paper was read.”

“I have observed his face!” repeated madame, contemptuously

and angrily. “Yes. I have observed his face. I have observed his

face to be not the face of a true friend of the Republic. Let him

take care of his face!”

“And you have observed, my wife,” said Defarge, in a

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

deprecatory manner, “the anguish of his daughter, which must be

a dreadful anguish to him!”

“I have observed his daughter,” repeated madame; “yes, I have

observed his daughter, more times than one. I have observed her

today, and I have observed her other days. I have observed her in

the court, and I have observed her in the street by the prison. Let

me but lift my finger!” She seemed to raise it (the listener’s eyes

were always on his paper), and to let it fall with a rattle on the

ledge before her, as if the axe had dropped.

“The citizeness is superb!” croaked the Juryman.

“She is an Angel!” said The Vengeance, and embraced her.

“As to thee,” pursued madame, implacably, addressing her

husband, “if it depended on theewhich, happily, it does not

thou wouldst rescue this man even now.”

“No!” protested Defarge. “Not if to lift this glass would do it!

But I would leave the matter there. I say, stop there.”

“See you then, Ja