It was nothing to her that an innocent man was to die for the

sins of his forefathers; she saw, not him, but them. It was nothing

to her, that his wife was to be made a widow and his daughter an

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orphan; that was insufficient punishment, because they were her

natural enemies and her prey, and as such had no right to live. To

appeal to her, was made hopeless by her having no sense of pity,

even for herself, If she had been laid low in the streets, in any of

the many encounters in which she had been engaged, she would

not have pitied herself; nor, if she had been ordered to the axe

tomorrow, would she have gone to it with any softer feeling than a

fierce desire to change places with the man who sent her there.

Such a heart Madame Defarge carried under her rough robe.

Carelessly worn, it was a becoming robe enough, in a certain

weird way, and her dark hair looked rich under her coarse red

cap. Lying hidden in her bosom, was a loaded pistol. Lying hidden

at her waist, was a sharpened dagger. Thus accoutred, and

walking with the confident tread of such a character, and with the

supple freedom of a woman who had habitually walked in her

girlhood, bare-foot and bare-legged, on the brown sea sand,

Madame Defarge took her way along the streets, Now, when the

journey of the travelling coach, at that very