were left uncorrupted seemed to escape, and all spoilt and sickly

vapours seemed to crawl in. Through the rusted bars, tastes,

rather than glimpses, were caught of the jumbled neighbourhood;

and nothing within range, nearer or lower than the summits of the

two great towers of Notre-Dame, had any promise on it of healthy

life or wholesome aspirations.

At last, the top of the staircase was gained, and they stopped for

the third time. There was yet an upper staircase, of a steeper

inclination and of contracted dimensions, to be ascended, before

the garret story was reached. The keeper of the wine-shop, always

going a little in advance, and always going on the side which Mr.

Lorry took, as though he dreaded to be asked any question by the

young lady, turned himself about here, and, carefully feeling in the

pockets of the coat he carried over his shoulder, took out a key.

“The door is locked then, my friend?” said Mr. Lorry, surprised.

“Ay. Yes,” was the grim reply of Monsieur Defarge.

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“You think it necessary to keep the unfortunate gentleman so

retired?”

“I think it necessary to turn the key.” Monsieur Defarge

whispered it closer in his ear, and frowned heavily.

“Why?”

“Why! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he would

be frightenedrave, tear himself to piecesdiecome to I kn