pieces, like any other door of French construction. To exclude the

cold, one half of this door was fast closed, and the other was

opened but a very little way. Such a scanty portion of light was

admitted through these means, that it was difficult, on first coming

in, to see anything; and long habit alone could have slowly formed

in any one, the ability to do any work requiring nicety in such

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obscurity. Yet, work of that kind was being done in the garret; for,

with his back towards the door, and his face towards the window

where the keeper of the wine-shop stood looking at him, a whitehaired

man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy,

making shoes.

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Chapter VI

THE SHOEMAKER

G

ood day!” said Monsieur Defarge, looking down at the

white head that bent low over the shoemaking.

It was raised for a moment, and a very faint voice

responded to the salutation, as if it were at a distance: “Good day!”

“You are still hard at work, I see?”

After a long silence, the head was lifted for another moment,

and the voice replied, “YesI am working.” This time, a pair of

haggard eyes had looked at the questioner, before the face had

dropped again.

The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not

the faintness of physical