They spoke low, as people watching and waiting mostly do; as

people in a dark room, watching and waiting for Lightning, always

do.

There was a great hurry in the streets, of people speeding away

to get shelter before the storm broke; the wonderful corner for

echoes resounded with the echoes of footsteps coming and going,

yet not a footstep was there.

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“A multitude of people, and yet a solitude,” said Darnay, when

they had listened for a while.

“Is it not impressive, Mr. Darnay?” asked Lucie. “Sometimes, I

have sat here of an evening, until I have fanciedbut even the

shade of a foolish fancy makes me shudder tonight, when all is so

black and solemn”

“Let us shudder too. We may know what it is.”

“It will seem nothing to you. Such whims are only impressive as

we originate them, I think; they are not to be communicated. I

have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I

have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that

are coming by-and-by into our lives.”

“There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be

so,” Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way.

The footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became

more and more rapid. The corner echoed and re-echoed with the

tread of feet; some, as it seemed, under the windows; some,