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Book the Third: The Track of a Storm
Chapter XIV.
The Knitting Done
In that same juncture of time when the
Fifty-Two awaited their fate Madame Defarge
held darkly ominous council with The
Vengeance and Jacques Three of the
Revolutionary Jury.
Not in the wine-shop did Madame Defarge
confer with these ministers, but in the
shed of the wood-sawyer, erst a mender of
roads.
The sawyer himself did not participate in
the conference, but abided at a little
distance, like an outer satellite who was
not to speak until required, or to offer an
opinion until invited.
"But our Defarge," said Jacques Three, "is
undoubtedly a good Republican?
Eh?"
"There is no better," the voluble Vengeance
protested in her shrill notes, "in France."
"Peace, little Vengeance," said Madame
Defarge, laying her hand with a slight
frown on her lieutenant's lips, "hear me
speak.
My husband, fellow-citizen, is a good
Republican and a bold man; he has deserved
well of the Republic, and possesses its
confidence.
But my husband has his weaknesses, and he
is so weak as to relent towards this
Doctor."
"It is a great pity," croaked Jacques
Three, dubiously shaking his head, with his
cruel fingers at his hungry mouth; "it is
not quite like a good citizen; it is a
thing to regret."
"See you," said madame, "I care nothing for
this Doctor, I.
He may wear his head or lose it, for any
interest I have in him; it is all one to
me.
But, the Evremonde people are to be
exterminated, and the wife and child must
follow the husband and father."
"She has a fine head for it," croaked
Jacques Three.
"I have seen blue eyes and golden hair
there, and they looked charming when Samson
held them up."
Ogre that he was, he spoke like an epicure.
Madame Defarge cast down her eyes, and
reflected a little.
"The child also," observed Jacques Three,
with a meditative enjoyment of his words,
"has golden hair and blue eyes.
And we seldom have a child there.
It is a pretty sight!"
"In a word," said Madame Defarge, coming
out of her short abstraction, "I cannot
trust my husband in this matter.
Not only do I feel, since last night, that
I dare not confide to him the details of my
projects; but also I feel that if I delay,
there is danger of his giving warning, and
then they might escape."
"That must never be," croaked Jacques
Three; "no one must escape.
We have not half enough as it is.
We ought to have six score a day."
"In a word," Madame Defarge went on, "my
husband has not my reason for pursuing this
family to annihilation, and I have not his
reason for regarding this Doctor with any
sensibility.
I must act for myself, therefore.
Come hither, little citizen."
The wood-sawyer, who held her in the
respect, and himself in the submission, of
mortal fear, advanced with his hand to his
red cap.
"Touching those signals, little citizen,"
said Madame Defarge, sternly, "that she
made to the prisoners; you are ready to
bear witness to them this very day?"
"Ay, ay, why not!" cried the sawyer.
"Every day, in all weathers, from two to
four, always signalling, sometimes with the
little one, sometimes without.
I know what I know.
I have seen with my eyes."
He made all manner of gestures while he
spoke, as if in incidental imitation of
some few of the great diversity of signals
that he had never seen.
"Clearly plots," said Jacques Three.
"Transparently!"
"There is no doubt of the Jury?" inquired
Madame Defarge, letting her eyes turn to
him with a gloomy smile.
"Rely upon the patriotic Jury, dear
citizeness.
I answer for my fellow-Jurymen."
"Now, let me see," said Madame Defarge,
pondering again.
"Yet once more!
Can I spare this Doctor to my husband?
I have no feeling either way.
Can I spare him?"
"He would count as one head," observed
Jacques Three, in a low voice.
"We really have not heads enough; it would
be a pity, I think."
"He was signalling with her when I saw
her," argued Madame Defarge; "I cannot
speak of one without the other; and I must
not be silent, and trust the case wholly to
him, this little citizen here.
For, I am not a bad witness."
The Vengeance and Jacques Three vied with
each other in their fervent protestations
that she was the most admirable and
marvellous of witnesses.
The little citizen, not to be outdone,
declared her to be a celestial witness.
"He must take his chance," said Madame
Defarge.
"No, I cannot spare him!
You are engaged at three o'clock; you are
going to see the batch of to-day executed.-
-You?"
The question was addressed to the wood-
sawyer, who hurriedly replied in the
affirmative: seizing the occasion to add
that he was the most ardent of Republicans,
and that he would be in effect the most
desolate of Republicans, if anything
prevented him from enjoying the pleasure of
smoking his afternoon pipe in the
contemplation of the droll national barber.
He was so very demonstrative herein, that
he might have been suspected (perhaps was,
by the dark eyes that looked contemptuously
at him out of Madame Defarge's head) of
having his small individual fears for his
own personal safety, every hour in the day.
"I," said madame, "am equally engaged at
the same place.
After it is over--say at eight to-night--
come you to me, in Saint Antoine, and we
will give information against these people
at my Section."
The wood-sawyer said he would be proud and
flattered to attend the citizeness.
The citizeness looking at him, he became
embarrassed, evaded her glance as a small
dog would have done, retreated among his
wood, and hid his confusion over the handle
of his saw.
Madame Defarge beckoned the Juryman and The
Vengeance a little nearer to the door, and
there expounded her further views to them
thus:
"She will now be at home, awaiting the
moment of his death.
She will be mourning and grieving.
She will be in a state of mind to impeach
the justice of the Republic.
She will be full of sympathy with its
enemies.
I will go to her."
"What an admirable woman; what an adorable
woman!" exclaimed Jacques Three,
rapturously.
"Ah, my cherished!" cried The Vengeance;
and embraced her.
"Take you my knitting," said Madame
Defarge, placing it in her lieutenant's
hands, "and have it ready for me in my
usual seat.
Keep me my usual chair.
Go you there, straight, for there will
probably be a greater concourse than usual,
to-day."
"I willingly obey the orders of my Chief,"
said The Vengeance with alacrity, and
kissing her cheek.
"You will not be late?"
"I shall be there before the commencement."
"And before the tumbrils arrive.
Be sure you are there, my soul," said The
Vengeance, calling after her, for she had
already turned into the street, "before the
tumbrils arrive!"
Madame Defarge slightly waved her hand, to
imply that she heard, and might be relied
upon to arrive in good time, and so went
through the mud, and round the corner of
the prison wall.
The Vengeance and the Juryman, looking
after her as she walked away, were highly
appreciative of her fine figure, and her
superb moral endowments.
There were many women at that time, upon
whom the time laid a dreadfully disfiguring
hand; but, there was not one among them
more to be dreaded than this ruthless
woman, now taking her way along the
streets.
Of a strong and fearless character, of
shrewd sense and readiness, of great
determination, of that kind of beauty which
not only seems to impart to its possessor
firmness and animosity, but to strike into
others an instinctive recognition of those
qualities; the troubled time would have
heaved her up, under any circumstances.
But, imbued from her childhood with a
brooding sense of wrong, and an inveterate
hatred of a class, opportunity had
developed her into a tigress.
She was absolutely without pity.
If she had ever had the virtue in her, it
had quite gone out of her.
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 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 to-morrow, 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 ***, 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 moment waiting for the
completion of its load, had been planned
out last night, the difficulty of taking
Miss Pross in it had much engaged Mr.
Lorry's attention.
It was not merely desirable to avoid
overloading the coach, but it was of the
highest importance that the time occupied
in examining it and its passengers, should
be reduced to the utmost; since their
escape might depend on the saving of only a
few seconds here and there.
Finally, he had proposed, after anxious
consideration, that Miss Pross and Jerry,
who were at liberty to leave the city,
should leave it at three o'clock in the
lightest-wheeled conveyance known to that
period.
Unencumbered with luggage, they would soon
overtake the coach, and, passing it and
preceding it on the road, would order its
horses in advance, and greatly facilitate
its progress during the precious hours of
the night, when delay was the most to be
dreaded.
Seeing in this arrangement the hope of
rendering real service in that pressing
emergency, Miss Pross hailed it with joy.
She and Jerry had beheld the coach start,
had known who it was that Solomon brought,
had passed some ten minutes in tortures of
suspense, and were now concluding their
arrangements to follow the coach, even as
Madame Defarge, taking her way through the
streets, now drew nearer and nearer to the
else-deserted lodging in which they held
their consultation.
"Now what do you think, Mr. Cruncher," said
Miss Pross, whose agitation was so great
that she could hardly speak, or stand, or
move, or live: "what do you think of our
not starting from this courtyard?
Another carriage having already gone from
here to-day, it might awaken suspicion."
"My opinion, miss," returned Mr. Cruncher,
"is as you're right.
Likewise wot I'll stand by you, right or
wrong."
"I am so distracted with fear and hope for
our precious creatures," said Miss Pross,
wildly crying, "that I am incapable of
forming any plan.
Are _you_ capable of forming any plan, my
dear good Mr. Cruncher?"
"Respectin' a future spear o' life, miss,"
returned Mr. Cruncher, "I hope so.
Respectin' any present use o' this here
blessed old head o' mine, I think not.
Would you do me the favour, miss, to take
notice o' two promises and wows wot it is
my wishes fur to record in this here
crisis?"
"Oh, for gracious sake!" cried Miss Pross,
still wildly crying, "record them at once,
and get them out of the way, like an
excellent man."
"First," said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in
a tremble, and who spoke with an ashy and
solemn visage, "them poor things well out
o' this, never no more will I do it, never
no more!"
"I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher," returned
Miss Pross, "that you never will do it
again, whatever it is, and I beg you not to
think it necessary to mention more
particularly what it is."
"No, miss," returned Jerry, "it shall not
be named to you.
Second: them poor things well out o' this,
and never no more will I interfere with
Mrs. Cruncher's flopping, never no more!"
"Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may
be," said Miss Pross, striving to dry her
eyes and compose herself, "I have no doubt
it is best that Mrs. Cruncher should have
it entirely under her own superintendence.-
-O my poor darlings!"
"I go so far as to say, miss, moreover,"
proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with a most
alarming tendency to hold forth as from a
pulpit--"and let my words be took down and
took to Mrs. Cruncher through yourself--
that wot my opinions respectin' flopping
has undergone a change, and that wot I only
hope with all my heart as Mrs. Cruncher may
be a flopping at the present time."
"There, there, there!
I hope she is, my dear man," cried the
distracted Miss Pross, "and I hope she
finds it answering her expectations."
"Forbid it," proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with
additional solemnity, additional slowness,
and additional tendency to hold forth and
hold out, "as anything wot I have ever said
or done should be wisited on my earnest
wishes for them poor creeturs now!
Forbid it as we shouldn't all flop (if it
was anyways conwenient) to get 'em out o'
this here dismal risk!
Forbid it, miss!
Wot I say, for-_bid_ it!"
This was Mr. Cruncher's conclusion after a
protracted but vain endeavour to find a
better one.
And still Madame Defarge, pursuing her way
along the streets, came nearer and nearer.
"If we ever get back to our native land,"
said Miss Pross, "you may rely upon my
telling Mrs. Cruncher as much as I may be
able to remember and understand of what you
have so impressively said; and at all
events you may be sure that I shall bear
witness to your being thoroughly in earnest
at this dreadful time.
Now, pray let us think!
My esteemed Mr. Cruncher, let us think!"
Still, Madame Defarge, pursuing her way
along the streets, came nearer and nearer.
"If you were to go before," said Miss
Pross, "and stop the vehicle and horses
from coming here, and were to wait
somewhere for me; wouldn't that be best?"
Mr. Cruncher thought it might be best.
"Where could you wait for me?" asked Miss
Pross.
Mr. Cruncher was so bewildered that he
could think of no locality but Temple Bar.
Alas! Temple Bar was hundreds of miles
away, and Madame Defarge was drawing very
near indeed.
"By the cathedral door," said Miss Pross.
"Would it be much out of the way, to take
me in, near the great cathedral door
between the two towers?"
"No, miss," answered Mr. Cruncher.
"Then, like the best of men," said Miss
Pross, "go to the posting-house straight,
and make that change."
"I am doubtful," said Mr. Cruncher,
hesitating and shaking his head, "about
leaving of you, you see.
We don't know what may happen."
"Heaven knows we don't," returned Miss
Pross, "but have no fear for me.
Take me in at the cathedral, at Three
o'Clock, or as near it as you can, and I am
sure it will be better than our going from
here.
I feel certain of it.
There!
Bless you, Mr. Cruncher!
Think-not of me, but of the lives that may
depend on both of us!"
This exordium, and Miss Pross's two hands
in quite agonised entreaty clasping his,
decided Mr. Cruncher.
With an encouraging nod or two, he
immediately went out to alter the
arrangements, and left her by herself to
follow as she had proposed.
The having originated a precaution which
was already in course of execution, was a
great relief to Miss Pross.
The necessity of composing her appearance
so that it should attract no special notice
in the streets, was another relief.
She looked at her watch, and it was twenty
minutes past two.
She had no time to lose, but must get ready
at once.
Afraid, in her extreme perturbation, of the
loneliness of the deserted rooms, and of
half-imagined faces peeping from behind
every open door in them, Miss Pross got a
basin of cold water and began laving her
eyes, which were swollen and red.
Haunted by her feverish apprehensions, she
could not bear to have her sight obscured
for a minute at a time by the dripping
water, but constantly paused and looked
round to see that there was no one watching
her.
In one of those pauses she recoiled and
cried out, for she saw a figure standing in
the room.
The basin fell to the ground broken, and
the water flowed to the feet of Madame
Defarge.
By strange stern ways, and through much
staining blood, those feet had come to meet
that water.
Madame Defarge looked coldly at her, and
said, "The wife of Evremonde; where is
she?"
It flashed upon Miss Pross's mind that the
doors were all standing open, and would
suggest the flight.
Her first act was to shut them.
There were four in the room, and she shut
them all.
She then placed herself before the door of
the chamber which Lucie had occupied.
Madame Defarge's dark eyes followed her
through this rapid movement, and rested on
her when it was finished.
Miss Pross had nothing beautiful about her;
years had not tamed the wildness, or
softened the grimness, of her appearance;
but, she too was a determined woman in her
different way, and she measured Madame
Defarge with her eyes, every inch.
"You might, from your appearance, be the
wife of Lucifer," said Miss Pross, in her
breathing.
"Nevertheless, you shall not get the better
of me.
I am an Englishwoman."
Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully,
but still with something of Miss Pross's
own perception that they two were at bay.
She saw a tight, hard, wiry woman before
her, as Mr. Lorry had seen in the same
figure a woman with a strong hand, in the
years gone by.
She knew full well that Miss Pross was the
family's devoted friend; Miss Pross knew
full well that Madame Defarge was the
family's malevolent enemy.
"On my way yonder," said Madame Defarge,
with a slight movement of her hand towards
the fatal spot, "where they reserve my
chair and my knitting for me, I am come to
make my compliments to her in passing.
I wish to see her."
"I know that your intentions are evil,"
said Miss Pross, "and you may depend upon
it, I'll hold my own against them."
Each spoke in her own language; neither
understood the other's words; both were
very watchful, and intent to deduce from
look and manner, what the unintelligible
words meant.
"It will do her no good to keep herself
concealed from me at this moment," said
Madame Defarge.
"Good patriots will know what that means.
Let me see her.
Go tell her that I wish to see her.
Do you hear?"
"If those eyes of yours were bed-winches,"
returned Miss Pross, "and I was an English
four-poster, they shouldn't loose a
splinter of me.
No, you wicked foreign woman; I am your
match."
Madame Defarge was not likely to follow
these idiomatic remarks in detail; but, she
so far understood them as to perceive that
she was set at naught.
"Woman imbecile and pig-like!" said Madame
Defarge, frowning.
"I take no answer from you.
I demand to see her.
Either tell her that I demand to see her,
or stand out of the way of the door and let
me go to her!"
This, with an angry explanatory wave of her
right arm.
"I little thought," said Miss Pross, "that
I should ever want to understand your
nonsensical language; but I would give all
I have, except the clothes I wear, to know
whether you suspect the truth, or any part
of it."
Neither of them for a single moment
released the other's eyes.
Madame Defarge had not moved from the spot
where she stood when Miss Pross first
became aware of her; but, she now advanced
one step.
"I am a Briton," said Miss Pross, "I am
desperate.
I don't care an English Twopence for
myself.
I know that the longer I keep you here, the
greater hope there is for my Ladybird.
I'll not leave a handful of that dark hair
upon your head, if you lay a finger on me!"
Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head
and a flash of her eyes between every rapid
sentence, and every rapid sentence a whole
breath.
Thus Miss Pross, who had never struck a
blow in her life.
But, her courage was of that emotional
nature that it brought the irrepressible
tears into her eyes.
This was a courage that Madame Defarge so
little comprehended as to mistake for
weakness.
"Ha, ha!" she laughed, "you poor wretch!
What are you worth!
I address myself to that Doctor."
Then she raised her voice and called out,
"Citizen Doctor!
Wife of Evremonde!
Child of Evremonde!
Any person but this miserable fool, answer
the Citizeness Defarge!"
Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some
latent disclosure in the expression of Miss
Pross's face, perhaps a sudden misgiving
apart from either suggestion, whispered to
Madame Defarge that they were gone.
Three of the doors she opened swiftly, and
looked in.
"Those rooms are all in disorder, there has
been hurried packing, there are odds and
ends upon the ground.
There is no one in that room behind you!
Let me look."
"Never!" said Miss Pross, who understood
the request as perfectly as Madame Defarge
understood the answer.
"If they are not in that room, they are
gone, and can be pursued and brought back,"
said Madame Defarge to herself.
"As long as you don't know whether they are
in that room or not, you are uncertain what
to do," said Miss Pross to herself; "and
you shall not know that, if I can prevent
your knowing it; and know that, or not know
that, you shall not leave here while I can
hold you."
"I have been in the streets from the first,
nothing has stopped me, I will tear you to
pieces, but I will have you from that
door," said Madame Defarge.
"We are alone at the top of a high house in
a solitary courtyard, we are not likely to
be heard, and I pray for bodily strength to
keep you here, while every minute you are
here is worth a hundred thousand guineas to
my darling," said Miss Pross.
Madame Defarge made at the door.
Miss Pross, on the instinct of the moment,
seized her round the waist in both her
arms, and held her tight.
It was in vain for Madame Defarge to
struggle and to strike; Miss Pross, with
the vigorous tenacity of love, always so
much stronger than hate, clasped her tight,
and even lifted her from the floor in the
struggle that they had.
The two hands of Madame Defarge buffeted
and tore her face; but, Miss Pross, with
her head down, held her round the waist,
and clung to her with more than the hold of
a drowning woman.
Soon, Madame Defarge's hands ceased to
strike, and felt at her encircled waist.
"It is under my arm," said Miss Pross, in
smothered tones, "you shall not draw it.
I am stronger than you, I bless Heaven for
it.
I hold you till one or other of us faints
or dies!"
Madame Defarge's hands were at her ***.
Miss Pross looked up, saw what it was,
struck at it, struck out a flash and a
crash, and stood alone--blinded with smoke.
All this was in a second.
As the smoke cleared, leaving an awful
stillness, it passed out on the air, like
the soul of the furious woman whose body
lay lifeless on the ground.
In the first fright and horror of her
situation, Miss Pross passed the body as
far from it as she could, and ran down the
stairs to call for fruitless help.
Happily, she bethought herself of the
consequences of what she did, in time to
check herself and go back.
It was dreadful to go in at the door again;
but, she did go in, and even went near it,
to get the bonnet and other things that she
must wear.
These she put on, out on the staircase,
first shutting and locking the door and
taking away the key.
She then sat down on the stairs a few
moments to breathe and to cry, and then got
up and hurried away.
By good fortune she had a veil on her
bonnet, or she could hardly have gone along
the streets without being stopped.
By good fortune, too, she was naturally so
peculiar in appearance as not to show
disfigurement like any other woman.
She needed both advantages, for the marks
of gripping fingers were deep in her face,
and her hair was torn, and her dress
(hastily composed with unsteady hands) was
clutched and dragged a hundred ways.
In crossing the bridge, she dropped the
door key in the river.
Arriving at the cathedral some few minutes
before her escort, and waiting there, she
thought, what if the key were already taken
in a net, what if it were identified, what
if the door were opened and the remains
discovered, what if she were stopped at the
gate, sent to prison, and charged with
***!
In the midst of these fluttering thoughts,
the escort appeared, took her in, and took
her away.
"Is there any noise in the streets?" she
asked him.
"The usual noises," Mr. Cruncher replied;
and looked surprised by the question and by
her aspect.
"I don't hear you," said Miss Pross.
"What do you say?"
It was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat
what he said; Miss Pross could not hear
him.
"So I'll nod my head," thought Mr.
Cruncher, amazed, "at all events she'll see
that."
And she did.
"Is there any noise in the streets now?"
asked Miss Pross again, presently.
Again Mr. Cruncher nodded his head.
"I don't hear it."
"Gone deaf in an hour?" said Mr. Cruncher,
ruminating, with his mind much disturbed;
"wot's come to her?"
"I feel," said Miss Pross, "as if there had
been a flash and a crash, and that crash
was the last thing I should ever hear in
this life."
"Blest if she ain't in a *** condition!"
said Mr. Cruncher, more and more disturbed.
"Wot can she have been a takin', to keep
her courage up?
Hark!
There's the roll of them dreadful carts!
You can hear that, miss?"
"I can hear," said Miss Pross, seeing that
he spoke to her, "nothing.
O, my good man, there was first a great
crash, and then a great stillness, and that
stillness seems to be fixed and
unchangeable, never to be broken any more
as long as my life lasts."
"If she don't hear the roll of those
dreadful carts, now very nigh their
journey's end," said Mr. Cruncher, glancing
over his shoulder, "it's my opinion that
indeed she never will hear anything else in
this world."
And indeed she never did.