VII
A
Knock at the Door
"I
have saved him." It was not another of the dreams in which he had often come
back; he was really here. And yet his wife trembled, and a vague but heavy fear
was upon her.
All
the air round was so thick and dark, the people were so passionately revengeful
and fitful, the innocent were so constantly put to death on vague suspicion and
black malice, it was so impossible to forget that many as blameless as her
husband and as dear to others as he was to her, every day shared the fate from
which he had been clutched, that her heart could not be as lightened of its
load as she felt it ought to be. The shadows of the wintry afternoon were
beginning to fall, and even now the dreadful carts were rolling through the
streets. Her mind pursued them, looking for him among the Condemned; and then
she clung closer to his real presence and trembled more.
Her
father, cheering her, showed a compassionate superiority to this woman's
weakness, which was wonderful to see. No garret, no shoemaking, no One Hundred
and Five,
Their
housekeeping was of a very frugal kind: not only because that was the safest
way of life, involving the least offence to the people, but because they were
not rich, and Charles, throughout his imprisonment, had had to pay heavily for
his bad food, and for his guard, and towards the living of the poorer
prisoners. Partly on this account, and partly to avoid a domestic spy, they
kept no servant; the citizen and citizeness who acted as porters at the
courtyard gate, rendered them occasional service; and Jerry (almost wholly
transferred to them by Mr. Lorry) had become their daily retainer, and had his
bed there every night.
It
was an ordinance of the Republic One and Indivisible of Liberty, Equality,
Fraternity, or Death, that on the door or doorpost of every house, the name of
every inmate must be legibly inscribed in letters of a certain size, at a
certain convenient height from the ground. Mr. Jerry Cruncher's name,
therefore, duly embellished the doorpost down below; and, as the afternoon
shadows deepened, the owner of that name himself appeared, from overlooking a
painter whom Doctor Manette had employed to add to the list the name of Charles
Evremonde, called Darnay.
In
the universal fear and distrust that darkened the time, all the usual harmless
ways of life were changed. In the Doctor's little household, as in very many
others, the articles of daily consumption that were wanted were purchased every
evening, in small quantities and at various small shops. To avoid attracting
notice, and to give as little occasion as possible for talk and envy, was the
general desire.
For
some months past, Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher had discharged the office of
purveyors; the former carrying the money; the latter, the basket. Every
afternoon at about the time when the public lamps were lighted, they fared
forth on this duty, and made and brought home such purchases as were needful.
Although Miss Pross, through her long association with a French family, might
have known as much of their language as of her own, if she had had a mind, she
had no mind in that direction; consequently she knew no more of that
"nonsense" (as she was pleased to call it) than Mr. Cruncher did. So
her manner of marketing was to plump a noun-substantive at the head of a
shopkeeper without any introduction in the nature of an article, and, if it
happened not to be the name of the thing she wanted, to look round for that
thing, lay hold of it, and hold on by it until the bargain was concluded. She
always made a bargain for it, by holding up, as a statement of its just price,
one finger less than the merchant held up, whatever his number might be.
"Now,
Mr. Cruncher," said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red with felicity;
"if you are ready, I am."
Jerry
hoarsely professed himself at Miss Pross's service. He had worn all his rust
off long ago, but nothing would file his spiky head down.
"There's
all manner of things wanted," said Miss Pross, "and we shall have a
precious time of it. We want wine, among the rest. Nice toasts these Redheads
will be drinking, wherever we buy it."
"It
will be much the same to your knowledge, miss, I should think," retorted
Jerry, "whether they drink your health or the Old Un's."
"Who's
he?" said Miss Pross.
Mr.
Cruncher, with some diffidence, explained himself as meaning "Old
Nick's."
"Ha!"
said Miss Pross, "it doesn't need an interpreter to explain the meaning of
these creatures. They have but one, and it's Midnight Murder, and
Mischief."
"Hush,
dear! Pray, pray, be cautious!" cried Lucie.
"Yes,
yes, yes, I'll be cautious," said Miss Pross; "but I may say among
ourselves, that I do hope there will be no oniony and tobaccoey smotherings in
the form of embracings all round, going on in the streets. Now, Ladybird, never
you stir from that fire till I come back! Take care of the dear husband you
have recovered, and don't move your pretty head from his shoulder as you have
it now, till you see me again! May I ask a question, Doctor Manette, before I go?"
"I
think you may take that liberty," the Doctor answered, smiling.
"For
gracious sake, don't talk about
"Hush,
dear! Again?" Lucie remonstrated.
"Well,
my sweet," said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically, "the short
and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most Gracious Majesty King
George the Third;" Miss Pross curtseyed at the name; "and as such, my
maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes
we fix, God save the King!"
Mr.
Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly repeated the words after Miss
Pross, like somebody at church.
"I
am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I wish you had never
taken that cold in your voice," said Miss Pross, approvingly. "But
the question, Doctor Manette. Is there"--it was the good creature's way to
affect to make light of anything that was a great anxiety with them all, and to
come at it in this chance manner--"is there any prospect yet, of our
getting out of this place?"
"I
fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet."
"Heigh-ho-hum!"
said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as she glanced at her darling's
golden hair in the light of the fire, "then we must have patience and
wait: that's all. We must hold up our heads and fight low, as my brother
Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher!--Don't you move, Ladybird!"
They
went out, leaving Lucie, and her husband, her father, and the child, by a
bright fire. Mr. Lorry was expected back presently from the Banking House. Miss
Pross had lighted the lamp, but had put it aside in a corner, that they might
enjoy the fire-light undisturbed. Little Lucie sat by her grandfather with her
hands clasped through his arm: and he, in a tone not rising much above a
whisper, began to tell her a story of a great and powerful Fairy who had opened
a prison-wall and let out a captive who had once done the Fairy a service. All
was subdued and quiet, and Lucie was more at ease than she had been.
"What
is that?" she cried, all at once.
"My
dear!" said her father, stopping in his story, and laying his hand on
hers, "command yourself. What a disordered state you are in! The least
thing--nothing--startles you! YOU, your father's daughter!"
"I
thought, my father," said Lucie, excusing herself, with a pale face and in
a faltering voice, "that I heard strange feet upon the stairs."
"My
love, the staircase is as still as Death."
As
he said the word, a blow was struck upon the door.
"Oh
father, father. What can this be! Hide Charles. Save him!"
"My
child," said the Doctor, rising, and laying his hand upon her shoulder,
"I HAVE saved him. What weakness is this, my dear! Let me go to the
door."
He
took the lamp in his hand, crossed the two intervening outer rooms, and opened
it. A rude clattering of feet over the floor, and four rough men in red caps,
armed with sabres and pistols, entered the room.
"The
Citizen Evremonde, called Darnay," said the first.
"Who
seeks him?" answered Darnay.
"I
seek him. We seek him. I know you, Evremonde; I saw you before the Tribunal
to-day. You are again the prisoner of the Republic."
The
four surrounded him, where he stood with his wife and child clinging to him.
"Tell
me how and why am I again a prisoner?"
"It
is enough that you return straight to the Conciergerie, and will know
to-morrow. You are summoned for to-morrow."
Doctor
Manette, whom this visitation had so turned into stone, that be stood with the
lamp in his hand, as if be woe a statue made to hold it, moved after these
words were spoken, put the lamp down, and confronting the speaker, and taking
him, not ungently, by the loose front of his red woollen shirt, said:
"You
know him, you have said. Do you know me?"
"Yes,
I know you, Citizen Doctor."
"We
all know you, Citizen Doctor," said the other three.
He
looked abstractedly from one to another, and said, in a lower voice, after a
pause:
"Will
you answer his question to me then? How does this happen?"
"Citizen
Doctor," said the first, reluctantly, "he has been denounced to the
Section of Saint Antoine. This citizen," pointing out the second who had
entered, "is from Saint Antoine."
The
citizen here indicated nodded his head, and added:
"He
is accused by Saint Antoine."
"Of
what?" asked the Doctor.
"Citizen
Doctor," said the first, with his former reluctance, "ask no more. If
the Republic demands sacrifices from you, without doubt you as a good patriot
will be happy to make them. The Republic goes before all. The People is
supreme. Evremonde, we are pressed."
"One
word," the Doctor entreated. "Will you tell me who denounced
him?"
"It
is against rule," answered the first; "but you can ask Him of Saint
Antoine here."
The
Doctor turned his eyes upon that man. Who moved uneasily on his feet, rubbed
his beard a little, and at length said:
"Well!
Truly it is against rule. But he is denounced--and gravely--by the Citizen and
Citizeness Defarge. And by one other."
"What
other?"
"Do
YOU ask, Citizen Doctor?"
"Yes."
"Then,"
said he of Saint Antoine, with a strange look, "you will be answered
to-morrow. Now, I am dumb!"