MADAME DEFARGE and monsieur her husband returned amicably to the bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the darkness, and through the dust, and down the weary miles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point of the compass where the chateau of Monsieur the Marquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees. Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening to the trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrows who, in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of dead stick to burn, strayed within sight of the great stone courtyard and
terrace staircase, had it borne in upon their starved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. A rumour just lived in the village--had a faint and bare existence there, as its people had that when the knife struck home, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of anger and pain also, that when that dangling figure was hauled up forty fee above the fountain, they changed again, and bore a cruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bear for ever. In the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointed out in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, and which nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions when two or three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take a hurried peep at Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinny finger would not have pointed to it for a minute, before they all started away among the moss and leaves, like the more fortunate hares who could find a living there.

Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the village well--thousands of acres of land--a whole province of France--all France itself--lay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hairbreadth line. So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature on it.

The Defarges, husband and wife, came lumbering under the starlight, in their public vehicle, to that gate of Paris whereunto their journey naturally tended. There was the usual stoppage at the barrier guardhouse, and the usual lanterns came glancing forth for
the usual examination and inquiry. Monsieur Defarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldiery there, and one of the police. The latter he was intimate with, and affectionately embraced.

When Saint Antoine had again enfolded the Defarges in his dusky wings, and they, having finally alighted near the Saint's boundaries, were picking their way on foot through the black mud and offal of his streets, Madame Defarge spoke to her husband:

`Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tell thee?'

`Very little tonight, but all he knows. There is another spy commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for all that he can say, but he knows of one.'

`Eh well!' said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool business air. `It is necessary to register him. How do they call that man?'

`He is English.'

`So much the better. His name?'

`Barsad,' said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness.

`Barsad,,' repeated madame. `Good. Christian name?'

`John.'

`John Barsad,' repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself. `Good. His appearance; is it known?'

`Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek; expression,
therefore, sinister.'

`Eh my faith. It is a portrait!' said madame, laughing. `He shall be registered tomorrow.'

They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it was midnight) and where Madame Defarge immediately took her post at her desk, counted the small moneys that had been taken during her absence, examined the stock, went through the entries in
the book, made other entries of her own, checked the serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissed him to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the bowl of money for the second time, and began knotting them up in her handkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keeping through the night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, but never interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to the business and his domestic affairs, he walked up and down through life.

The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded by so foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur Defarge's olfactory sense was by no means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger than it ever tasted, and so did the stock of rum and brandy and aniseed. He whiffed the compound of scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe.

`You are fatigued,' said madame, raising her glance as she knotted the money. `There are only the usual odours.'

`I am a little tired,' her husband acknowledged.

`You are a little depressed, too,' said madame, whose quick eyes had never been so intent on the accounts, but they had had a ray or two for him. `Oh, the men, the men!'

`But my dear!' began Defarge.

`But my dear!' repeated madame, nodding firmly; `but my dear! You are faint of heart tonight, my dear!'

`Well, then,' said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung Out of his breast, `it is a long time.'

`It is a long time,' repeated his wife; `and when is it not a long time? Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule.'

`It does not take a long time to strike a man with Lightning,' said Defarge.

`How long,' demanded madame, composedly, `does it take to make and store the lightning? Tell me.'

Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there were something in that too.

`It does not take a long time,' said madame, `for an earthquake to swallow a town. Eh well! Tell me how long it takes to prepare the earthquake?'

`A long time, I suppose,' said Defarge.

`But when it is ready, it takes place, and grinds to pieces everything before it. In the meantime, it is always preparing, though it is not seen or heard. That is your consolation. Keep it.'

She tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe.

`I tell thee,' said madame, extending her right hand, for emphasis, `that although it is a long time on the road, it is on the road and coming. I tell thee it never retreats, and never stops. I tell thee it is always advancing. Look around and consider the lives of all the world that we know, consider the faces of all the world that we know, consider the rage and discontent to which the Jacquerie addresses itself with more and more of certainty every hour. Can such things last? Bah! I mock you.'

`My brave wife,' returned Defarge, standing before her with his head a little bent, and his hands clasped at his back, like a docile and attentive pupil before his catechist, `I do not question all this. But it has lasted a long time, and it is possible--you know well, my wife, it is possible--that it may not come, during our lives.'

`Eh well! How then?' demanded madame, tying another knot, as if there were another enemy strangled.

`Well!' said Defarge, with a half-complaining and half apologetic shrug. `We shall not see the triumph.'

We shall have helped it,' returned madame, with her extended hand in strong action. `Nothing that we do, is done in vain. I believe, with all my soul, that we shall see the triumph. But even if not, even if I knew certainly not, show me the neck of an aristocrat and tyrant, and still I would--'

Then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible knot indeed.

`Hold!' cried Defarge, reddening a little as if he felt charged with cowardice; `I too, my dear, will stop at nothing.'

`Yes! But it is your weakness that you sometimes need to see your victim and your opportunity, to sustain you. Sustain yourself without that. When the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil; but wait for the time with the tiger and the devil chained--not shown--yet always ready.'

Madame enforced the conclusion of this piece of advice by striking her little counter with her chain of money as if she knocked its brains out, and then gathering the heavy handkerchief under her arm in a serene manner, and observing that it was time to go
to bed.

Next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual place in the wine-shop, knitting away assiduously. A rose lay beside her, and if she now and then glanced at the flower, it was with no infraction of her usual preoccupied air. There were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated, sprinkled about. The day was very hot, and heaps of flies, who were extending their inquisitive and adventurous perquisitions into all the glutinous little glasses near madame, fell dead at the bottom. Their decease made no impression on the other flies out promenading, who looked at them in the coolest manner (as if they
themselves were elephants, or something as far removed), until they met the same fate. Curious to consider how heedless flies are!--perhaps they thought as much at Court that sunny summer day.

A figure entering at the door threw a shadow on Madame Defarge which she felt to be a new one. She laid down her knitting, and began to pin her rose in her head-dress, before she looked at the figure.

It was curious. The moment Madame Defarge took up the rose, the customers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop out of the wine-shop.

`Good day, madame,' said the new comer.

`Good day, monsieur.'

She said it aloud, but added to herself as she resumed her knitting: `Hah! Good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black hair, generally rather handsome visage, complexion dark, eyes dark, thin long and sallow face, aquiline nose but not
straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek which imparts a sinister expression! Good day, one and all!'

`Have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac, and a mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.'

Madame complied with a polite air.

`Marvellous cognac this, madame!'

It was the first time it had ever been so complimented, and Madame Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better. She said, however, that the cognac was flattered, and took up her knitting. The visitor watched her fingers for a few moments,
and took the opportunity of observing the place in general.

`You knit with great skill, madame.'

`I am accustomed to it.'

`A pretty pattern too!'

`You think so?' said madame, looking at him with a smile.

`Decidedly. May one ask what it is for?'

`Pastime,' said madame, still looking at him with a smile, while her fingers moved nimbly.

`Not for use?'

`That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I do--well,' said madame, drawing a breath and nodding her head with a stern kind of coquetry, `I'll use it!'

It was remarkable: but the taste of Saint Antoine seemed to be decidedly opposed to a rose on the headdress of Madame Defarge. Two men had entered separately, and had been about to order drink, when, catching sight of that novelty, they faltered, made a pretence of looking about as if for some friend who was not there, and went away. Nor, of those who had been there when this visitor entered, was there one left. They had all dropped off. The spy had kept his eyes open, but had been able to detect no sign. They had lounged away in a poverty-stricken, purposeless, accidental manner, quite natural and unimpeachable.

`JOHN,' thought madame, checking off her work as her fingers knitted, and her eyes looked at the stranger., `Stay long enough, and I shall knit ``BARSAD'' before you go.'

`You have a husband, madame?'

`I have.'

`Children?'

`No children.'

`Business seems bad?'

`Business is very bad; the people are so poor.'

`Ah, the unfortunate, miserable people! So oppressed, too--as you say.'

`As you say,' madame retorted, correcting him, and deftly knitting an extra something into his name that boded him no good.

`Pardon me; certainly it was I who said so, but you naturally think so. Of course.'

`I think?' returned madame, in a high voice. `I and my husband have enough to do to keep this wine-shop open, without thinking. All we think, here, is how to live. That is the subject we think of, and it gives us, from morning to night, enough to think about, without embarrassing our heads concerning others. I think for others? No, no.'

The spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could find or make, did not allow his baffled state to express itself in his sinister face; but, stood with an air of gossiping gallantry, leaning his elbow on Madame Defarge's little counter, and occasionally sipping his cognac.

`A bad business this, madame, of Gaspard's execution. Ah! the poor Gaspard!' With a sigh of great compassion.

`My faith!' returned madame, coolly and lightly, `if people use knives for such purposes, they have to pay for it. He knew beforehand what the price of his luxury was; he has paid the price.'

`I believe,' said the spy, dropping his soft voice to a tone that invited confidence, and expressing an injured revolutionary susceptibility in every muscle of his wicked face: `I believe there is much compassion and anger in this neighbourhood, touching the poor fellow? Between ourselves.'

`Is there?' asked madame, vacantly.

`Is there not?'

`--Here is my husband!' said Madame Defarge.

As the keeper of the wine-shop entered at the door, the spy saluted him by touching his hat, and saying, with an engaging smile, `Good day, Jacques!' Defarge stopped short, and stared at him.

`Good day, Jacques!' the spy repeated; with not quite so much confidence, or quite so easy a smile under the stare.

`You deceive yourself, monsieur,' returned the keeper of the wine-shop. `You mistake me for another. That is not my name. I am Ernest Defarge.'

`It is all the same,' said the spy, airily, but discomfited too: `good day!'

`Good day!' answered Defarge, drily.

`I was saying to madame, with whom I had the pleasure of chatting when you entered, that they tell me there is--and no wonder!--much sympathy and anger in Saint Antoine, touching the unhappy fate of poor Gaspard.'

`No one has told me so,' said Defarge, shaking his head. `I know nothing of it.'

Having said it, he passed behind the little counter, and stood with his hand on the back of his wife's chair, looking over that barrier at the person to whom they were both opposed, and whom either of them would have shot with the greatest satisfaction.

The spy, well used to his business, did not change his unconscious attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac, took a sip of fresh water, and asked for another glass of cognac. Madame Defarge poured it out for him, took to her knitting again, and hummed a little song over it.

`You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than I do?' observed Defarge.

`Not at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so profoundly interested in its miserable inhabitants.'

`Hah!' muttered Defarge.

`The pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur Defarge, recalls to me,' pursued the spy, `that I have the honour of cherishing some interesting associations with your name.'

`Indeed!' said Defarge, with much indifference.

`Yes, indeed. When Dr. Manette was released, you, his old domestic, had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered to you. You see I am informed of the circumstances?'

`Such is the fact, certainly,' said Defarge. He had had it conveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wife's elbow as she knitted and warbled, that he would do best to answer, but always with brevity.

`It was to you,' said the spy, `that his daughter came; and it was from your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a neat brown monsieur; how is he called?--in a little wig--Lorry--of the bank of Tellson and Company--over to England.'

`Such is the fact,' repeated Defarge.

`Very interesting remembrances' said the spy. `I have known Dr. Manette and his daughter, in England.'

`Yes?' said Defarge.

`You don't hear much about them now?' said the spy.

`No,' said Defarge.

`In effect,' madame struck in, looking up from her work and her little song, `we never hear about them. We received the news of their safe arrival, and perhaps another letter, or perhaps Mo; but, since then, they have gradually taken their road in life--we,
ours--and we have held no correspondence.'

`Perfectly so, madame,' replied the spy. `She is going to be married.'

`Going?' echoed madame. `She was pretty enough to have been married long ago. You English are cold, it seems to me.'

`Oh! You know I am English.'

`I perceive your tongue is,' returned madame; `and what the tongue is, I suppose the man is.'

He did not take the identification as a compliment; but he made the best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After sipping his cognac to the end, he added:

`Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to an Englishman; to one who, like herself, is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah, poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!) it is a curious thing that she is going to marry the nephew of' Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the present Marquis. But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he is Mr. Charles Darnay. D'Aulnais is the name of his mother's family.'

Madame Defarge knitted steadily, but the intelligence had a palpable effect upon her husband. Do what he would, behind the little counter, as to the striking of a light and the lighting of his pipe, he was troubled, and his hand was not trustworthy. The spy would have been no spy if he had failed to see it, or to record it in his mind.

Having made, at least, this one hit, whatever it might prove to be worth, and no customers coming in to help him to any other, Mr. Barsad paid for what he had drunk, and took his leave: taking occasion to say, in a genteel manner, before he departed, that he looked forward to the pleasure of seeing Monsieur and Madame Defarge again. For some minutes after he had emerged into the outer presence of Saint Antoine, the husband and wife remained exactly as he had left them, lest he should come back.

`Can it be true,' said Defarge, in a low voice, looking down at his wife as he stood smoking with his hand on the back of her chair: `what he has said of Ma'amselle Manette?'

`As he has said it,' returned madame, lifting her eyebrows a little, `it is probably false. But it may be true.'

`If it is--'Defarge began, and stopped.

`If it is?' repeated his wife.

`--And if it does come, while we live to see it triumph--I hope, for her sake, Destiny will keep her husband out of France.'

`Her husband's destiny,' said Madame Defarge, with her usual composure, `will take him where he is to go, and will lead him to the end that is to end him. That is all I know.'

`But it is very strange--now, at least, is it not very strange'--said Defarge, rather pleading with his wife to induce her to admit it, `that, after all our sympathy for Monsieur her father, and herself, her husband's name should be proscribed under your hand at this moment, by the side of that infernal dog's who has just left us?'

`Stranger things than that will happen when it does come,' answered madame. `I have them both here, of a certainty; and they are both here for their merits; that is enough.'

She rolled up her knitting when she had said those words, and presently took the rose out of the handkerchief that was wound about her head. Either Saint Antoine had an instinctive sense that the objectionable decoration was gone or Saint Antoine was on the watch for its disappearance; howbeit, the Saint took courage to lounge in, very shortly afterwards, and the wine-shop recovered its habitual aspect.

In the evening, at which season of all others Saint Antoine turned himself inside out, and sat on doorsteps and window-ledges, and came to the corners of vile streets and courts, for a breath of air, Madame Defarge with her work in her hand was accustomed to pass from place to place and from group to group: a Missionary--there were many like her--such as the world will do well never to breed again. All the women knitted. They knitted worthless things; but, the mechanical work was a mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; the hands moved for the jaws and the digestive apparatus: if the bony fingers had been still, the stomachs would have been more famine-pinched.

But, as the fingers went, the eyes went, and the thoughts. And as Madame Defarge moved on from group to group, all three went quicker and fiercer among every little knot of women that she had spoken with, and left behind.

Her husband smoked at his door, looking after her with admiration. `A great woman,' said he, `a strong woman, a grand woman, a frightfully grand woman!'

Darkness closed around, and then came the ringing of church bells and the distant beating of the military drums in the Palace Court-Yard, as the women sat knitting, knitting. Darkness encompassed them. Another darkness was closing in as surely, when the church bells, then ringing pleasantly in many an airy steeple over France, should be melted into thundering cannon; when the military drums should be beating to drown a wretched voice, that night all-potent as the voice of Power and Plenty, Freedom and Life. So much was closing in about the women who sat knitting, knitting, that they their very selves were closing in around a structure yet unbuilt, where they were to sit knitting, knitting, counting dropping heads.

德伐日太太和她的丈夫平平静静地回到了圣安托万的怀抱，同时一个戴蓝帽子的人影却在黑夜里风尘仆仆地走上了若干英里的长途，按罗盘指示的方向往候爵大人庄园渐渐靠近。侯爵大人此时正在坟墓里谛听着林莽的细语。现在石雕人面十分清闲，可以听树林和泉水的声音了，村里的穷人也敢于闯到巨大的石砌庭院以及台阶附近来找野菜充饥和找枯枝作柴禾了。因为饥饿他们产生了一种幻觉，以为石雕人面已改变了表情。村里流传着一种谣言——它的存在跟村里的人一样有气无力——说是那把匕首刺进去时所有的石雕人面都改变了表情，从骄傲化作了愤怒和痛苦，而在泉水上空四十英尺晃荡起那个人影之后，石像的表情又起了变化，带上了一种报仇雪恨的残酷。而这种表情将永远保留下去。同时又有人指出在发生凶杀的房间窗户上方的石像那雕刻出的鼻子有了两个小小的窝儿。这窝儿人人认得，可过去就没有人在石像上见过。偶然会有两三个衣衫褴褛的农民从伙伴群中走出来窥看变作了石像的侯爵大人，并伸出精瘦的指头指指戳戳闹个分把钟，然后又跟伙伴们一起踏着苔藓和树叶逃走了，像些野兔一样一—野兔倒比他们幸运，可以在林莽中活下去。

庄园与茅屋；石雕人面与吊着摇摇晃晃的身影；石头地板上的斑斑血迹与乡村泉眼中的清清流泉——数以干亩计的土地—一法兰西的一个省区——法兰西的整体一—它们全都在夜空之下凝聚成了一条微弱的细线。整个地球和它的种种伟大与渺小都在一个闪烁的星星之中存在。既然人类知识已经可以分析出光线的构成，那么，更高级的智力必将能在我们这个地球的微弱的光亮中读解出它每一个负责人的每一种思想和行为、每一桩罪恶和德行了。

德伐日夫妇坐着公共马车在星光下隆隆地来到巴黎城门。那是他们自然要经过的地点。他们在路障警卫室前停了停，拿风灯的人照例来作了检查和询问。德伐日认得那儿的两个士兵和一个警察。他跟警察是知己，两人彼此热情地拥抱。

圣安托万把德伐日夫妇拥抱在黄昏的翅膀里。两人在边界附近下了车，在它街道上的黑泥和垃圾间拣着路走。这时德伐日太太对她的丈夫说：

“喂，朋友，警察局的雅克给你说了些什么？”

“今晚说得很少，但他知道的全都告诉我了。我们这儿又派来一个密探，据他说还可能派更多的人来，但他不认识。”

“那好！”德伐日太太带着冷冰冰的办理业务的神气扬起眉毛说。“得把他记录下来。他们怎么叫他？”

“他是英国人。”

“那更好。姓什么？”

“巴赫萨，”德伐日说，把它念成了法国音。但是他很仔细，想弄得很准确，所以又准确地拼出了每一个字母。

“巴萨，”太太说。“好，名字呢？”

“约翰。”

“约翰.巴萨，”太太低声念了念，再重复道。“好，他的长相，知道不？”

“年约四十，身高约五英尺九，黑色头发，微黑皮肤，大体可以算漂亮。深色眼珠，脸瘦长，灰黄。鹰钩鼻，但不直，略向左颊歪斜，因此表情阴险。”

“呃，不错，好一幅肖像画！”太太笑了笑说。“明天给他记下来。”

两人转入酒店。因为已是半夜，酒店早关了门。德伐日太太立即在柜台旁坐下，清点她离开之后收入的零钱，盘点存货，翻查帐本，自己又记上几笔帐，对跑堂的进行了一切可能的检查，然后打发他去睡觉。她这才又第二次倒出碗里的钱，用手绢包起来，打了一串疙瘩，以免夜里出危险。这时德伐日便衔着烟斗走来走去，满意地欣赏着，不去打扰她。他在这类业务和家务的活动中一辈子都只是走来走去而已。

夜很热，酒店密闭，环境又脏，所以有股臭味。德伐日先生的嗅觉并不灵敏，但是店里的葡萄酒味却比平时浓了许多，甜酒、白兰地和茴香的气味也浓。他放下抽完的烟斗，用鼻子吹了吹这种混合气味。

“你累坏了，”老板娘包着钱，打着结，抬头看了他一眼。“这儿只有平常的味儿。”

“我有点疲倦，”她的丈夫承认。

“你的情绪也有点低沉，”老板娘说。她那敏锐的眼睛极专注地看着帐目，可也不时瞄他一两眼。“啊，男人，男人！”

“可是我亲爱的！”德伐日开始说。

“可是我亲爱的！”老板娘坚定地点着头说，“可是我亲爱的！你今天晚上心肠太软！”

“是的，”德伐日说，他的话似乎是从心里痛苦地挤出来的，“时间的确太长了。”

“时间倒是很长，”他的妻子重复他的话，“可哪一件事的时间又能不长呢？报仇雪恨要花很长的时间，这是规律。”

“雷打死人就不需要多少时间，”德伐日说。

“可是你告诉我，”老板娘平静地问道，“让雷电聚积起来需要多少时间？”

德伐日抬起头沉思，仿佛觉得此话也有道理。

“地震毁灭一座城市，”老板娘说，“并不需要多少时间。可是你想想再告诉我，准备一次地震要多久？”

“我看要很长的时间，”德伐日说。

“可是一旦准备成热它就会爆发，把它面前的一切都化成粉末。同时，地震的准备虽然看不见听不见，却总在进行着。这对你就已经是安慰了，记住。”

她的眼睛里冒着火，手上抽紧了一个结，好像掐死了一个敌人。

“告诉你，”老板娘伸出右手强调说，“虽然它在路上的时间很长，它却已经上了路，走过来了。告诉你，它是不会退却，也不会停步的。告诉你，它永远在前进。看看周围的世界，考虑一下世界上我们所认得的每一个人吧，想一想雅克们随着每一小时而增加的愤怒和不满吧！它还长得了么？呸！你真可笑。”

“我勇敢的老婆，”德伐日微低着头，双手背在身后，像个站在教理问答老师面前的小学生似的回答道，“我对这一切都不怀疑。但是它迟迟不来已经太久，很有可能我们这一辈子都盼不到它了。你很明白这是可能的，我的老婆。”

“呃！那又怎么样？”老板娘问，又打了一个结，好像又绞死了一个敌人。”

“唔！”德戈日半是抱怨、半是道歉地耸了耸肩。“那我们就不会看到胜利了。”

“可我们总会促进它的倒来，”老板娘回答，伸出的那只手做了个有力的手势，“我们的努力是不会白费的。我的整个灵魂相信，我们必能看到胜利。即使看不到，即使我明知看不到，你若是给我一个贵族和暴君的脖子，我仍然可以把它一—”

老板娘咬牙切齿地抽紧了一个很可怕的结。

“别说了！”德伐日脸红了，叫了起来，仿佛有谁指责他胆小。“亲爱的，我也是什么都敢干的。”

“不错！但是你有时需要看到对象和机会才坚持得下去，这是你的弱点。别那样，你要坚持。时候一到便把猛虎和魔鬼都放出去，可是在猛虎和魔鬼还有链子拴着的时候，你就得等待时机——不露声色地作好准备。”

老板娘把那一串结子在小柜台上抽打着，仿佛要砸出它的脑浆来，用以强调她的结论。然后她平静地收起沉重的手巾包夹在腋下说，“是睡觉的时候了。”

第二天中午这个可敬的女人又在酒店里她平时的座位上勤勤恳恳也织毛线了。她的旁边放了一朵玫瑰花，虽然她有时要它一两眼，那却并不妨害她一向的遥遥自在的神态。店里有几个零星的客人，有的喝酒，有的没喝；有的站着，有的坐着。天很热，一群群的苍蝇作着探索性的冒险，爬到了老板娘身边带粘性的小酒杯里，落到杯底死去了。在杯外遨游的苍蝇们对伙伴们的死亡却无动于衷，只以最冷淡的态度望着它们，仿佛自己是大象之类跟它们毫不相干的东西，直到它们自己也遇到同样的命运为止。想一想苍蝇那种粗心大意倒也是很有趣的！—一那个炎热的夏天宫廷诸公之粗心大意也许正跟它们不相上下。

一个人影踅进门来，影子投在德伐日太太身上。她觉得是个新人，便放下毛线，往头巾上插上玫瑰，瞄了来人一眼。

有趣的是德伐日太太一拿起玫瑰，顾客们便停止了谈话，开始一个个往店外溜。

“日安，老板娘，”新来的人说。

“日安，先生。”

她大声回答，又打起毛线来，同时心里想道，“哈！日安，年纪四十左右，身高五英尺九左右，黑头发，面孔算得上漂亮，肤色偏黑，深色眼珠，脸瘦长灰质，鼻子鹰钩形，但不直，往左面颊作特别角度的倾斜，形成一种阴险的表情！日安，每一个特征都有！”

“劳驾给我一小杯陈年干邑酒，外加一口新鲜凉水，老板娘。”

老板娘很有礼貌地照办了。

“这干邑酒真好喝，老板娘！”

这酒是第一次受到这种称赞。对于它的评价德伐日太太知道得很多，心中有更准确的估计。不过她仍然说那是过奖了，然后又打起毛线来。客人望了一会儿她的指头，又趁机环顾了一下这地方。

“你打毛线的技术好极了，太太。”

“我习惯了。”

“花样也挺漂亮的。”，

“你觉得漂亮么？”老板娘微笑地看着他说。

“肯定。可以问问是作什么用的吗？”

“打着好玩的，”老板娘说，仍然微笑地看着他，同时灵巧地运动着手指。

“不作什么用？”

“那要看情况。说不定有一天我能给它派上用场的。如果那样的话——晤，”老板娘说，既卖弄风情，又严厉地吸了一口气，点了点头，“它就会有用了。”

说来奇怪，圣安托万的人似乎坚决反对德伐日太太头上插玫瑰。有两个人分头走进店来，想要酒喝，看见那不寻常的玫瑰花，便都犹豫了，都装作到那儿找朋友的样子溜掉了。连他们进店之前在店里的客人也都走得一个不剩了。密探把眼睛睁得大大的，却什么迹象也没发现。人们都走开了。他们穷，行动都很偶然没有目的。这很自然，也无懈可击。

“约翰，”老板娘心想，手指头打着毛线，心里却在检查着手上的工作，眼睛望着生客。“只要你多呆一会儿，我便在你离开之前，把‘巴萨’织进去。”

“你有丈夫吗，老板娘？”

“有。”

“有孩子吗？”

“没有。”

“生意似乎不大好呀？”

“生意很不好，老百姓太穷了。”

“啊，不幸的、痛苦的人民！还受到这样的压迫——正如你所说的。”

“这可是你说的，”老板娘反驳，纠正了他的话，同时在他的名字上娴熟地添上一笔对他不会有什么好处的帐。

“对不起，那确实是我说的，可你自然会这么想的，毫无疑问。”

“我想？”老板娘提高了嗓门回答。“我跟我丈夫要维持这个店面，已经够忙的了，还想什么。我们在这儿想的只是怎样活下去。我们想的就是这个问题，这就够我们从早到晚想个没完了，我们才不去想别人的事自讨苦吃呢。要我想别人的事么？不，我不干。”

那密探是来搜罗点面包皮或者制造点什么的。他不愿在他那阴鸷的脸上露出狼狈的样子，只把胳膊肘靠在老板娘的小柜台上，装作一副献献殷勤闲聊闲聊的神态，偶尔啜一口干邑酒。

“加斯帕德的死，老板娘，真不成话。啊，可怜的加斯帕德！”他说时发出一声深长的叹息，表示同情。

“啊呀！”老板娘轻松冷淡地说，“拿了刀子干这种事总是要受罚的。他早就该知道玩这种奢侈品是什么价钱，不过是欠债还钱罢

“我相信，”密探说，放低了声音。为了取得对方的信任，他那张邪恶的脸上每一块肌肉都表现出受到伤害的革命的敏感：“说句知心话，我相信这一带的人对这个可怜人有着强烈的同情和愤怒，是么？”

“是么？”老板娘一副莫名其妙的表情说。

“没有么？”

“——我当家的来了：”德伐日太太说。

酒店老板进了门，密探碰了碰帽檐行了个礼，带着讨好的微笑说，“日安，雅克！”德
伐日停了步，瞪大眼望着他。

“日安，雅克！”密探重复。在对方的注视下显得不太自信，笑得也不太自然。

“你认错人了，先生，”酒店老板回答。“把我看作别人了。我不叫雅克。我叫欧内斯特.德伐日。”

“叫什么都一样，”密探笑眯眯地说，但也诱着狼狈，“日安！”

“日安！”德伐日干巴巴地回答。

“你进来的时候，我有幸在跟老板娘闲聊，正说起别人告诉我的事：圣安托万人对于可怜的加斯帕德的不幸命运表现了强烈的同情和愤怒呢。”

“没听见谁说过这祥的话，”德伐日摇摇头说，“我不知道。”

说完这话，他走到小柜台后面，一只乎放在他妻子的椅背上，隔着这道障碍望着他们共同面对的人。若是能一枪崩了他，两人是会感到痛快的。

那密探很习惯于他的职业生活，并没有改变他那不自觉的姿态，只喝干了他那一小杯干邑酒，啜了一口清水，又叫了一杯干邑。德伐日太太给他斟了酒，又开始打起毛线来，嘴里哼着小曲儿。

“你对这一带好像很熟呢。就是说，比我还熟，是么？”德伐日说。

“不不，不过想多知道一点。我对苦难的居民有深刻的关心，”

“啊！”德伐日含糊地说。

“能有幸跟你谈话，德伐日先生，令我想起——”密探接下去，“我有幸能把你的姓作一个有趣的联想。”

“真的！”德伐日淡漠地说。

“不错，真的。我知道曼内特医生放出来时是由你照顾的。你是他家的老仆人，所以把他交给了你。你看，我还算了解情况吧？”

“有那么回事，肯定，”德伐日说。他的妻子在打毛线和唱歌时仿佛偶然地碰了碰他的手肘，他明白那是暗示他最好还是回答，但要简短。

“他的女儿来后，”密探说，“找的也是你。她是从你手里把她父亲接走的，同来的还有一个一身褐色衣服、穿戴很整齐的先生。那人叫什么来着？——戴个小假发——叫罗瑞——是台尔森银行的人——把他接到英格兰去了。”

“是事实，”德伐日重复。

“多么有趣的回忆！”密探说。“我在英国跟曼内特医生和他的女儿都认识。”

“是么？”，

“你现在不大得到他们的消息了么？”密探说。

“没有消息，”德伐日说。

“实际上，”老板娘放下了活计，也不再哼曲子，抬起头插嘴道，“我们没有得到他俩的消息。我们接到他们平安到达的消息之后只收到过一两封信，从那以后他们的生活逐渐走上了正轨——我们也只顾着自己的生活—一就没有再通信了。”

“完全如此，老板娘，”密探说。“那小姐快要结婚了。”

“快要结婚了？”老板娘回答。“她挺漂亮的，早该结婚了。你们英国人太冷淡了，我好像觉得。”

“啊！你要知道我就是英国人呢！”

“我早听出了你的口音，”老板娘回答，“我估计口音既然是英国的，人也就是英国人了。”

他没有把这番鉴定看作是赞美之辞，只好努力招架，哈哈一笑应付过去。他喝完了干邑酒，又说：

“真的，曼内特小姐要结婚了。但对象不是英国人，而是跟她一样出生在法国的法国人。说到加斯帕德（啊，可怜的加斯帕德！太残酷！太残酷！），有一件事倒很奇怪。小姐要嫁的是侯爵大人的侄子，而加斯帕德正是因为侯爵才被高高吊起来的。换句话说，那人正是现在的侯爵。但是他在英国是隐姓埋名的，在那儿并不是侯爵。他叫查尔斯.达尔内先生。他母亲姓达尔内。”

德伐日太太平静地织着毛线，但这消息对她的丈夫却产生了明显的效果。他在小柜台后面打火点烟斗，可无论做什么那手总有点不听使唤，心里也很乱。那密探若是连这一点也看不出或是没记录在心里，他就算不上是密探了。

巴萨先生这一枪至少已经刺了个正着，虽然它有什么价值还不清楚。此时又再无客人进来给他再显身手的机会，他便付了酒钱，走掉了。临行前他又利用机会温文尔雅地表示希望有机会跟德伐日夫妇再会。他离开酒店之后好一会儿这对夫妇仍然保持着原样没动，怕他又会回来。

“他关于曼内特小姐的消息，”德伐日低声说，他站着，吸着烟，一只手还在她椅背上，“能是真的么？”

“他那话很可能是假的，”老板娘眉毛扬起了一点点，“但也可能是真的。”

“如果是真的一—”德伐日说着又住了嘴。

“如果是真的又怎么样？”他的妻子重复说。

“——而那件事又发生了，我们看到了胜利——那么为了她的缘故，但愿命运让他别回法国来。”

“她丈夫的命运，”德伐日太太跟平时一样平静地说，“会带他到该去的地方，让他在该收场的地方收场。我就知道这一点。”

“但是有一件事却很奇怪——至少现在是很奇怪的，不是么？”德伐日说，带着恳求他妻于承认的口气，“尽管我们非常同情她和她的父亲，她丈夫的名字此时却在你的手下，记录进了惩罚名单，跟刚才离开我们的那条地狱的狗在一起。”

“到了那时比这更离奇的事也会发生的，”老板娘回答。“我把他俩都记在这儿了，这是肯定的。他们各有各的帐，都记下了，那就行了。”

说完这话，她卷起了毛线活儿，把玫瑰花从包在头上的手巾上取下来。圣安托万人或者是有一种本能，意识到那讨厌的装饰已经不见了，或者是一直观察着等待着那装饰的消失。总而言之，不一会儿工夫人们已鼓起勇气往店里走来，酒店又恢复了往日的景象。

在这个季节里的黄昏，圣安托万人全体都要出门，有的坐在门槛上，有的坐在窗台上，有的则坐到肮脏的街头巷尾。都是出来透气的。这时德伐日太太总习惯于拿着毛线活儿在东一群西一群的人之间走来走去：她是个传教士——像她这样的人还不少—一人世间若是不再产生这样的传教士就好了。女人们织着毛线，织的是不值钱的东西。但是，机械的工作可以机械地带来吃喝。手的活动是为了嘴和消化系统的活动。若是精瘦的指头停止了活动，肠胃就更填不满了。

但是她们的手指所到之处也正是眼睛所到之处，也是思想所到之处。德伐日太太在人群间周游时，她所接触到的妇女们的手指、眼睛和思想都行动得更快更猛烈了。

她的丈夫在门口吸烟，带着钦佩之情打量着她。“了不起的女人，”他说，“坚强的女人，伟大的女人，伟大得可怕的女人！”

黑暗在积聚，教堂的钟声响了，远处的王家卫队的军鼓响了。妇女们坐在那儿不断织着毛线。黑暗笼罩着她们。另一种黑暗同祥在稳定地积聚着。那时在全法兰西的尖塔上发出欢声的铜钟将会被熔铸为发出雷鸣的大炮。而隆隆的军鼓亦将淹没一个凄惨的声音。那个夜晚将跟力量与富裕的声音，自由与生命的声音一样无所不能。妇女们坐在那儿不断地编织着，许多东西都往她们积聚包围过来，使她们自己围到一个还没有建立起来的架子下面，坐在那儿不断地编织，记录要落下的人头。