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Of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherences, "The

Prisoners!" was the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in,

as if there were an eternity of people, as well as of time and

space. When the foremost billows rolled past, bearing the prison

officers with them, and threatening them all with instant death

if any secret nook remained undisclosed, Defarge laid his strong

hand on the breast of one of these men--a man with a grey head,

who had a lighted torch in his hand--separated him from the rest,

and got him between himself and the wall.

"Show me the North Tower!" said Defarge. "Quick!"

"I will faithfully," replied the man, "if you will come with me.

But there is no one there."

"What is the meaning of One Hundred and Five, North Tower?" asked

Defarge. "Quick!"

"The meaning, monsieur?"

"Does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? Or do you mean

that I shall strike you dead?"

"Kill him!" croaked Jacques Three, who had come close up.

"Monsieur, it is a cell."

"Show it me!"