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It was remarkable; but, the taste of Saint Antoine seemed to be

decidedly opposed to a rose on the head-dress 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."