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"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.