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"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.