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Defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. The looks of

all of them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they

listened to the countryman's story; the manner of all of them,

while it was secret, was authoritative too. They had the air of a

rough tribunal; Jacques One and Two sitting on the old

pallet-bed, each with his chin resting on his hand, and his eyes

intent on the road-mender; Jacques Three, equally intent, on one

knee behind them, with his agitated hand always gliding over the

network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose; Defarge standing

between them and the narrator, whom he had stationed in the light

of the window, by turns looking from him to them, and from them

to him.

"Go on, Jacques," said Defarge.