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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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287 her in the street by the prison. Let me but lift my finger--!” She seemed to raise it (the listener’s eyes were always on his paper), and to let it fall with a rattle on the ledge before her, as if the axe had dropped. “The citizeness is superb!” croaked the Juryman. “She is an Angel!” said The Vengeance, and embraced her. “As to thee,” pursued madame, implacably, addressing her husband, “if it depended on thee-which, happily, it does not-thou wouldst rescue this man even now.” “No!” protested Defarge. “Not if to lift this glass would do it! But I would leave the matter there. I say, stop there.” “See you then, Jacques,” said Madame Defarge, wrathfully; “and see you, too, my little Vengeance; see you both! Listen! For other crimes as tyrants and oppressors, I have this race a long time on my register, doomed to destruction and extermination. Ask my husband, is that so.” “It is so,” assented Defarge, without being asked. “In the beginning of the great days, when the Bastille falls, he finds this paper of to-day, and he brings it home, and in the middle of the night when this place is clear and shut, we read it, here on this spot, by the light of this lamp. Ask him, is that so.” “It is so,” assented Defarge. “That night, I tell him, when the paper is read through, and the lamp is burnt out, and the day is gleaming in above those shutters and between those iron bars, that I have now a secret to communicate. Ask him, is that so.” “It is so,” assented Defarge again. “I communicate to him that secret. I smite this bosom with these two hands as I smite it now, and I tell him, ‘Defarge, I was brought up among the fishermen of the sea-shore, and that peasant family so injured by the two Evremonde brothers, as that Bastille paper describes, is my family. Defarge, that sister of the mortally wounded boy upon the ground was my sister, that husband was my sister’s husband, that unborn child was their child, that brother was my brother, that father was my father, those dead are my dead, and that summons to answer for those things descends to me!’ Ask him, is that so.” “It is so,” assented Defarge once more. “Then tell Wind and Fire where to stop,” returned madame; “but don’t tell me.” Both her hearers derived a horrible enjoyment from the deadly nature of her wrath-the listener could feel how white she was, without seeing her-and both highly commended it. Defarge, a weak minority, interposed a few words for the memory of the compassionate wife of the Marquis; but only elicited from his own wife a repetition of her last reply. “Tell the Wind and the Fire where to stop; not me!” Customers entered, and the group was |
