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Defarge: the other a mender of roads in a blue cap. AH adust and
athirst, the two entered the wine-shop. Their arrival had lighted a
kind of fire in the breast of Saint Antoine, fast spreading as they
came along, which stirred and flickered in flames of faces at most
doors and windows.

Yet, no one had followed them, and no man spoke when they
entered the wineshop, though the eyes of every man there were
turned upon them.

“Good day, gentlemen!” said Monsieur Defarge.
It may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue. It
elicited an answering chorus of “Good day!” “It is bad weather,
gentlemen,” said Defarge, shaking his head.

Upon which, every man looked at his neighbour, and then all cast
down their eyes and sat silent. Except one man, who got up and
went out.

“My wife,” said Defarge aloud, addressing Madame Defarge: “I
have travelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads,
called Jacques. I met himby accident-a day and half’s journey out
of Paris. He is a good child, this mender of roads, called Jacques.
Give him to drink, my wife!” A second man got up and went out.
Madame Defarge set wine before the mender of roads called
Jacques, who doffed his blue cap to the company, and drank.

In the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse dark bread; he ate
of this between whiles, and sat munching and drinking near
Madame Defarge’s counter. A third man got up and went out.
Defarge refreshed himself with a draught of wine-but, he took less
than was given to the stranger, as being himself a man to whom it
was no rarity-and stood waiting until the countryman had made
his breakfast. He looked at no one present, and no one now looked
at him; not even Madame Defarge, who had taken up her knitting,
and was at work.

“Have you finished your repast, friend?” he asked, in due season.
“Yes, thank you.”

“Come, then! You shall see the apartment that I told you you
occupy. It will suit you to a marvel.” Out of the wine-shop into the
street, out of the street into a courtyard, out of the courtyard up a
steep staircase, out of the staircase into a garret,- formerly the
garret where a white-haired man sat on a low bench, stooping
forward and very busy, making shoes.

No white-haired man was there now; but, the three men were there
who had gone out of the wine-shop singly. And between them and
the white-haired man afar off, was the one small link, that they had
once looked in at him through the chinks in the wall.

Defarge closed the door carefully, and spoke in a subdued voice:
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