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“My dear,” said Mr. Lorry, striking in to explain; “there are
frequent risings in the streets; and, although it is not likely they
will ever trouble you, Madame Defarge wishes to see those whom
she has the power to protect at such times, to the end that she may
know them-that she may identify them. I believe,” said Mr. Lorry,
rather halting in his reassuring words, as the stony manner of an
the three impressed itself upon him more and more, “I state the
case, Citizen Defarge?” Defarge looked gloomily at his wife, and
gave no other answer than a gruff sound of acquiescence.

“You had better, Lucie,” said Mr. Lorry, doing all he could to
propitiate, by tone and manner, “have the dear child here, and our
good Pross. Our good Pross, Defarge, is an English lady, and
knows no French.” The lady in question, whose rooted conviction
that she was more than a match for any foreigner, was not to be
shaken by distress and danger, appeared with folded arms, and
observed in English to The Vengeance, whom her eyes first
encountered, “Well, I am sure, Boldface! I hope you are pretty
well!” She also bestowed a British cough on Madame Defarge; but,
neither of the two took much heed of her.

“Is that his child?” said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for
the fust time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as if it
were the finger of Fate.

“Yes, madame,” answered Mr. Lorry; “this is our poor prisoner’s
darling daughter, and only child.” The shadow attendant on
Madame Defarge and her party seemed to fall so threatening and
dark on the child, that her mother instinctively kneeled on the
ground beside her, and held her to her breast. The shadow
attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed then to fall,
threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child.

“It is enough, my husband,” said Madame Defarge. “I have seen
them. We may go.” But, the suppressed manner had enough of
menace in it-not visible and presented, but indistinct and
withheld-to alarm Lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing
hand on Madame Defarge’s dress: “You will be good to my poor
husband. You will do him no harm. You will help me to see him if
you can?” “Your husband is not my business here,” returned
Madame Defarge, looking down at her with perfect composure. “It
is the daughter of your father who is my business here.” “For my
sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For my child’s sake! She
will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful. We are
more afraid of you than of these others.”

Madame Defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her
husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail
and looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression.
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