Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
to Heaven for his recovered self-possession, he thought, “There is
but another now,” and turned to walk again.
Footsteps in the stone passage outside the door. He stopped.
The key was put in the lock, and turned. Before the door was
opened, or as it opened, a man said in a low voice, in English: “He
has never seen me here; I have kept out of his way. Go you in
alone; I wait near. Lose no time!” The door was quickly opened
and closed, and there stood before him face to face, quiet, intent
upon him, with the light of a smile on his features, and a
cautionary finger on his lip, Sydney Carton.
There was something so bright and remarkable in his look, that, for
the first moment, the prisoner misdoubted him to be an apparition
of his own imagining.
But, he spoke, and it was his voice; he took the prisoner’s hand,
and it was his real grasp.
“Of all the people upon earth, you least expected to see me?” he
“I could not believe it to be you. I can scarcely believe it now. You
are not”the apprehension came suddenly into his mind-“a
prisoner?” “No. I am accidentally possessed of a power over one of
the keepers here, and in virtue of it I stand before you. I come from
her-your wife, dear Darnay.” The prisoner wrung his hand.
“I bring you a request from her.” “What is it?”
“A most earnest, pressing, and emphatic entreaty, addressed to
you in the most pathetic tones of the voice so dear to you, that you
well remember.” The prisoner turned his face partly aside.
“You have no time to ask me why I bring it, or what it means; I
have no time to tell you. You must comply with it-take off those
boots you wear, and draw on these of mine.” There was a chair
against the wall of the cell, behind the prisoner. Carton, pressing
forward, had already, with the speed of lightning, got him down
into it, and stood over him, barefoot.
“Draw on these boots of mine. Put your hands to them; put your
will to them.
Quick!” “Carton, there is no escaping from this place; it never can
be done. You will only die with me. It is madness.” “It would be
madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? When I ask you to pass
out at that door, tell me it is madness and remain here. Change that
cravat for this of mine, that coat for this of mine. While you do it,
let me take this ribbon from your hair, and shake out your hair like
this of mine!” With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both
of will and action, that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all
these changes upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his