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IN THAT SAME JUNCTURE Of time when the Fifty-Two awaited
their fate Madame Defarge held darkly ominous council with The
Vengeance and Jacques Three of the Revolutionary Jury. Not in the
wine-shop did Madame Defarge confer with these ministers, but in
the shed of the woodsawyer, erst a mender of roads. The sawyer
himself did not participate in the conference, but abided at a little
distance, like an outer satellite who was not to speak until
required, or to offer an opinion until invited.

“But our Defarge,” said Jacques Three, “is undoubtedly a good
Republican? Eh?” “There is no better,” the voluble Vengeance
protested in her shrill notes, “in France.” “Peace, little Vengeance,”
said Madame Defarge, laying her hand with a slight frown on her
lieutenant’s lips, “hear me speak. My husband, fellow-citizen, is a
good Republican and a bold man; he has deserved well of the
Republic, and possesses its confidence. But my husband has his
weaknesses, and he is so weak as to relent towards this Doctor.”

“It is a great pity,” croaked Jacques Three, dubiously shaking his
head, with his cruel fingers at his hungry mouth; “it is not quite
like a good citizen; it is a thing to regret.” “See you,” said madame,
“I care nothing for this Doctor, I. He may wear his head or lose it,
for any interest I have in him; it is all one to me. But, the
Evremonde people are to be exterminated, and the wife and child
must follow the husband and father.” “She has a fine head for it,”
croaked Jacques Three. “I have seen blue eyes and golden hair
there, and they looked charming when Samson held them up.”
Ogre that he was, he spoke like an epicure.

Madame Defarge cast down her eyes, and reflected a little.
“The child also,” observed Jacques Three, with a meditative
enjoyment of his words, “has golden hair and blue eyes. And we
seldom have a child there. It is a pretty sight!” “In a word,” said
Madame Defarge, coming out of her short abstraction, “I cannot
trust my husband in this matter. Not only do I feel, since last night,
that I dare not confide to him the details of my projects; but also I
feel that if I delay, there is danger of his giving warning, and then
they might escape.” “That must never be,” croaked Jacques Three;
“no one must escape. We have not half enough as it is. We ought to
have six score a day.”

“In a word,” Madame Defarge went on, “my husband has not my
reason for pursuing this family to annihilation, and I have not his
reason for regarding this Doctor with any sensibility. I must act for
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