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wood-sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to attend the
citizeness. The citizeness looking at him, he became embarrassed,
evaded her glance as a small dog would have done, retreated
among his wood, and hid his confusion over the handle of his saw.
Madame Defarge beckoned the Juryman and The Vengeance a
little nearer to the door, and there expounded her further views to
them thus: “She will now be at home, awaiting the moment of his
death. She will be mourning and grieving. She will be in a state of
mind to impeach the justice of the Republic. She will be full of
sympathy with its enemies. I will go to her.” “What an admirable
woman; what an adorable woman!” exclaimed Jacques Three,
rapturously. “Ah, my cherished!” cried The Vengeance; and
embraced her.

“Take you my knitting,” said Madame Defarge, placing it in her
lieutenant’s hands, “and have it ready for me in my usual seat.
Keep me my usual chair. Go you there, straight, for there will
probably be a greater concourse than usual, today.” “I willingly
obey the orders of my Chief,” said The Vengeance with alacrity,
and kissing her cheek. “You will not be late?” “I shall be there
before the commencement.”

“And before the tumbrils arrive. Be sure you are there, my soul,”
said The Vengeance, calling after her, for she had already turned
into the street, “before the tumbrils arrive!” Madame Defarge
slightly waved her hand, to imply that she heard, and might be
relied upon to arrive in good time, and so went through the mud,
and round the corner of the prison wall. The Vengeance and the
Juryman, looking after her as she walked away, were highly
appreciative of her fine figure, and her superb moral endowments.
There were many women at that time, upon whom the time laid a
dreadfully disfiguring hand; but, there was not one among them
more to be dreaded than this ruthless woman, now taking her way
along the streets. Of a strong and fearless character, of shrewd
sense and readiness, of great determination, of that kind of beauty
which not only seems to impart to its possessor firmness and
animosity, but to strike into others an instinctive recognition of
those qualities; the troubled time would have heaved her up, under
any circumstances. But, imbued from her childhood with a
brooding sense of wrong, and an inveterate hatred of a class,
opportunity had developed her into a tigress. She was absolutely
without pity. If she had ever had the virtue in her, it had quite
gone out of her.

It was nothing to her, that an innocent man was to die for the sins
of his forefathers; she saw, not him, but them. It was nothing to
her, that his wife was to be made a widow and his daughter an
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