endurance, may, in another generation, suffer less; but it is not forme. There is a curse on it, and on all this land.”“And you?” said the uncle. “Forgive my curiosity; do you,under your new philosophy, graciously intend to live?”“I must do, to live, what others of my countrymen, even withCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesnobility at their backs, may have to do some day—work.”“In England, for example?”“Yes. The family honour, sir, is safe from me in this country.The family name can suffer from me in no other, for I bear it in noother.”The ringing of the bell had caused the adjoining bed-chamberto be lighted. It now shone brightly, through the door ofcommunication. The Marquis looked that way, and listened for theretreating step of his valet.“England is very attractive to you, seeing how indifferently youhave prospered there,” he observed then, turning his calm face tohis nephew with a smile.“I have already said, that for my prospering there, I am sensibleI may be indebted to you, sir. For the rest, it is my Refuge.”“They say, those boastful English, that it is the Refuge of many.You know a compatriot who has found a Refuge there? A Doctor?”“Yes.”“With a daughter?”“Yes.”“Yes,” said the Marquis. “You are fatigued. Good night!”As he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was asecrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery tothose words, which struck the eyes and ears of his nephewforcibly. At the same time, the thin straight lines of the setting ofthe eyes, and the thin straight lips, and the markings in the nose,curved with a sarcasm that looked handsomely diabolic.“Yes,” repeated the Marquis. “A Doctor with a daughter. Yes.So commences the new philosophy! You are fatigued. Goodnight!”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesIt would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stoneface outside the chateau as to interrogate that face of his. Thenephew looked at him, in vain, in passing on to the door.“Good night!” said the uncle. “I look to the pleasure of seeingyou again in the morning. Good repose! Light Monsieur mynephew to his chamber there!—And burn Monsieur my nephew inhis bed, if you will,” he added to himself, before he rang his littlebell again, and summoned his valet to his own bedroom.The valet come and gone, Monsieur the Marquis walked to andfro in his loose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep,that hot still night. Rustling about the room, his softly-slipperedfeet making no noise on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger:—looked like some enchanted marquis of the impenitently wickedsort, in story, whose periodical change into tiger form was eitherjust going off, or just coming on.He moved from end to end of his voluptuous bed room, lookingagain at the scraps of the day’s journey that came unbidden intohis mind; the slow toil up the hill at sunset, the setting sun, thedescent, the mill, the prison on the crag, the little village in thehollow, the peasants at the fountain, and the mender of roads withhis blue cap pointing out the chain under the carriage. Thatfountain suggested the Paris fountain, the little bundle lying onthe step, the woman bending over it, and the tall man with hisarms up, crying, “Dead!”“I am cool now,” said Monsieur the Marquis, “and may go tobed.”So, leaving only one light burning on the large hearth, he let histhin gauze curtains fall around him, and heard the night break itssilence with a long sigh as he composed himself to sleep.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesThe stone faces on the outer walls stared blindly at the blacknight for three heavy hours; for three heavy hours, the horses inthe stables rattled at their racks, the dogs barked, and the owlmade a noise with very little resemblance in it to the noiseconventionally assigned to the owl by men-poets. But it is theobstinate custom of such creatures hardly ever to say what is setdown for them.For three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chateau, lion andhuman, stared blindly at the night. Dead darkness lay on all thelandscape, dead darkness added its own hush to the hushing duston all the roads. The burial-place had got to the pass that its littleheaps of poor grass were undistinguishable from one another; thefigure on the Cross might have come down, for anything that couldbe seen of it. In the village: taxers and taxed were fast asleep.Dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the starved usually do, and ofease and rest, as the driven slave and the yoked ox may, its leaninhabitants slept soundly, and were fed and freed.The fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and thefountain at the chateau dropped unseen and unheard—bothmelting away, like the minutes that were falling from the spring ofTime—through three dark hours. Then, the grey water of bothbegan to be ghostly in the light, and the eyes of the stone faces ofthe chateau were opened.Lighter and lighter, until at last the sun touched the tops of thestill trees, and poured its radiance over the hill. In the glow, thewater of the chateau fountain seemed to turn to blood, and thestone faces crimsoned. The carol of the birds was loud and high,and, on the weather-beaten sill of the great window of the bedchamber of Monsieur the Marquis, one little bird sang its sweetestCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiessong with all its might. At this, the nearest stone face seemed tostare amazed, and, with open mouth and dropped under-jaw,looked awe-stricken.Now, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village.Casement windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, andpeople came forth shivering—chilled, as yet, by the new sweet air.Then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among the villagepopulation. Some to the fountain; some, to the fields; men andwomen here, to dig and delve; men and women there, to see to thepoor livestock, and lead the bony cows out, to such pasture ascould be found by the roadside. In the church and at the Cross, akneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter prayers, the ledcow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot.The chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awokegradually and surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives ofthe chase had been reddened as of old; then, had gleamedtrenchant in the morning sunshine; now, doors and windows werethrown open, horses in their stables looked round over theirshoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at doorways, leavessparkled and rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard attheir chains, and reared impatient to be loosed.All these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life and thereturn of morning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great bell ofthe chateau, nor the running up and down the stairs; nor thehurried figures on the terrace; nor the booting and tramping hereand there and everywhere, nor the quick saddling of horses andriding away?What winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender ofroads, already at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with hisCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesday’s dinner (not much to carry) lying in a bundle that it wasworth no crow’s while to peck at, on a heap of stones? Had thebirds, carrying some grains of it to a distance, dropped one overhim as they sow chance seeds? Whether or no, the mender ofroads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, down the hill,knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the fountain.All the people of the village were at the fountain, standing aboutin their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing noother emotions than grim curiosity and surprise. The led cows,hastily brought in and tethered to anything that would hold them,were looking stupidly on, or lying down chewing the cud ofnothing particularly repaying their trouble, which they had pickedup in their interrupted saunter. Some of the people of the chateau,and some of those of the posting-house, and all the taxingauthorities, were armed more or less, and were crowded on theother side of the little street in a purposeless way, that was highlyfraught with nothing. Already, the mender of roads hadpenetrated into the midst of a group of fifty particular friends, andwas smiting himself in the breast with his blue cap. What did allthis portend, and what portended the swift hoisting-up ofMonsieur Gabelle behind a servant on horseback, and theconveying away of the said Gabelle (double-laden though thehorse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the German ballad ofLeonora?It portended that there was one stone face too many, up at thechateau.The Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, andhad added the one stone face wanting; the stone face for which ithad waited through about two hundred years.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesIt lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. It was like afine mask, suddenly startled, made angry, and petrified. Drivenhome into the heart of the stone figure attached to it, was a knife.Round its hilt was a frill of paper, on which was scrawled:“Drive him fast to his tomb. This, from Jacques.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesChapter XVITWO PROMISESMore months, to the number of twelve, had come andgone, and Mr. Charles Darnay was established inEngland as a higher teacher of the French languagewho was conversant with French literature. In this age, he wouldhave been a Professor; in that age he was a Tutor. He read withyoung men who could find any leisure and interest for the study ofa living tongue spoken all over the world, and he cultivated a tastefor its stores of knowledge and fancy. He could write of them,besides, in sound English, and render them into sound English.Such masters were not at that time easily found; Princes that hadbeen, and Kings that were to be, were not yet of the Teacher class,and no ruined nobility had dropped out of Tellson’s ledgers, toturn cooks and carpenters. As a tutor, whose attainments madethe student’s way unusually pleasant and profitable, and as anelegant translator who brought something to his work besidesmere dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon becameknown and encouraged. He was well acquainted, moreover, withthe circumstances of his country, and those were of ever-growinginterest. So, with great perseverance and untiring industry, heprospered.In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements ofgold, nor to lie on beds of roses; if he had had any such exaltedexpectation, he would not have prospered. He had expectedlabour, and he found it, and did it, and made the best of it. In this,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citieshis prosperity consisted.A certain portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, wherehe read with undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler whodrove a contraband trade in European languages, instead ofconveying Greek and Latin through the Custom-house. The rest ofhis time he passed in London.Now, from the days when it was always summer in Eden, tothese days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world ofa man has invariably gone one way—Charles Darnay’s way—theway of the love of a woman.He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of his danger. Hehad never heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound of hercompassionate voice; he had never seen a face so tenderlybeautiful, as hers when it was confronted with his own on the edgeof the grave that had been dug for him. But, he had not yet spokento her on the subject; the assassination at the deserted chateau faraway beyond the heaving water, and the long, long, dusty roads—the solid stone chateau which had itself become the mere mist of adream—had been done a year, and he had never yet, by so muchas a single spoken word, disclosed to her the state of his heart.That he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. It was againa summer day when, lately arrived in London from his collegeoccupation, he turned into the quiet corner in Soho, bent onseeking an opportunity of opening his mind to Doctor Manette. Itwas the close of the summer day, and he knew Lucie to be outwith Miss Pross.He found the Doctor reading in his armchair at a window. Theenergy which had at once supported him under his old sufferingsand aggravated their sharpness, had been gradually restored toCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citieshim. He was now a very energetic man indeed, with great firmnessof purpose, strength of resolution, and vigour of action. In hisrecovered energy he was sometimes a little fitful and sudden, as hehad at first been in the exercise of his other recovered faculties;but, this had never been frequently observable, and had grownmore and more rare.He studied much, slept little, sustained a great deal of fatiguewith ease, and was equably cheerful. To him, now entered CharlesDarnay, at sight of whom he laid aside his book and held out hishand.“Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We have been countingon your return these three or four days past. Mr. Stryver andSydney Carton were both here yesterday, and both made you outto be more than due.”“I am obliged to them for their interest in the matter,” heanswered, a little coldly as to them, though very warmly as to theDoctor. “Miss Manette—““Is well,” said the Doctor, as he stopped short, “and your returnwill delight us all. She has gone out on some household matters,but will soon be home.”“Doctor Manette, I knew she was from home. I took theopportunity of her being from home, to beg to speak to you.”There was a blank silence.“Yes?” said the Doctor, with evident constraint. “Bring yourchair here, and speak on.”He complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the speakingon less easy.“I have had the happiness, Doctor Manette, of being so intimatehere,” so he at length began, “for some year and a half, that I hopeCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesthe topic on which I am about to touch may not—” He was stayedby the Doctor’s putting out his hand to stop him. When he hadkept it so a little while, he said, drawing it back:“Is Lucie the topic?”“She is.”“It is hard for me to speak of her at any time. It is very hard forme to hear her spoken of in that tone of yours, Charles Darnay.”“It is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love,Doctor Manette!” he said deferentially.There was another blank silence before her father rejoined:“I believe it. I do you justice; I believe it.”His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, thatit originated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, thatCharles Darnay hesitated.“Shall I go on, sir?”Another blank.“Yes, go on.”“You anticipate what I would say, though you can not knowhow earnestly I say it, how earnestly I feel it, without knowing mysecret heart, and the hopes and fears and anxieties with which ithas long been laden. Dear Doctor Manette, I love your daughterfondly, dearly, disinterestedly, devotedly. If ever there were love inthe world, I love her. You have loved yourself; let your old lovespeak for me!”The Doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes bent onthe ground. At the last words, he stretched out his hand again,hurriedly, and cried:“Not that, sir! Let that be! I adjure you, do not recall that!”His cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in CharlesCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesDarnay’s ears long after he had ceased. He motioned with thehand he had extended, and it seemed to be an appeal to Darnay topause. The latter so received it, and remained silent.“I ask your pardon,” said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, andafter some moments. “I do not doubt your loving Lucie; you may