“Brother, brother!” cried Miss Pross, bursting into tears. “HaveI ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruelquestion?”“Then hold your meddlesome tongue,” said Solomon, “andcome out, if you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine, and comeout. Who’s this man?”Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her by nomeans affectionate brother, said through her tears, “Mr.Cruncher.”“Let him come out too,” said Solomon. “Does he think me aghost?”Apparently, Mr. Cruncher did, to judge from his looks. He saidnot a word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the depths of herreticule through her tears with great difficulty, paid for her wine.As she did so, Solomon turned to the followers of The GoodRepublican Brutus of Antiquity, and offered a few words ofexplanation in the French language, which caused them all torelapse into their former places and pursuits.“Now,” said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, “whatdo you want?”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Cities“How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turnedmy love away from!” cried Miss Pross, “to give me such a greeting,and show me no affection.”“There. Con-found it! There,” said Solomon, making a dab atMiss Pross’s lips with his own. “Now are you content?”Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.“If you expect me to be surprised,” said her brother Solomon,“I am not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most peoplewho are here. If you really don’t want to endanger my existence—which I half believe you do—go your ways as soon as possible, andlet me go mine. I am busy. I am an official.”“My English brother Solomon,” mourned Miss Pross, castingup her tear-fraught eyes, “that had the makings in him of one ofthe best and greatest of men in his native country, an officialamong foreigners, and such foreigners! I would almost soonerhave seen the dear boy lying in his—”“I said so!” cried her brother, interrupting. “I knew it. You wantto be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my ownsister. Just as I am getting on!”“The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!” cried Miss Pross.“Far rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though Ihave ever loved you truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionateword to me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estrangedbetween us, and I will detain you no longer.”Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them hadcome of any culpability of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had not known itfor a fact years ago, in the quiet corner in Soho, that this preciousbrother had spent her money and left her!He was saying the affectionate word, however, with a far moreCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesgrudging condescension and patronage than he could have shownif their relative merits and positions had been reversed (which isinvariably the case, all the world over), when Mr. Cruncher,touching him on the shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedlyinterposed with the following singular question:“I say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is JohnSolomon, or Solomon John?”The official turned towards him with a sudden distrust. He hadnot previously uttered a word.“Come!” said Mr. Cruncher. “Speak out, you know.” (Which, bythe way, was more than he could do himself) “John Solomon, orSolomon John? She calls you Solomon, and she must know, beingyour sister. And I know you’re John, you know. Which of the twogoes first? And regarding that name of Pross, likewise. Thatwarn’t your name over the water.”“What do you mean?”“Well, I don’t know all I mean, for I can’t call to mind what yourname was, over the water.”“No?”“No. But I’ll swear it was a name of two syllables.”“Indeed?”“Yes. T’other one’s was one syllable. I know you. You was a spy-witness at the Bailey. What, in the name of the Father of Lies, ownfather to yourself, was you called at that time?”“Barsad,” said another voice, striking in.“That’s the name for a thousand pound!” cried Jerry. Thespeaker who struck in, was Sydney Carton. He had his handsbehind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and he stood at Mr.Cruncher’s elbow as negligently as he might have stood at the OldCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesBailey itself.“Don’t be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross. I arrived at Mr. Lorry’s,to his surprise, yesterday evening; we agreed that I would notpresent myself elsewhere until all was well, or unless I could beuseful; I present myself here, to beg a little talk with your brother.I wish you had a better employed brother than Mr. Barsad. I wishfor your sake Mr. Barsad was not a Sheep of the Prisons.”Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers.The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how hedared— “I’ll tell you,” said Sydney. “I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad,coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I wascontemplating the walls, an hour or more ago. You have a face tobe remembered, and I remember faces well. Made curious byseeing you in that connection, and having a reason, to which youare no stranger, for associating you with the misfortunes of afriend now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction. I walkedinto the wine-shop here, close after you, and sat near you. I had nodifficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and therumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature ofyour calling. And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed toshape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad.”“What purpose?” the spy asked.“It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explainin the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with someminutes of your company—at the office of Tellson’s Bank, forinstance?”“Under a threat?”“Oh! Did I say that?”“Then, why should I go there?”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Cities“Really, Mr. Barsad, I can’t say, if you can’t.”“Do you mean that you won’t say, sir?” the spy irresolutelyasked.“You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won’t.”Carton’s negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully inaid of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had in hissecret mind, and with such a man as he had to do with. Hispractised eye saw it, and made the most of it.“Now, I told you so,” said the spy, casting a reproachful look athis sister; “if any trouble comes of this, it’s your doing.”“Come, come, Mr. Barsad!” exclaimed Sydney. “Don’t beungrateful. But for my great respect for your sister, I might nothave led up so pleasantly to a little proposal that I wish to make forour mutual satisfaction. Do you go with me to the Bank?”“I’ll hear what you have got to say. Yes, I’ll go with you.”“I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the cornerof her own street. Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not agood city, at this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and, asyour escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. Lorry’s withus. Are we ready? Come then!”Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her liferemembered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney’s arm andlooked up in his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon,there was a braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration inthe eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner, butchanged and raised the man. She was too much occupied thenwith fears for the brother who so little deserved her affection, andwith Sydney’s friendly reassurances, adequately to heed what sheobserved.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesThey left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the wayto Mr. Lorry’s, which was within a few minutes’ walk. JohnBarsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side.Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before acheery little log or two of fire—perhaps looking into their blaze forthe picture of that younger elderly gentleman from Tellson’s, whohad looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now agood many years ago. He turned his head as they entered, andshowed the surprise with which he saw a stranger.“Miss Pross’s brother, sir,” said Sydney. “Mr. Barsad.”“Barsad?” repeated the old gentleman, “Barsad? I have anassociation with the name—and with the face.”“I told you you had a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad,” observedCarton, coolly. “Pray sit down.”As he took a chair himself, he supplied the link that Mr. Lorrywanted, by saying to him with a frown, “Witness at that trial.” Mr.Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his new visitorwith an undisguised look of abhorrence.“Mr. Barsad has been recognised by Miss Pross as theaffectionate brother you have heard of ,” said Sydney, “and hasacknowledged the relationship. I pass to worse news. Darnay hasbeen arrested again.”Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed, “Whatdo you tell me! I left him safe and free within these two hours, andam about to return to him!”“Arrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad?”“Just now, if at all.”“Mr. Barsad is the best authority possible, sir,” said Sydney,“and I have it from Mr. Barsad’s communication to a friend andCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesbrother Sheep over a bottle of wine, that the arrest has takenplace. He left the messengers at the gate, and saw them admittedby the porter. There is no earthly doubt that he is retaken.”Mr. Lorry’s business eye read in the speaker’s face that it wasloss of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, but sensible thatsomething might depend on his presence of mind, he commandedhimself, and was silently attentive.“Now, I trust,” said Sydney to him, “that the name andinfluence of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good steadtomorrow—you said he would be before the Tribunal againtomorrow, Mr. Barsad?—” “Yes; I believe so.”“—In as good stead tomorrow as today. But it may not be so. Iown to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor Manette’s nothaving had the power to prevent this arrest.”“He may not have known of it beforehand,” said Mr. Lorry.“But that very circumstance would be alarming, when weremember how identified he is with his son-in-law.”“That’s true,” Mr. Lorry acknowledged, with his troubled handat his chin, and his troubled eyes on Carton.“In short,” said Sydney, “this is a desperate time, whendesperate games are played for desperate stakes. Let the Doctorplay the winning game; I will play the losing one. No man’s lifehere is worth purchase. Any one carried home by the peopletoday, may be condemned tomorrow. Now, the stake I haveresolved to play for, in case of the worst, is a friend in theConciergerie. And the friend I purpose to myself to win, is Mr.Barsad.”“You need have good cards, sir,” said the spy.“I’ll run them over. I’ll see what I hold,—Mr. Lorry, you knowCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citieswhat a brute I am; I wish you’d give me a little brandy.”It was put before him, and he drank off a glassful—drank offanother glassful—pushed the bottle thoughtfully away.“Mr. Barsad,” he went on, in the tone of one who really waslooking over a hand at cards: “Sheep of the prisons, emissary ofRepublican committees, now turnkey, now prisoner, always spyand secret informer, so much the more valuable here for beingEnglish that an Englishman is less open to suspicion ofsubornation in those characters than a Frenchman, representshimself to his employers under a false name. That’s a very goodcard. Mr. Barsad, now in the employ of the republican Frenchgovernment, was formerly in the employ of the aristocraticEnglish government, the enemy of France and freedom. That’s anexcellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of suspicion,that Mr. Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocratic Englishgovernment, is the spy of Pitt, the treacherous foe of the Republiccrouching in its bosom, the English traitor and agent of allmischief so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That’s a cardnot to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?”“Not to understand your play,” returned the spy, somewhatuneasily.“I play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearestSection Committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and seewhat you have. Don’t hurry.”He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of brandy,and drank it off. He saw that the spy was fearful of his drinkinghimself into a fit state for the immediate denunciation of him.Seeing it, he poured out and drank another glassful.“Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two CitiesIt was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losingcards in it that Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of hishonourable employment in England, through too muchunsuccessful hard swearing there—not because he was notwanted there; our English reasons for vaunting our superiority tosecrecy and spies are of very modern date—he knew that he hadcrossed the Channel, and accepted service in France: first, as atempter and an eavesdropper among his own countrymen there:gradually, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among the natives.He knew that under the overthrown government he had been aspy upon Saint Antoine and Defarge’s wine-shop; had receivedfrom the watchful police such heads of information concerningDoctor Manette’s imprisonment, release, and history, as shouldserve him for an introduction to familiar conversation with theDefarges; and tried them on Madame Defarge, and had brokendown with them signally. He always remembered with fear andtrembling, that that terrible woman had knitted when he talkedwith her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingers moved.He had since seen her, in the Section of Saint Antoine, over andover again produce her knitted registers, and denounce peoplewhose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up. He knew, asevery one employed as he was did, that he was never safe; thatflight was impossible; that he was tied fast under the shadow ofthe axe; and that in spite of his utmost tergiversation andtreachery in furtherance of the reigning terror, a word might bringit down upon him. Once denounced, and on such grave grounds ashad just now been suggested to his mind, he foresaw that thedreadful woman of whose unrelenting character he had seen manyproofs, would produce against him that fatal register, and wouldCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsA Tale of Two Citiesquash his last chance of life. Besides that all secret men are mensoon terrified, here were surely cards enough of one black suit, tojustify the holder in growing rather livid as he turned them over.“You scarcely seem to like your hand,” said Sydney, with thegreatest composure. “Do you play?”“I think, sir,” said the spy, in the meanest manner, as he turnedto Mr. Lorry, “I may appeal to a gentleman of your years andbenevolence, to put it to this other gentleman, so much yourjunior, whether he can under any circumstances reconcile it to hisstation to play that Ace of which he has spoken. I admit that I am aspy, and that it is considered a discreditable station—though itmust be filled by somebody; but this gentleman is no spy, and whyshould he so demean himself as to make himself one?”“I play my Ace, Mr. Barsad,” said Carton, taking the answer onhimself, and looking at his watch, “without any scruple, in a veryfew minutes.”“I should have hoped, gentlemen both,” said the spy, alwaysstriving to hook Mr. Lorry into the discussion, “that your respectfor my sister—” “I could not better testify my respect for yoursister than by finally relieving her of her brother,” said SydneyCarton.“You think not, sir?”“I have thoroughly made up my mind about it.”