"I HAVE SAVED HIM.” It was not another one of Charles Darnay's dreams in which he often came home; he was really there. And yet his wife was shaking, and a soft but heavy fear was on her.
All the air around them was so thick and dark, the people so wild and full of hate, the innocent so often put to death just for what others believed about them, or because of a black and evil hate, that it was impossible to forget that many as innocent as her husband and loved as much by others as he was by her, had ended up in the place that he had been saved from. Her heart could not feel light even now when it should feel that way. The shadows were starting to fall on that winter afternoon, and even now the awful carts were rolling through the streets. Her mind followed them, looking for him in the people being carried away; and then she hugged closer to the real man and shook some more.
Her father, trying to encourage her, showed a loving strength that was wonderful to see. No room above the wine shop, no shoemaking, no One Hundred and Five North Tower now! He had finished the job that he had given himself to do. His promise had been kept. He had saved Charles. Let them all lean on him.
They used very little money on things for their house, not only because it was the safest way of life if they did not want to anger the people, but because they were not rich. All the while that Charles had been in prison he had been forced to pay heavily for the bad food he received, and for his guard, and to help some of the poorer prisoners around him. Partly because of this, and partly because they could not trust anyone, they had no servant of their own. The countryman and countrywoman who worked at the gate for the government would help them at times; and Jerry (whom Mr. Lorry had fully given over to help them) had become their servant, even sleeping there at night.
It was the rule of the new government, the one country for free, equal brothers, or death, that on the door or the door post of every house, the names of all the people living there should be written in letters of a special size, and at a special height from the ground. Because of this, Mr. Jerry Cruncher's name had been added to the bottom of the list. As the afternoon shadows grew longer, Mr. Cruncher himself came to watch a painter whom Doctor Manette had paid to add to the list the name of Charles Evremonde, called Darnay.
In the fear that made those times so dark, all the little ways of the past had been changed. In the Doctor's little family, as in very many others, they would buy the things they needed each evening, in small measures, from a few different shops. The general feeling was that if they were not seen to be spending a lot of money, people would not talk so much or feel jealous of them.
For a few months now, it had been the job of Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher to buy the things they needed. Miss Pross would carry the money, and Mr. Cruncher the basket. Each afternoon, about the time when the town lanterns were lighted, they would leave the house to buy and bring home all the things that were needed. Miss Pross had known a French family in England for many years, so she should have known the language well by then, if she had wanted to learn it; but she had not wanted to learn it. She knew no more of that "foolishness" (as she called it) than Mr. Cruncher did. So when buying things she would tell the shop owner only the name of the thing she wanted, without any other words to help him. If it turned out that she was using the wrong word, she would look around for the thing that she wanted, pick it up, and hold it until the sale was finished. She always got a good price by holding up one less finger than the person selling it was holding up.
"Now, Mr. Cruncher," said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red from so many happy tears, "if you are ready, I am."
Jerry said with a rough voice that he was ready. He had rubbed all the rust off his fingers long ago, but nothing would make his messy hair lay flat.
"There is much that we want to get," said Miss Pross, "and we have little time to get it. On top of it all, we will want some wine. I'm afraid that these awful Red Hats will be drinking nice wine anywhere that it can be found.
"It will be much the same to you, Miss," answered Jerry, "if they are drinking to your health or to the health of the Old One."
"Who's he?” asked Miss Pross.
Mr. Cruncher shyly said that he was talking about the Old Devil.
"Ha!" said Miss Pross. "I don't need to know the language to know what these people are drinking to. They are only interested in darkness, killing, and hurting people."
"Quiet, love! Please, please, be careful!" cried Lucie.
"Yes, yes, yes, I'll be careful," said Miss Pross, "but between ourselves I can say that I hope there'll be no hugs from these tobacco and onion breathers in the streets. Now, Ladybird, do not leave that fire until I come back! Take care of the good husband you have found again, and don't move your beautiful head from his shoulder where it is now, until you see me again! May I ask a question, Doctor Manette, before I go?"
"I think you may have that freedom," the Doctor answered, smiling.
"Oh please don't talk about freedom; we have had more than enough of that already," said Miss Pross.
"Quiet, love! Again?” Lucie said.
"Well, my sweet," said Miss Pross, shaking her head as she said it, "the short and the long of it is that I follow our good King George the Third.” Miss Pross bowed at the name. "As such, my rule is, No interest in their political games, and Anger at their cruel tricks. Our hope is in him. God save the king!"
Mr. Cruncher, in a show of faithful love for the king, repeated the words after Miss Pross in his deep rough voice, adding something about someone at church.
"I am glad you have so much of the English man in you, but I wish you did not have such a cold in your voice," said Miss Pross, lovingly. "But the question, Doctor Manette. Is there any hope of us getting out of this place?” It was the good woman's way to make light of something that worried them all, and to come at it from some foolish talk.
"I am afraid that there is no way yet. It would be dangerous for Charles if we tried to leave now."
"Oh well!" said Miss Pross in a relaxed and friendly way, holding back her sadness as she looked at her Ladybird's golden hair in the light of the fire. "Then we just have to be patient and wait; that's all. We must hold up our heads and fight secretly, as my brother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher! You stay there, Ladybird!"
They went out, leaving Lucie, her husband, father, and child by a nice fire. Mr. Lorry would be there soon from the bank. Miss Pross had lighted the lantern, but had put it in a corner so that they could better see the light from the fireplace. Little Lucie sat by her grandfather with her hands joined through his arm. He, in a voice not much above a whisper, started to tell her a story about a great and powerful angel who had opened a prison wall to free a prisoner who had, in the past, helped the angel. All was quiet, and Lucie was more at peace than she had been before.
But then she cried, "What was that?"
"My love!" said her father, stopping his story and putting his hand on her hand. "Control yourself. You are too worried. The least thing... nothing at all... fills you with fear! You, your father's daughter!"
"Father, I thought I heard strange feet on the steps," Lucie said in a shaking voice.
"My love, the steps are as quiet as death."
As she said the word, a knock was heard on the door.
"Oh, father, father. What can this be! Hide Charles. Save him!"
"My child," said the Doctor, getting up and putting his hand on her shoulder, "I have saved him. How afraid you are! Let me go to the door."
He took the lantern in his hand, walked through the two rooms between them and the door, and he opened it. The loud noise of heavy feet moving rudely on the floor, and four rough men in red hats, carrying swords and guns, came into the room.
"The countryman Evremonde, called Darnay," said the first.
"Who wants him?” answered Darnay.
"I want him. We want him. I know you, Evremonde; I saw you before the court today. You are again a prisoner of the government."
The four moved around him, where he stood with his wife and child hanging onto him.
"Tell me, how and why am I a prisoner again?"
"It is enough that you come to the court prison now, and you'll know tomorrow. You are to come before the court tomorrow."
Doctor Manette had been turned to stone by this visit, so that he stood with the lantern in his hand as if he were a statue made to hold it. But after these words, he moved, putting the lantern down, and facing the speaker. He took him roughly by the loose front of his red shirt, and said:
"You say that you know him. Do you know me?"
"Yes, I know you, Countryman Doctor."
"We all know you, Countryman Doctor," said the other three.
He looked from one to the other, in deep thought, then said in a lower voice: "Will you answer me this, then? How has this happened?"
"Countryman Doctor," said the first, not really wanting to speak, "he has been said to be evil by people from Saint Antoine. This countryman," he said, pointing to the second man who had come into the room, "is from Saint Antoine."
The countryman himself shook his head and added: "Saint Antoine has taken action against him."
"For what?” asked the Doctor.
"Countryman Doctor," said the first, still not really wanting to speak, "ask no more. If the country asks you to give up something for it, I know that you, as a good countryman will be happy to do that. The country comes before all. The People are most important. Evremonde, we are in a hurry."
"One word," the Doctor begged. "Will you tell me who took action against him?"
"It is against the rules," answered the first. "But you can ask the man here from Saint Antoine."
The Doctor turned his eyes toward that man, who moved a little in fear, rubbed his beard a little, and at length said:
"Well! It really is against the rules, but the action came from -- and it is a serious action -- the Countryman and Countrywoman Defarge. And by one other."
"What other?"
"Are you asking for yourself, Countryman Doctor?”
"Yes."
"Then," said the one from Saint Antoine, with a strange look, "you will be answered tomorrow. For now, I have nothing to say.”