A Tale Of Two Cities

Chapter 98 BOOK THE THIRD: THE TRACK OF A STORM (13)
'There is no time to lose. I am well prepared，but there are precautions to be taken，that could not be taken until he was actually summoned before the Tribunal.He has not received the notice yet，but I know that he will presently be summoned for tomorrow，and removed to the Conciergerie；I have timely information.You are not afraid？'
She could scarcely answer，'I trust in you.'
'Do so implicitly. Your suspense is nearly ended，my darling；heshall be restored to you within a few hours；I have encompassed him with every protection.I must see Lorry.'
He stopped. There was a heavy lumbering of wheels within hearing.They both knew too well what it meant.One.Two.Three.Three tumbrils faring away with their dread loads over the hushing snow.
'I must see Lorry，'the Doctor repeated，turning her another way.
The staunch old gentleman was still in his trust；had never left it. He and his books were in frequent requisition as to property confiscated and made national.What he could save for the owners，he saved.No better man living to hold fast by what Tellson's had in keeping，and to hold his peace.
A murky red and yellow sky，and a rising mist from the Seine，denoted the approach of darkness. It was almost dark when they arrived at the Bank.The stately residence of Monseigneur was altogether blighted and deserted.Above a heap of dust and ashes in the court，ran the letters：National Property.Republic One and Indivisible.Liberty，Equality，Fraternity，or Death！

Who could that be with Mr. Lorry—the owner of the riding-coat upon the chair—who must not be seen？From whom newly arrived，did he come out，agitated and surprised，to take his favourite in his arms？To whom did he appear to repeat her faltering words，when，raising his voice and turning his head towards the door of the room from which he had issued，he said：'Removed to the Conciergerie，and summoned for tomorrow？'
XXXVI.TRIUMPH
T he dread Tribunal of five Judges，Public Prosecutor，and determined Jury，sat every day. Their lists went forth every evening，and were read out by the gaolers of the various prisons to their prisoners.The standard gaoler-joke was'Come out and listen to the Evening Paper，you inside there！'
'Charles Evremonde，called Darnay！'
So at last began the Evening Paper at La Force.
When a name was called，its owner stepped apart into a spot reserved for those who were announced as being thus fatally recorded. Charles Evremonde，called Darnay，had reason to know the usage；he had seen hundreds pass away so.
His bloated gaoler，who wore spectacles to read with，glanced over them to assure himself that he had taken his place，and went through the list，making a similar short pause at each name. There were twenty-three names，but only twenty were responded to；for one of the prisoners so summoned had died in gaol and been forgotten，and two had already been guillotined and forgotten.The list was read，in the vaulted chamber where Darnay had seen the associated prisoners on the night of his arrival.Every one of those had perished in the massacre；every human creature he had since cared for and parted with，had died on the scaffold.
There were hurried words of farewell and kindness，but the parting was soon over. It was the incident of every day，and the society of La Force were engaged in the preparation of somegames of forfeits and a little concert，for that evening.They crowded to the grates and shed tears there；but，twenty places in the projected entertainments had to be refilled，and the time was，at best，short to the lockup hour，when the common rooms and corridors would be delivered over to the great dogs who kept watch there through the night.The prisoners were far from insensible or unfeeling；their ways arose out of the condition of the time.Similarly，though with a subtle difference，a species of fervour or intoxication，known，without doubt，to have led some persons to brave the guillotine unnecessarily，and to die by it，was not mere boastfulness，but a wild infection of the wildly shaken public mind.In seasons of pestilence，some of us will have a secret attraction to the disease—a terrible passing inclination to die of it.And all of us have like wonders hidden in our breasts，only needing circumstances to evoke them.
The passage to the Conciergerie was short and dark；the night in its vermin-haunted cells was long and cold. Next day，fifteen prisoners were put to the bar before Charles Darnay's name was called.All the fifteen were condemned，and the trials of the whole occupied an hour and a half.
'Charles Evremonde，called Darnay，'was at length arraigned.
(End of this chapter)