有声名著之双城记Book2 Chapter16

　　CHAPTER XVIStill knitting

       MADAME DEFARGE and monsieur her husband returned amicably tothe bosom of Saint Antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiledthrough the darkness, and through the dust, and down the wearymiles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards thatpoint of the compass where the chateau of Monsieur theMarquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees.
　　Such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening tothe trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrowswho, in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of deadstick to burn, strayed within sight of the great stonecourtyard and terrace staircase, had it borne in upon theirstarved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. Arumour just lived in the village--had a faint and bareexistence there, as its people had that when the knife struckhome, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of angerand pain also, that when that dangling figure was hauled upforty fee above the fountain, they changed again, and bore acruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bearfor ever. In the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointedout in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, andwhich nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions whentwo or three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take ahurried peep at Monsieur the Marquis petrified, a skinnyfinger would not have pointed to it for a minute, before theyall started away among the moss and leaves, like the morefortunate hares who could find a living there.
　　Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the redstain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the villagewell--thousands of acres of land--a whole province of France--all France itself--lay under the night sky, concentrated intoa faint hairbreadth line. So does a whole world, with all itsgreatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And asmere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse themanner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may readin the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought andact, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature onit.
　　The Defarges, husband and wife, came lumbering under thestarlight, in their public vehicle, to that gate of Pariswhereunto their journey naturally tended. There was the usualstoppage at the barrier guardhouse, and the usual lanternscame glancing forth for the usual examination and inquiry.
　　Monsieur Defarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldierythere, and one of the police. The latter he was intimate with,and affectionately embraced.
　　When Saint Antoine had again enfolded the Defarges in hisdusky wings, and they, having finally alighted near theSaint's boundaries, were picking their way on foot through theblack mud and offal of his streets, Madame Defarge spoke toher husband:
　　`Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tellthee?'
　　`Very little tonight, but all he knows. There is another spycommissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for allthat he can say, but he knows of one.'
　　`Eh well!' said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with acool business air. `It is necessary to register him. How dothey call that man?'
　　`He is English.'
　　`So much the better. His name?'
　　`Barsad,' said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation.
　　But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he thenspelt it with perfect correctness.
　　`Barsad,,' repeated madame. `Good. Christian name?'
　　`John.'
　　`John Barsad,' repeated madame, after murmuring it once toherself. `Good. His appearance; is it known?'
　　`Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; blackhair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyesdark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but notstraight, having a peculiar inclination towards the leftcheek; expression, therefore, sinister.'
　　`Eh my faith. It is a portrait!' said madame, laughing. `Heshall be registered tomorrow.'
　　They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it wasmidnight) and where Madame Defarge immediately took her postat her desk, counted the small moneys that had been takenduring her absence, examined the stock, went through theentries in the book, made other entries of her own, checkedthe serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissedhim to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the bowl ofmoney for the second time, and began knotting them up in herhandkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keepingthrough the night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe inhis mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, butnever interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to thebusiness and his domestic affairs, he walked up and downthrough life.
　　The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded byso foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur Defarge'solfactory sense was by no means delicate, but the stock ofwine smelt much stronger than it ever tasted, and so did thestock of rum and brandy and aniseed. He whiffed the compoundof scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe.
　　`You are fatigued,' said madame, raising her glance as sheknotted the money. `There are only the usual odours.'
　　`I am a little tired,' her husband acknowledged.
　　`You are a little depressed, too,' said madame, whose quickeyes had never been so intent on the accounts, but they hadhad a ray or two for him. `Oh, the men, the men!'
　　`But my dear!' began Defarge.
　　`But my dear!' repeated madame, nodding firmly; `but my dear!
　　You are faint of heart tonight, my dear!'
　　`Well, then,' said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung Out ofhis breast, `it is a long time.'
　　`It is a long time,' repeated his wife; `and when is it not along time? Vengeance and retribution require a long time; itis the rule.'
　　`It does not take a long time to strike a man withLightning,' said Defarge.
　　`How long,' demanded madame, composedly, `does it take tomake and store the lightning? Tell me.'
　　Defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there weresomething in that too.
　　`It does not take a long time,' said madame, `for anearthquake to swallow a town. Eh well! Tell me how long ittakes to prepare the earthquake?'
　　`A long time, I suppose,' said Defarge.
　　`But when it is ready, it takes place, and grinds to pieceseverything before it. In the meantime, it is always preparing,though it is not seen or heard. That is your consolation. Keepit.'
　　She tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe.
　　`I tell thee,' said madame, extending her right hand, foremphasis, `that although it is a long time on the road, it ison the road and coming. I tell thee it never retreats, andnever stops. I tell thee it is always advancing. Look aroundand consider the lives of all the world that we know, considerthe faces of all the world that we know, consider the rage anddiscontent to which the Jacquerie addresses itself with moreand more of certainty every hour. Can such things last? Bah! Imock you.'
　　`My brave wife,' returned Defarge, standing before her withhis head a little bent, and his hands clasped at his back,like a docile and attentive pupil before his catechist, `I donot question all this. But it has lasted a long time, and itis possible--you know well, my wife, it is possible--that itmay not come, during our lives.'
　　`Eh well! How then?' demanded madame, tying another knot, asif there were another enemy strangled.
　　`Well!' said Defarge, with a half-complaining and halfapologetic shrug. `We shall not see the triumph.'
　　We shall have helped it,' returned madame, with her extendedhand in strong action. `Nothing that we do, is done in vain. Ibelieve, with all my soul, that we shall see the triumph. Buteven if not, even if I knew certainly not, show me the neck ofan aristocrat and tyrant, and still I would--'
　　Then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible knotindeed.