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The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us,

and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in

pursuit of us; but, so far, we are pursued by nothing else.

CHAPTER XIV. The Knitting Done

In that same juncture of time when the Fifty-Two awaited their

fate Madame Defarge held darkly ominous council with The

Vengeance and Jacques Three of the Revolutionary Jury. Not in the

wine-shop did Madame Defarge confer with these ministers, but in

the shed of the wood-sawyer, erst a mender of roads. The sawyer

himself did not participate in the conference, but abided at a

little distance, like an outer satellite who was not to speak

until required, or to offer an opinion until invited.

"But our Defarge," said Jacques Three, "is undoubtedly a good

Republican? Eh?"

"There is no better," the voluble Vengeance protested in her

shrill notes, "in France."