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Worse quarters than Defarge's wine-shop, could easily have been

found in Paris for a provincial slave of that degree. Saving for

a mysterious dread of madame by which he was constantly haunted,

his life was very new and agreeable. But, madame sat all day at

her counter, so expressly unconscious of him, and so particularly

determined not to perceive that his being there had any

connection with anything below the surface, that he shook in his

wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her. For, he contended

with himself that it was impossible to foresee what that lady

might pretend next; and he felt assured that if she should take

it into her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seen

him do a murder and afterwards flay the victim, she would

infallibly go through with it until the play was played out.