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"Can it be true," said Defarge, in a low voice, looking down at

his wife as he stood smoking with his hand on the back of her

chair: "what he has said of Ma'amselle Manette?"

"As he has said it," returned madame, lifting her eyebrows a

little, "it is probably false. But it may be true."

"If it is--" Defarge began, and stopped.

"If it is?" repeated his wife.

"--And if it does come, while we live to see it triumph--I hope,

for her sake, Destiny will keep her husband out of France."

"Her husband's destiny," said Madame Defarge, with her usual

composure, "will take him where he is to go, and will lead him to

the end that is to end him. That is all I know."

"But it is very strange--now, at least, is it not very

strange"--said Defarge, rather pleading with his wife to induce

her to admit it, "that, after all our sympathy for Monsieur her

father, and herself, her husband's name should be proscribed

under your hand at this moment, by the side of that infernal

dog's who has just left us?"