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"You have no time to ask me why I bring it, or what it means; I

have no time to tell you. You must comply with it--take off those

boots you wear, and draw on these of mine."

There was a chair against the wall of the cell, behind the

prisoner. Carton, pressing forward, had already, with the speed

of lightning, got him down into it, and stood over him, barefoot.

"Draw on these boots of mine. Put your hands to them; put your

will to them. Quick!"

"Carton, there is no escaping from this place; it never can be

done. You will only die with me. It is madness."

"It would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? When I

ask you to pass out at that door, tell me it is madness and

remain here. Change that cravat for this of mine, that coat for

this of mine. While you do it, let me take this ribbon from your

hair, and shake out your hair like this of mine!"