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That was all the writing. It was so much, however, to her who

received it, that she turned from Defarge to his wife, and kissed

one of the hands that knitted. It was a passionate, loving,

thankful, womanly action, but the hand made no response--dropped

cold and heavy, and took to its knitting again.

There was something in its touch that gave Lucie a check. She

stopped in the act of putting the note in her bosom, and, with

her hands yet at her neck, looked terrified at Madame Defarge.

Madame Defarge met the lifted eyebrows and forehead with a cold,

impassive stare.