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Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the instinct of

the moment, seized her round the waist in both her arms, and held

her tight. It was in vain for Madame Defarge to struggle and to

strike; Miss Pross, with the vigorous tenacity of love, always so

much stronger than hate, clasped her tight, and even lifted her

from the floor in the struggle that they had. The two hands of

Madame Defarge buffeted and tore her face; but, Miss Pross, with

her head down, held her round the waist, and clung to her with

more than the hold of a drowning woman.

Soon, Madame Defarge's hands ceased to strike, and felt at her

encircled waist. "It is under my arm," said Miss Pross, in

smothered tones, "you shall not draw it. I am stronger than you,

I bless Heaven for it. I hold you till one or other of us faints

or dies!"

Madame Defarge's hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross looked up,

saw what it was, struck at it, struck out a flash and a crash,

and stood alone--blinded with smoke.