“In secret.”

Defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he must

accompany him. The prisoner obeyed, and a guard of two armed

patriots attended them.

“Is it you,” said Defarge, in a low voice, as they went down the

guardhouse steps and turned into Paris, “who married the

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daughter of Doctor Manette, once a prisoner in the Bastille that is

no more?”

“Yes,” replied Darnay, looking at him with surprise.

“My name is Defarge, and I keep a wine-shop in the Quarter

Saint Antoine. Possibly you have heard of me.”

“My wife came to your house to reclaim her father? Yes!”

The word ‘wife’ seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder to

Defarge, to say with sudden impatience, “In the name of that

sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine, why did you

come to France?”

“You heard me say why, a minute ago. Do you not believe it is

the truth?”