“I little thought,” said Miss Pross, “that I should ever want to

understand your nonsensical language; but I would give all I have,

except the clothes I wear, to know whether you suspect the truth,

or any part of it.”

Neither of them for a single moment released the other’s eyes.

Madame Defarge had not moved from the spot where she stood

when Miss Pross first became aware of her; but, she now advanced

one step.

“I am a Briton,” said Miss Pross. “I am desperate. I don’t care

an English Twopence for myself. I know that the longer I keep you

here, the greater hope there is for my Ladybird. I’ll not leave a

handful of that dark hair upon your head, if you lay a finger on

me!”

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Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head and a flash of her

eyes between every rapid sentence, and every rapid sentence a

whole breath. Thus Miss Pross, who had never struck a blow in

her life.

But, her courage was of that emotional nature that it brought

the irrepressible tears into her eyes. This was a courage that

Madame Defarge so little comprehended as to mistake for

weakness. “Ha, ha!” she laughed, “you poor wretch! What are you

worth! I address myself to that Doctor.” Then she raised her voice

and called out, “Citizen Doctor! Wife of Evremonde! Child of

Evremonde! Any person but this miserable fool, answer the

Citizeness Defarge?”

Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some latent d