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A minute after she took Brigette's place beside Citizen Andre. "Uncle," she said, "would you like to go back and live at Vélizy ?"

"I shall never go there but in dreams, my poor, dear Nettie."

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Well, let us be thankful at least for pleasant dreams. A pleasant thought may give courage on the eve of a dark enterprise. He who dreams he has accomplished a just revenge feels for a moment as if his hand had done it."

Both were thinking of their happy | staircase. "Is it you?" summer days at Vélizy that country a few whispered words in the darkhome they both had dearly loved. ness; then Manette went back into her How happy they had been there! As own room carrying a large bundle, Manette grew up her loving intimacy which she flung into her wardrobe. with nature had increased; she knew the worth of that intimacy since she had been flung into a life of hideous riot and confusion. She had been rather a tom-boy in those days, but her uncle loved her all the better for it. Ah! how he had delighted in the rest and peace of their great forest. For the Forest of Mendon was more theirs than the king's, who only passed through it galloping after his hounds. "Don't you remember, Nettie, that evening when they came and told us that a great stag had just been killed? Poor thing you had great tears in your eyes. You always were tender and soft-hearted. It was these evil times that made you seem for a while harsh and unfeeling. Now, with me, it has been just the other way. I had DO great benevolence; I thought I was as hard as a stone, but trouble has changed me. Ah, dear!-if happier times should ever come, we will go back to Vélizy, and live as we used to do. But now we can only think of our poor Claude.'

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Manette rose. "I am going to do all I can," she said, "to set him free. And, uncle, I believe that I can save

"There there! You are getting excited. Your cheeks are red, and your eyes are shining. Are you sure you are quite well, Nettie ? You seem to me to have fever."

Manette protested that she had never been better in her life. The evening passed pleasantly. They went on talking of old times. Brigette brought in the supper. The old man said he thought he had an appetite, and he sent for a bottle of old Canary wine, such as he only produced on great occasions. Manette let him pour her out a glass of the golden liquor and drank it. After that Citizen Andrey was no longer surprised to see her face was flushed. Bedtime came at last. She him." put the old man under Brigette's care. Her eyes shone with a strange bright-"May God give you a good night's Her face seemed to reflect some rest, dear uncle," she said, as she dehope within her. The old man was parted. But she thought, as she said surprised. "Ah, Nettie !" he an- it, that, if God were to send his good swered, "the Scriptures, which I have gifts to them both, to him he would read so little for the last sixty years, send peaceful sleep, to her good coursay that faith can remove mountains, age. but it will not open prison doors." Her first care when she went back to "It may open them, uncle." her own room was to open the drawer The day was growing dark. She left of her bureau whence she had taken and finding Brigette in the gold for Citoyenne Lamblet, and had at passage, sent her to keep the sick man the same moment put in the dagger. company. Then she opened the out- Its sharp, murderous blade gleamed in side door, and stood on the landing. the lamp-light. She stood and gazed at She listened. Suppose the old woman it as she held it in her hand. should fail her? Waiting in uncer- The house was quiet. The clock tainty was almost insupportable.

ness.

the room,

marked ten. Manette went to her At last she heard a heavy step; wardrobe, which stood in a small closet some one was stumbling up the dark adjoining, returned with the bundle,

and opened it. The black cloak fell | form grey. Not a star could be seen in out, then the black and white head- the heavens. handkerchief, the loose jacket, and the She walked a little way along the printed cotton skirt, striped red and Rue de Bussy. The recollection of the blue, the knitted underskirt, even the last time she had walked that street coarse linen chemise and the blue alone now haunted her. She turned worsted stockings. Citoyenne Lamblet in the other direction, however, along had omitted nothing except the shoes. the Rue de Thionville, and the old Rue Manette smiled. She would hardly des Fossés-Saint-Germain, the very have put them on.

She quickly undressed herself, and when she had taken off everything she slipped on the chemise. Its roughness, as it touched the tender skin, made her give a little shiver. She put on the stockings, and selected a pair of stout, soft leather shoes which she had kept at Vélizy for her forest rambles. It was rather difficult to tie on the head-handkerchief en marmotte; she did not wish to show a single hair. The jacket was much too large, but that was of no consequence, the cloak would hide it when she put it on. Then she took the dagger, slipped it up her sleeve, and made sure that by one quick movement she could grasp it firmly.

way along which they had driven Mademoiselle Corday when they took her to the Abbaye-to the gate of death. She had killed, and she was killed. Surely that was better than to live when all life's hopes and happiness were over!

Manette walked very fast. Her pace was almost a run. She went through the same streets that she had traversed twelve days before, with her uncle and Citizen Grégoire, when they went to visit Cilly. On reaching the Pont Neuf she found that the darkness seemed to settle down on her, the water swashed against the arches of the bridge, and puffs of wind came furiously from the east, making her face tingle, as if she had been struck by After she was all prepared she stood tiny hail-stones. But she did not feel a moment before the great glass over it. Men passed her, crossing over to her mantelpiece. She wore the popu- the left bank, but so insignificant a lar livery, which she hoped would citoyenne did not attract their notice. enable her after dark to avoid being One only remarked, in reference to her stopped by any patrol, or group of pace, that "she must have a good pair patriotic citizens. She wanted to make of legs." sure that her face betrayed no sign of her emotion. It did not seem to her that she was Manette Cézaron or Manette Andrey. She was a woman about to do a terrible thing. Yes! - it was terrible. She looked at herself curiously. She was pale, but the light her uncle had remarked was in her eyes. She was glad of it. That light must not go out. If it did it would be a sign that her strength was failing her, the fire of her purpose would be extinct.

She made a gesture which expressed that she was fully resolved. She left her room; with great precaution she unclosed the outside door, and shut it after her.

Manette Cézaron, the wife of the prisoner at St. Lazare, did not walk the streets that night. She pushed forward-she ran; she felt as a soldier might feel when ordered to charge.

The new spirit that animated her now that she had settled the question which had made her suffer so much, now nerved her to the supreme effort, and Citizen Andrey had been right; her heart, as her uncle had described his own in the past, was now a heart of stone.

A bad place in the pavement caused her to trip slightly, and this jerked the dagger in her sleeve. Its point ran into her arm. She put her finger up her sleeve to restore it to its place. The finger was wet when she withdrew She gave a sudden exclamation,

When she was in the street the cold of the night seemed less severe than she expected, but the sky was a uni-it.

but it was not a cry of pain. On the contrary, the knowledge that it was her own blood seemed to give her encouragement.

Nevertheless this mishap warned her to be prudent. She felt that she had

storm. They had no eyes for anything, and they passed on.

The woman who was there not a murderess but an executioner, as she deemed herself - bent forward through the falling whiteness. She met no better go more slowly, especially more obstacles. She went along the through the streets around the Halles, Faubourg. At the corner of the Rue the markets of the city. It was so cold des Petites-Ecurées, she was met by and the wind was so keen, that, hap-another little whirlwind. The snow pily for her, few people were abroad. blinded her, and she took refuge for a There were no lights except in the moment under the lee of a shed. But wine-shops, whose doors were all her resolution did not falter. "It is closed. In the long street re-named for Claude's sake," she kept on repeatMont Marat, there was the same lone-ing. "It is for Claude's sake! perliness, the same silence, broken only haps I may save him, too, and Emilie ; by the creaking of the street lamps but for Claude's sake, most for hung across the street, as the wind Claude's sake! God-he knows." slowly swung them to and fro on their At that moment she perceived the chains. Instinctively, she here quick-little door that led into the garden of ened her pace almost to a run. When she reached the old Porte de Montmartre she paused, and drew breath. Before her lay the Boulevard. It was not lighted. It was a long avenue of trees and darkness. The bare trees clashed their boughs against each other, stirred by the wintry wind. Manette hesitated. Now at last she was afraid. Not afraid of the deed she had come there to accomplish, but afraid of the darkness, of those skeleton trees, of the probability that she might run against some night prowler, and that he might mar her purpose. Her weakness did not last long. She put her hand on her dagger, and felt prepared to defend herself.

But she met no one. She heard no Sound but the beat of her own fect upon the frozen ground. She found herself at last in the Faubourg Poissonière. As she turned into it a sharp blast came against her like a whirlwind. The snow began to fall. At the same moment a party of sectionaries entered the Faubourg. She hid behind a tree escape notice. There was the click of weapons. A lantern, held by one of the men, might have shown them a woman abroad alone by night. But the man who held it was struggling with the wind, and half blinded by the snowflakes; his companions, like himself, were making head against the

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Cilly's mansion. It looked like a black hole in the whiteness of the wall, and the whiteness of the snow that filled the air, and lay upon the pavement. He must come along that street. He could take no other road in coming from the sitting of the section, which was held in the Church of St. Lazare in the Faubourg du Nord. In such weather the flatterers and parasites of the monster would not be likely to see him home. He would be alone; blinded by the snowstorm.

She tightened her grasp upon the hilt of her dagger.

XXIV.

BRIGETTE the next morning went quietly about the house as usual. She had been very much astonished to find wet spots in the passage, the traces seemingly of feet that had been walking in the snow which had been falling all night long. Madame Manette was generally an early riser, being glad to get out of a bed in which she could not sleep, as soon as it was daylight. Brigette this morning, however, went out before she made her appearance. Brigette had, as usual, to go and stand in the queue before the butcher's shop. This had to be done every morning. When she came back it was midday.

Citizen Andrey called to her, and she came into his room with more eager

ness than usual. Her face showed satisfaction. She was eager to tell him that a report was in circulation that the president of the Section Poissonière had been killed.

Citizen Andrey, when he heard the news, cried out at once: "That may be a good thing for Claude."

It was proof of the change in him, however, that he added: "I am sorry for Cilly."

He said this in a blunt, off-hand way, for an old habit of rallying all his strength and his resources in the presence of danger, had now taken possession of him.

He straightened himself. His face resumed its old expression of strong will, as he stood by the bedside of his niece listening intently to the incoherent words that dropped from her fevered lips while she lay back on her Brigette protested against this speech pillows. Brigette, with clasped hauds, at once: 66 Oh! that Cilly had his eye kept on saying 'Oh, dear!" and on madame, too, but in another fash-"Alas!" at intervals. All of a sudion.' "" den her eyes fell on the hearth. She uttered an exclamation and rushed up to the fireplace.

The old man looked at her in great surprise. What could she mean? Manette had never said anything on the subject to him. He asked if madame had been told what had happened. He was answered that she was still asleep. Well, then, Brigette must help him to dress as quickly as possible; he must go and carry her the news the lazy-bones! Brigette made haste, and was the first to enter Manette's chamber. She rushed back, frightened: "Madame was in a high fever and did not seem to know her!"

"Come-come!" she said. She re-entered the room, and Citizen Andrey followed her. Manette, with her face bright red and her eyes wild, lay tossing on her bed. The old man bent over her. She was delirious, and raving. He listened to what she was saying.

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What she saw there were Manette's wet shoes. The poor thing had had time to take off all her clothes and put out of sight the things once belonging to Citoyenne Lamblet, but the shoes, placed to dry before the dying embers on the hearth, had been forgotten, when, overcome by mental suffering and bodily fatigue, she had laid down upon her bed. Pain and weariness had mastered her resolution.

"Could madame have been out last night?" the servant said.

"And suppose she had been ?" answered the old man roughly, turning towards Brigette as he spoke. “Suppose that last night she had attempted to do a very dreadful thing—a dreadful thing, mind you! Suppose she had done it? Suppose that her love for Brigette was in despair. "I must her husband made her risk losing her run and get a doctor," she said. own life, and involving ours in her peril ?”

"Wait!" he said imperatively. The old servant wanted to lean over her mistress in her turn, but he waved her away with his hand, saying: "No-no -we want no doctor here."

Brigette seemed very much surprised. "My good woman,' ," he said, "formerly no doctor could practise without having passed his examinations. Now any one who chooses can. Some ass might come here and kill the dear child by his ignorance. I will look after her myself. I learned a great deal about medicine when I was at sea. I am quite capable of dealing with this case. I know all about fevers."

"Mon Dieu!" cried the old woman, "what can she have done? She who used to be so gentle, so tender."

"Used to be - yes! But don't ask me any questions. I know nothing as yet. I am afraid to understand. And, Brigette, it will not do to be afraid."

"You know I would be cut in little bits for her sake!"

"Yes- yes, I know that. But if some one comes here and threatens us? The sectionaries walk into people's houses, they show their warrant and carry off everybody. You I know to be a brave, good woman. Help me to

too?

Then he recalled the tone in which she had said the night before, "Uncle, Claude shall be free!" She had done the deed for Claude's sake,- for no other. It was for Claude!

care for her. Don't bring any doctor | Could Cilly have menaced that man, here. He might betray us.” He had done wisely in speaking thus to the old servant. What would have been the use of trying to couceal from her what she could not fail to discover. It was far better to let her share the secret. She was to be trusted. Citi- Claude's wife for Claude's sake had zen Andrey had become the man he triumphed over her woman's nature. had been thirty years before, when The strain must have been frightful, danger was familiar to him, and prompt and the result lay on the bed before decision necessary. By his orders Bri- him. So young! So beautiful! Tears gette set to work to prepare mustard came into his old eyes. Poor Claude ! plasters, to be put on the patient's feet. He had been good, and kind, and paShe was to be careful to keep wet tient, tender, loving, and true. She cloths to her head constantly, and a was impulsive, uncompromisingly honlittle opium was to be given her in est, strong of will. The current phrases some sort of home-made infusion. of sham patriotism were to her abhorThere was no need to send to an apoth-rent. Had they been man and wife in ecary for anything to quiet the nerves. happier times each might have supplied Not long before there had been another sick woman in the house who needed all such remedies, and a cupboard was full of phials.

While Brigette went to prepare what was needed in the kitchen, the old man passed his arm under Manette's head, and his ear was near her mouth. He caught scraps of sentences, phrases eagerly repeated, accompanied by cries of anguish and distress.

He spoke to her soothingly. "Come, come! you are fighting an imaginary spectre. It is your turn now to be afraid poor soul! Who would have thought that pretty white hand could have done it? And yet I am not surprised. I always recognized in you my brother's child. Blood of our blood! Don't think, dear, I would blame you, if you could understand."

But here he made a slight movement. The aching head dropped from his arm, and rolled in anguish on the pillow. He heard a name fall from her lips, that nothing had prepared him to hear. A new idea presented itself. An idea that had never occurred to him before.

Laurent de Laverdac! What! that man? Oh, Manette ! But he had never come but once to the Rue de Bussy, and she had never mentioned bis name!

The old man continued to listen.

what was wanting in the other. But in the days in which they lived the difference in their temperaments made them look on everything about them from a different point of view. They must have taken opposite sides in all things while the conflict still went on. Laverdac, perhaps, was a man who saw things as she saw them. There might have been that bond between their souls.

As the old man tried to remember all he could about Laverdac, suddenly he recollected that he had been in that room and looked out of those windows when the woman who had killed Marat was carried past to prison. Perhaps the thought of taking such vengeance upon Cilly had then come to that other woman.

At that moment Brigette came in with a letter. A man had left it, and had run away. It was from Claude. The old man broke the seal, while Brigette applied the mustard plasters. It ran thus:

"Oh, my beloved, I am to see you no more in my prison. I am to receive none of your letters. I am not to be allowed the consolation of writing to you. The compassion of one of my jailers permits me to send you these few last lines. Orders have come for our solitary confinement. Night and day I am to be shut up in the cell once

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