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herself in any of the reckonings over which she presided. Madame
Defarge being sensitive to cold, was wrapped in fur, and had a
quantity of bright shawl twined about her head, though not to the
concealment of her large earrings. Her knitting was before her, but
she had laid it down to pick her teeth with a toothpick. Thus
engaged, with her right elbow supported by her left hand, Madame
Defarge said nothing when her lord came in, but coughed just one
grain of cough. This, in combination with the lifting of her darkly
defined eyebrows over her toothpick by the breadth of a line, suggested
to her husband that he would do well to look round the shop among the
customers, for any new customer who had dropped in while he stepped
over the way.

The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until they
rested upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who were seated in
a corner. Other company were there: two playing cards, two playing
dominoes, three standing by the counter lengthening out a short
supply of wine. As he passed behind the counter, he took notice that
the elderly gentleman said in a look to the young lady, "This is our
man."

"What the devil do _you_ do in that galley there?" said Monsieur
Defarge to himself; "I don't know you."

But, he feigned not to notice the two strangers, and fell into
discourse with the triumvirate of customers who were drinking at the
counter.

"How goes it, Jacques?" said one of these three to Monsieur Defarge.
"Is all the spilt wine swallowed?"

"Every drop, Jacques," answered Monsieur Defarge.

When this interchange of Christian name was effected, Madame Defarge,
picking her teeth with her toothpick, coughed another grain of cough,
and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line.

"It is not often," said the second of the three, addressing Monsieur
Defarge, "that many of these miserable beasts know the taste of wine,
or of anything but black bread and death. Is it not so, Jacques?"

"It is so, Jacques," Monsieur Defarge returned.

At this second interchange of the Christian name, Madame Defarge,
still using her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another
grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line.

The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his empty
drinking vessel and smacked his lips.

"Ah! So much the worse! A bitter taste it is that such poor cattle
always have in their mouths, and hard lives they live, Jacques.
Am I right, Jacques?"

"You are right, Jacques," was the response of Monsieur Defarge.

This third interchange of the Christian name was completed at the
moment when Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows
up, and slightly rustled in her seat.

"Hold then! True!" muttered her husband. "Gentlemen--my wife!"

The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with
three flourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head,

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