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in a moment; it is but passing the room-door, and the worst is over.
Then, all the good you bring to him, all the relief, all the
happiness you bring to him, begin. Let our good friend here,
assist you on that side. That's well, friend Defarge. Come, now.
Business, business!"

They went up slowly and softly. The staircase was short, and they
were soon at the top. There, as it had an abrupt turn in it, they
came all at once in sight of three men, whose heads were bent down
close together at the side of a door, and who were intently looking
into the room to which the door belonged, through some chinks or
holes in the wall. On hearing footsteps close at hand, these three
turned, and rose, and showed themselves to be the three of one name
who had been drinking in the wine-shop.

"I forgot them in the surprise of your visit," explained Monsieur
Defarge. "Leave us, good boys; we have business here."

The three glided by, and went silently down.

There appearing to be no other door on that floor, and the keeper of
the wine-shop going straight to this one when they were left alone,
Mr. Lorry asked him in a whisper, with a little anger:

"Do you make a show of Monsieur Manette?"

"I show him, in the way you have seen, to a chosen few."

"Is that well?"

"_I_ think it is well."

"Who are the few? How do you choose them?"

"I choose them as real men, of my name--Jacques is my name--to whom
the sight is likely to do good. Enough; you are English; that is
another thing. Stay there, if you please, a little moment."

With an admonitory gesture to keep them back, he stooped, and looked
in through the crevice in the wall. Soon raising his head again, he
struck twice or thrice upon the door--evidently with no other object
than to make a noise there. With the same intention, he drew the key
across it, three or four times, before he put it clumsily into the
lock, and turned it as heavily as he could.

The door slowly opened inward under his hand, and he looked into the
room and said something. A faint voice answered something. Little
more than a single syllable could have been spoken on either side.

He looked back over his shoulder, and beckoned them to enter.
Mr. Lorry got his arm securely round the daughter's waist, and held
her; for he felt that she was sinking.

"A-a-a-business, business!" he urged, with a moisture that was not of
business shining on his cheek. "Come in, come in!"

"I am afraid of it," she answered, shuddering.

"Of it? What?"

"I mean of him. Of my father."

Rendered in a manner desperate, by her state and by the beckoning of
their conductor, he drew over his neck the arm that shook upon his
shoulder, lifted her a little, and hurried her into the room. He sat
her down just within the door, and held her, clinging to him.

Defarge drew out the key, closed the door, locked it on the inside,
took out the key again, and held it in his hand. All this he did,

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