A Tale of Two Cities

“Have you heard much from Dr. Manette and his daughter? They’re in England now,” said the spy. “No, not for a long time,” said Monsieur Defarge. “She was married recently. Not to an Englishman, but to a Frenchman. It’s quite interesting when you remember poor Gaspard. Miss Manette has married the nephew of the Marquis that Gaspard killed. Her new husband is really the new Marquis, but he prefers to live unknown in England. He isn’t a Marquis there, just Mr Charles Darnay.” Monsieur Defarge wasn’t happy at this news. When the spy had gone, he said to his wife, “Can it be true? If it is, I hope that Miss Manette keeps her husband away from France.” “Who knows what will happen?” replied Madame Defarge. “I only know that the name of Evrémonde is in my list, and for good reason.” She went on calmly knitting, adding name after name to her list of the enemies of the people. Time passed, and Madame Defarge still knitted. The women of Saint Antoine also knitted, and the thin hungry faces of Jacques and his brothers became darker and angrier. The noise of the coming storm in Paris was growing louder. It began one summer day in the streets of Saint Antoine, around Defarge’s wine-shop, with a great crowd of people, who carried guns, knives, sticks, even stones — anything that could be a weapon. The angry crowd, who shouted and screamed, were ready to fight and to die in battle. “Friends and citizens!” shouted Monsieur Defarge. “We are ready! To the Bastille!” The crowd began to move, like the waves of the sea. “Follow me, women!” cried Madame Defarge, with a long sharp knife shining brightly in her hand. “We can kill as well as any man!” The living sea of angry people ran through Saint Antoine to the Bastille, and soon the hated prison was ringing with the noise of battle. Fire and smoke climbed up the high stone walls and the thunder of the guns echoed through the city.