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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Barsad," said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness. "Barsad," repeated madame. "Good. Christian name?" "John." "John Barsad," repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself. "Good. His appearance; is it known?"
That's a very good card. Mr. Barsad, now in the employ of the republican French government, was formerly in the employ of the aristocratic English government, the enemy of France and freedom. That's an excellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of suspicion, that Mr.
I had no difficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed to shape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad." "What purpose?" the spy asked. "It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in the street.
She was too much occupied then with fears for the brother who so little deserved her affection, and with Sydney's friendly reassurances, adequately to heed what she observed. They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to Mr. Lorry's, which was within a few minutes' walk. John Barsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side. Mr.
Cruncher knuckled his forehead, as Sydney Carton and the spy returned from the dark room. "Adieu, Mr. Barsad," said the former; "our arrangement thus made, you have nothing to fear from me." He sat down in a chair on the hearth, over against Mr. Lorry. When they were alone, Mr. Lorry asked him what he had done? "Not much. If it should go ill with the prisoner, I have ensured access to him, once."
Could you favour me, in confidence, with some minutes of your company at the office of Tellson's Bank, for instance?" "Under a threat?" "Oh! Did I say that?" "Then, why should I go there?" "Really, Mr. Barsad, I can't say, if you can't." "Do you mean that you won't say, sir?" the spy irresolutely asked. "You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won't."
I admit that I am a spy, and that it is considered a discreditable station though it must be filled by somebody; but this gentleman is no spy, and why should he so demean himself as to make himself one?" "I play my Ace, Mr. Barsad," said Carton, taking the answer on himself, and looking at his watch, "without any scruple, in a very few minutes."
Barsad!" exclaimed Sydney. "Don't be ungrateful. But for my great respect for your sister, I might not have led up so pleasantly to a little proposal that I wish to make for our mutual satisfaction. Do you go with me to the Bank?" "I'll hear what you have got to say. Yes, I'll go with you." "I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the corner of her own street.
Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocratic English government, is the spy of Pitt, the treacherous foe of the Republic crouching in its bosom, the English traitor and agent of all mischief so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That's a card not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?" "Not to understand your play," returned the spy, somewhat uneasily.
Let the Doctor play the winning game; I will play the losing one. No man's life here is worth purchase. Any one carried home by the people to-day, may be condemned tomorrow. Now, the stake I have resolved to play for, in case of the worst, is a friend in the Conciergerie. And the friend I purpose to myself to win, is Mr. Barsad." "You need have good cards, sir," said the spy. "I'll run them over.
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