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Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not a good city, at this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and as your escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. Lorry's with us. Are we ready? Come then!"
"I know it well," answered Carton. "Be careful of my friend, I entreat you, and leave me." "Come, then, my children," said Barsad. "Lift him, and come away!" The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote suspicion or alarm. There was none.
"Now, I trust," said Sydney to him, "that the name and influence of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good stead to-morrow you said he would be before the Tribunal again to-morrow, Mr. Barsad? "Yes; I believe so." " In as good stead to-morrow as to-day. But it may not be so. I own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor Manette's not having had the power to prevent this arrest."
If he had given any utterance to his, and they were prophetic, they would have been these: "I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument, before it shall cease out of its present use.
I left him safe and free within these two hours, and am about to return to him!" "Arrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad?" "Just now, if at all." "Mr. Barsad is the best authority possible, sir," said Sydney, "and I have it from Mr. Barsad's communication to a friend and brother Sheep over a bottle of wine, that the arrest has taken place.
Barsad. I wish for your sake Mr. Barsad was not a Sheep of the Prisons." Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers. The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how he dared "I'll tell you," said Sydney. "I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad, coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was contemplating the walls, an hour or more ago.
"Miss Pross's brother, sir," said Sydney. "Mr. Barsad." "Barsad?" repeated the old gentleman, "Barsad? I have an association with the name and with the face." "I told you you had a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad," observed Carton, coolly. "Pray sit down." As he took a chair himself, he supplied the link that Mr. Lorry wanted, by saying to him with a frown, "Witness at that trial." Mr.
"Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time." It was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losing cards in it that Sydney Carton knew nothing of.
"That there Roger Cly, master," said Mr. Cruncher, with a taciturn and iron-bound visage. "So you put him in his coffin?" "I did." "Who took him out of it?" Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, "What do you mean?" "I mean," said Mr. Cruncher, "that he warn't never in it. No! Not he! I'll have my head took off, if he was ever in it."
Stryver fitted the prisoner's case on the jury, like a compact suit of clothes; showing them how the patriot, Barsad, was a hired spy and traitor, an unblushing trafficker in blood, and one of the greatest scoundrels upon earth since accursed Judas which he certainly did look rather like.
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