Two Cities

Chapter 7 Hotel (2)
"Well, Jacques?" said one of the three to M. Defarge. "The spilled wine, have you drunk it?"

"It's all gone, Jacques," replied M. Defarge.Just when both parties were praising Jacques, Mrs. Defarge, who was picking her teeth, coughed softly again, her brows raised even more. "These poor people," said the second of the three to Monsieur Defarge, "seldom have wine. They have nothing but black bread and the taste of death. Is it not?" , Jacques?"

"It is so, Jacques," replied M. Defarge.When they called each other Jacques for the second time, Madame Defarge coughed softly again, still picked her teeth very calmly, raised her brows a little more, and moved her body lightly and slowly.

It was the third person who was speaking at this moment, and put down his empty glass and smacked his lips.

"Ah! That's all the more pitiful! These beasts have a perpetual bitterness in their mouths and a hard life. Am I right, Jacques?"

"That's right, Jacques," replied M. Defarge.After Jacques called out for the third time, Madame Defarge had put the toothpick aside, her eyebrows still raised, and she moved slightly in her seat.

"Stop talking!" whispered her husband. "Gentlemen—this is my wife!"

The three guests took off their hats and performed three tricks of salutation.She nodded and glanced at them in acceptance.Then she looked at the hotel casually, and then showed a calm and open-minded look, picked up the wool and started knitting seriously.

"Gentlemen," said her husband now, never taking his eyes off her, "good day. The room you want to see - which you asked when I went out just now - is on the fifth floor, and is for singles. The house is furnished. The stairs are connected to the small patio on the left side," he pointed with his finger, "the small patio next to the window of my house. However, I am here, and one of you has been there, and he can take you there. Goodbye ,Gentlemen!"

They paid the bill and left.M. Defarge had been gazing at his wife's knitting, when the old gentleman came out from the corner of the room, and asked politely for a word.

"Speak, sir," said M. Defarge, and followed him calmly to the door.

The conversation between the two was not much, but it was very neat.Monsieur Defarge started almost at the first word, and listened attentively.After talking for less than a minute, he nodded and walked out.The old man beckoned to the young girl and followed her out.Madame Defarge was knitting with her dainty hands, without moving her brow or seeing anything.

Mr. Jarvis Lorry and Miss Manette thus emerged from the hotel, and joined Mr. Defarge at the door which he had pointed out to them a short time ago.Inside this door is a small dark and smelly courtyard, and outside is a public entrance, which leads to a large number of houses.M. Defarge, passing the blue-bricked entrance and stepping into the blue-bricked staircase, knelt down to his former master, and put her hand to his lips.This was originally a gentle movement, but it was not smooth when he did it.In an instant, he had an earth-shaking change. The calm and cheerful expression just now disappeared completely, and he became a mysterious, angry and dangerous person.

"The building is very high, and it's a bit difficult to walk. You can walk a little slower." The three went upstairs together, and Mr. Defarge said to Mr. Lorry in a low and strong voice.

"Is he alone?" asked Mr. Lorry. "A man? God bless him, who can be with him?" said another in the same low voice. "So, he is always alone?" "Yes." "Did he mean it?"

"He had to be like that. When they came to me and asked me if I could take over - it wasn't safe for me, I had to be careful - that's what he was and still is."

"Has he changed a lot?" "Change!"

The innkeeper stopped, punched the wall, and uttered a vicious curse that was stronger than any answer.As Mr. Lorry and his two companions climbed, their hearts grew heavier and heavier.Such stairs and ancillary facilities are bad enough in the old part of Paris, where the population is more, and it was even more embarrassing for the unfit and untrained.A building is a foul nest.Each occupant of the building—that is to say, one or more dwellings in each door leading to the common staircase—either throws rubbish out the window or piles it on the landing in front of the door.In this way, even if poverty does not cover residential buildings with its invisible and intangible filth, the unmanageable and incurable filth produced by the decomposition of garbage can still be called air pollution.The combination of these two sources of pollution is even more unbearable.What the stairs pass through is such a dark, towering passage full of dirt and toxins.Jarvis Lorry, both from his anxiety, and from the growing agitation of his young companion, stopped twice to rest, each time by a desolate fence.The fresh air, not yet all spoiled but dead, seemed to be escaping through the bars, and the sickly dampness of all the damage seemed to rush in there.The messy neighborhood can be seen through the rusted fence, but more so than its stench.Nothing within sight below the two spiers of Notre-Dame and the buildings next to it had healthy life and great hope.

At last they reached the top of the stairs and stopped again.There is also an even steeper staircase to climb to reach the attic.The proprietor of the hotel was always at the front, beside Mr. Lorry, as if worried that the lady would ask questions.Here he turned, searched for a moment in the pocket of his coat slung over his shoulder, and produced a key. "Is the door locked, then?" said Mr. Lorry in surprise. "Yes, yes," Defarge replied very sternly. "Do you think it necessary to keep the poor man so secluded?" "I think he must be locked up," whispered M. Defarge, frowning, close to his ear. "why?"

"Why! Because he's been locked up so long, and if the door is opened he'll be frightened, and talk nonsense, and tear himself to pieces, and die, and don't know what else to hurt."

"How is this possible?" Mr. Lorry said in surprise. "How is it possible!" repeated Defarge bitterly. "Possible. Our world is a fine place, and of course such a thing is possible, and many similar things are possible, and not only possible, but have been done—done, you know!—over there People do it every day in the world. Long live the devil! Let's go on."

They spoke in such a low voice that the lady did not hear a word.But at this moment, she was already trembling with excitement, and her face showed serious anxiety, especially fear and fear.Mr. Lorry wanted to say a few words to comfort her.

"Courage, dear lady! Courage! Business! Difficulties will soon be over. As soon as you walk in the door it will be over, and then you will be able to bring him all that is good and give him comfort and happiness. Please let us This friend is holding you by your side. Now, friend Defarge, go up now. Business, business!"

They climbed up slowly and lightly.The stairs were short and they climbed to the top in no time.Turning a sharp turn, I saw three people bent over, with their heads close to a door, looking seriously into the room through a crack in the door or a hole in the wall.When they heard footsteps behind them, they hurriedly turned their heads and stood up straight.It turned out to be the three people with the same name who were drinking in the hotel.

"I was taken aback when you came, and forgot about these three friends," explained M. Defarge. "Go, too, we have something to do here."

The three walked past them sideways and went downstairs without saying anything.

There seemed to be no other doors on this floor.The hotel owner watched the three of them go downstairs before coming directly to the door.Mr. Lorry asked in a low voice with some anger: "Do you regard Mr. Manette as an exhibition?" "I only show it to a small number of people who have been selected. You have seen it all."

"Do you think it's good to do that?" "I think it's good."

"Who are this small group of people? Why do you make such a decision?"

"I've got my eye on them because they're real men, and they're all using my name - Jacques is mine - and it'll do them good to see. Don't tell me, you're English, yes Another matter. Please wait here."

He warned them by hand, told them to stay where they were, then stooped, looked through the chink in the wall, then raised his head, and knocked on the door two or three times--apparently only to make a sound, No more thoughts.With the same purpose, he knocked the key three or four times on the door, then, stupidly, inserted it into the lock and turned it boldly.

The door was slowly opened.He looked into the room, but made no sound.A little voice gave some kind of answer, a syllable or two on both sides.

He turned back and told them both to go in.Mr. Lorry put his arms discreetly around the girl's waist, and held her up, for he felt that she was not on her feet.

"Ah-ah-ah, business, business!" He cheered her on, but tears that were not business were flashing on his face. "Come in, come in!"

"I'm afraid," she said, trembling. "Afraid of what?" "Afraid of my father."

Her condition and the beckoning of her guide left Mr. Lorry helpless, but putting the trembling arm on his shoulder to his own neck, he helped her to uprightness, and hurried into the house. , and then put her down, and helped her stand close to him.

Defarge took out the key, locked the door, and clutched the key in his hand.He did these things very hard, and deliberately made some harsh sounds.

Finally, he walked cautiously to the window and stopped, turning his head.The attic was originally used as a storage room to store firewood and other things, and it was very dark due to lack of light.The dormer-like window is actually a door on the roof, and there is a movable hook on the door, which is used to lift the storage from the street.The door was unpainted, a double door, closed from the middle as is usual in French houses.One door was tightly closed to keep out the cold, and the other was only a crack open to let in very little light.In this way, it is difficult to see things when you first enter the door.In such a dim place, there is no way to carry out meticulous work without long-term adaptation and training.But now this kind of work is going on here.Because a white-haired old man was sitting on a low stool, with his back to the door and facing the window, bending his body and busy making shoes.The hotel owner stood at the window and watched him.

(End of this chapter)