Many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes in the corner，with hearts that failed them when they heard the thronging feet. For，the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a people，tumultuous under a red flag and with their country declared in danger，changed into wild beasts，by terrible enchantment long persisted in.

Monseigneur，as a class，had dissociated himself from the phenomenon of his not being appreciated：of his being so little wanted in France，as to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it，and this life together. Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devil with infinite pains，and was so terrified at the sight of him that he could ask the Enemy no question，but immediately fled；so，Monseigneur，after boldly reading the Lord's Prayer backwards for a great number of years，and performing many other potent spells for compelling the Evil One，no sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels.

The shining Bull's Eye of the Court was gone，or it would havebeen the mark for a hurricane of national bullets. It had never been a good eye to see with—had long had the mote in it of Lucifer's pride，Sardanapalus's luxury，and a mole's blindness—but it had dropped out and was gone.The Court，from that exclusive inner circle to its outermost rotten ring of intrigue，corruption，and dissimulation，was all gone together.Royalty was gone；had been besieged in its Palace and'suspended，'when the last tidings came over.

The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two was come，and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.

As was natural，the headquarters and great gathering-place of Monseigneur，in London，was Tellson's Bank. Spirits are supposed to haunt the places where their bodies most resorted，and Monseigneur without a guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be.Moreover，it was the spot to which such French intelligence as was most to be relied upon，came quickest.Again：Tellson's was a munificent house，and extended great liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate.Again：those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time，and anticipating plunder or confiscation，had made provident remittances to Tellson's，were always to be heard of there by their needy brethren.To which it must be added that every newcomer from France reported himself and his tidings at Tellson's，almost as a matter of course.For such variety of reasons，Tellson's was at that time，as to French intelligence，a kind of High Exchange；and this was so well known to the public，and the inquiries made there were in consequence so numerous，that Tellson's sometimes wrote the latest news out in a line or so and posted it in the Bankwindows，for all who ran through Temple Bar to read.

On a steamy，misty afternoon，Mr. Lorry sat at his desk，and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it，talking with him in a low voice.The penitential den once set apart for interviews with the House，was now the news Exchange，and was filled to overflowing.It was within half an hour or so of the time of closing.

'But，although you are the youngest man that ever lived，'said Charles Darnay，rather hesitating，'I must still suggest to you—'

'I understand. That I am too old？'said Mr.Lorry.

'Unsettled weather，a long journey，uncertain means of travelling，a disorganised country，a city that may not be even safe for you.'

'My dear Charles，'said Mr. Lorry，with cheerful confidence，'you touch some of the reasons for my going：not for my staying away.It is safe enough for me；nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard upon fourscore when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with.As to its being a disorganised city，if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our House here to our House there，who knows the city and the business，of old，and is in Tellson's confidence.As to the uncertain travelling，the long journey，and the winter weather，if I were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson's，after all these years，who ought to be？'

'I wish I were going myself，'said Charles Darnay，somewhat restlessly，and like one thinking aloud.

'Indeed！You are a pretty fellow to object and advise！'exclaimed Mr. Lorry.'You wish you were going yourself？And you a Frenchman born？You are a wise counsellor.'

'My dear Mr. Lorry，it is because I am a Frenchman born，that the thought（which I did not mean to utter here，however）has passed through my mind often.One cannot help thinking，having had some sympathy for the miserable people，and having abandoned something to them，'he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner，'that one might be listened to，and might have the power to persuade to some restraint.Only last night，after you had left us，when I was talking to Lucie—'

'When you were talking to Lucie，'Mr. Lorry repeated.'Yes.I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie！Wishing you were going to France at this time of day！'

'However，I am not going，'said Charles Darnay，with a smile.'It is more to the purpose that you say you are.'