2016年01月20日
He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks,and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, intothe misty air of Fleet-street. "My love to Lucie, and to littleLucie," said Mr. Lorry at parting, "and take precious care of themtill I come back." Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfullysmiled, as the carriage rolled away.
That night- it was the fourteenth of August- he sat up late, andwrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strongobligation he was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length,the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could becomeinvolved in no personal danger there; the other was to the Doctor,confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling onthe same topics with the strongest assurances. To both, he wrotethat he would despatch letters in proof of his safety, immediatelyafter his arrival.
It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the firstreservation of their joint lives on his mind. It was a hard matterto preserve the innocent deceit of which they were profoundlyunsuspicious. But, an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy andbusy, made him resolute not to tell her what impended (he had beenhalf moved to do it, so strange it was to him to act in anythingwithout her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly. Early in theevening he embraced her, and her scarcely less dear namesake,pretending that he would return by-and-bye (an imaginary engagementtook him out, and he had secreted a valise of clothes ready), and sohe emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy streets.
The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all thetides and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He lefthis two letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hourbefore midnight, and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began hisjourney. "For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of thehonour of your noble name!" was the poor prisoner's cry with whichhe strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear onearth behind him, and floated away for the Loadstone Rock.
THE TRAVELLER fared slowly on his way, who fared towards Parisfrom England in the autumn of the year one thousand seven hundredand ninety-two. More than enough of bad roads, bad equipages, andbad horses, he would have encountered to delay him, though thefallen and unfortunate King of France had been upon his throne inall his glory; but, the changed times were fraught with otherobstacles than these. Every town-gate and village taxing-house had itsband of citizen-patriots, with their national muskets in a mostexplosive state of readiness, who stopped all comers and goers,cross-questioned them, inspected their papers, looked for theirnames in lists of their own, turned them back, or sent them on, orstopped them and laid them in hold, as their capricious judgment orfancy deemed best for the dawning Republic One and Indivisible, ofLiberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death.
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