Mr. Lorry quietly chafed the hands that held his arm.'There，there，there！See now，see now！The best and the worst are known to you，now.You are well on your way to the poor wronged gentleman，and，with a fair sea voyage，and a fair land journey，you will be soon at his dear side.'
She repeated in the same tone，sunk to a whisper，'I have been free，I have been happy，yet his Ghost has never haunted me！'
'Only one thing more，'said Mr. Lorry，laying stress upon it as a wholesome means of enforcing her attention：'he has been found under another name；his own，long forgotten or long concealed.It would be worse than useless now to inquire which；worse than useless to seek to know whether he has been for years overlooked，or always designedly held prisoner.It would be worse than useless now to make any inquiries，because it would be dangerous.Better not to mention the subject，anywhere or in any way，and to remove him—for a while at all events—out of France.Even I，safe as an Englishman，and even Tellson's，important as they are to French credit，avoid all naming of the matter.I carry about me，not a scrap of writing openly referring to it.This is a secret service altogether.My credentials，entries，and memoranda，are allcomprehended in the one line，'Recalled to Life'；which may mean anything.But what is the matter！She doesn't notice a word！Miss Manette！'
Perfectly still and silent，and not even fallen back in her chair，she sat under his hand，utterly insensible；with her eyes open and fixed upon him，and with that last expression looking as if it were carved or branded into her forehead. So close was her hold upon his arm，that he feared to detach himself lest he should hurt her；therefore he called out loudly for assistance without moving.
A wild-looking woman，whom even in his agitation，Mr. Lorry observed to be all of a red colour，and to have red hair，and to be dressed in some extraordinary tight-fitting fashion，and to have on her head a most wonderful bonnet like a Grenadier wooden measure，and good measure too，or a great Stilton cheese，came running into the room in advance of the inn servants，and soon settled the question of his detachment from the poor young lady，by laying a brawny hand upon his chest，and sending him flying back against the nearest wall.
（'I really think this must be a man！'was Mr. Lorry's breathless reflection，simultaneously with his coming against the wall.）
'Why，look at you all！'bawled this figure，addressing the inn servants.'Why don't you go and fetch things，instead of standing there staring at me？I am not so much to look at，am I？Why don't you go and fetch things？I'll let you know，if you don't bring smelling-salts，cold water，and vinegar，quick，I will.'
There was an immediate dispersal for these restoratives，and she softly laid the patient on a sofa，and tended her with great skill and gentleness：calling her'my precious！'and'my bird！'and spreading her golden hair aside over her shoulders with greatpride and care.
'And you in brown！'she said，indignantly turning to Mr. Lorry；'couldn't you tell her what you had to tell her，without frightening her to death？Look at her，with her pale face and her cold hands.Do you call that being a Banker？'
Mr. Lorry was so exceedingly disconcerted by a question so hard to answer，that he could only look on，at a distance，with much feebler sympathy and humility，while the strong woman，having banished the inn servants under the mysterious penalty of'letting them know'something not mentioned if they stayed there，staring，recovered her charge by a regular series of gradations，and coaxed her to lay her drooping head upon her shoulder.
'I hope she will do well now，'said Mr. Lorry.
'No thanks to you in brown，if she does. My darling pretty！'
'I hope，'said Mr. Lorry，after another pause of feeble sympathy and humility，'that you accompany Miss Manette to France？'
'A likely thing，too！'replied the strong woman.'If it was ever intended that I should go across salt water，do you suppose Providence would have cast my lot in an island？'
This being another question hard to answer，Mr. Jarvis Lorry withdrew to consider it.
V.THE WINE SHOP
A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken，in the street. The accident had happened in getting it out of a cart；the cask had tumbled out with a run，the hoops had burst，and it lay on the stones just outside the door of the wine-shop，shattered like a walnut-shell.
All the people within reach had suspended their business，or their idleness，to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough，irregular stones of the street，pointing every way，and designed，one might have thought，expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them，had damned it into little pools；these were surrounded，each by its own jostling group or crowd，according to its size.Some men kneeled down，made scoops of their two hands joined，and sipped，or tried to help women，who bent over their shoulders，to sip，before the wine had all run out between their fingers.Others，men and women，dipped in the puddles with little mugs of mutilated earthenware，or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads，which were squeezed dry into infants'mouths；others made small mud-embankments，to stem the wine as it ran；others，directed by lookers-on up at high windows，darted here and there，to cut off little streams of wine that started away in new directions；others devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed pieces of the cask，licking，and even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager relish.There was no drainage to carry off the wine，and not only did it all get taken up，but so much mudgot taken up along with it that there might have been a scavenger in the street，if anybody acquainted with it could have believed in such a miraculous presence.
