Name: Part 7 - A Tale of Two Cities Audiobook by Charles Dickens (Book 03, Chs 08-11)
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Book the Third: The Track of a Storm Chapter VIII.

Happily unconscious of the new calamity at home, Miss Pross threaded her way along the

narrow streets and crossed the river by the bridge of the Pont-Neuf, reckoning in her

mind the number of indispensable purchases she had to make.

Mr. Cruncher, with the basket, walked at her side.

They both looked to the right and to the left into most of the shops they passed,

had a wary eye for all gregarious assemblages of people, and turned out of

their road to avoid any very excited group of talkers.

It was a raw evening, and the misty river, blurred to the eye with blazing lights and

to the ear with harsh noises, showed where the barges were stationed in which the

smiths worked, making guns for the Army of the Republic.

Woe to the man who played tricks with _that_ Army, or got undeserved promotion in

Better for him that his beard had never grown, for the National Razor shaved him

Having purchased a few small articles of grocery, and a measure of oil for the lamp,

Miss Pross bethought herself of the wine they wanted.

After peeping into several wine-shops, she stopped at the sign of the Good Republican

Brutus of Antiquity, not far from the National Palace, once (and twice) the

Tuileries, where the aspect of things rather took her fancy.

It had a quieter look than any other place of the same description they had passed,

and, though red with patriotic caps, was not so red as the rest.

Sounding Mr. Cruncher, and finding him of her opinion, Miss Pross resorted to the

Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, attended by her cavalier.

Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth, playing with

limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed

workman reading a journal aloud, and of the

others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or laid aside to be resumed; of the

two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high-shouldered

attitude, like slumbering bears or dogs; the two outlandish customers approached the

As their wine was measuring out, a man parted from another man in a corner, and

rose to depart. In going, he had to face Miss Pross.

No sooner did he face her, than Miss Pross uttered a scream, and clapped her hands.

In a moment, the whole company were on their feet.

That somebody was assassinated by somebody vindicating a difference of opinion was the

Everybody looked to see somebody fall, but only saw a man and a woman standing staring

at each other; the man with all the outward aspect of a Frenchman and a thorough

Republican; the woman, evidently English.

What was said in this disappointing anti- climax, by the disciples of the Good

Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was something very voluble and loud,

Chaldean to Miss Pross and her protector, though they had been all ears.

But, they had no ears for anything in their surprise.

For, it must be recorded, that not only was Miss Pross lost in amazement and agitation,

but, Mr. Cruncher--though it seemed on his own separate and individual account--was in

"What is the matter?" said the man who had caused Miss Pross to scream; speaking in a

vexed, abrupt voice (though in a low tone), and in English.

"Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!" cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands again.

"After not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so long a time, do I find you

"Don't call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death of me?" asked

the man, in a furtive, frightened way. "Brother, brother!" cried Miss Pross,

"Have I ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruel question?"

"Then hold your meddlesome tongue," said Solomon, "and come out, if you want to

Pay for your wine, and come out. Who's this man?"

Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected head at her by no means affectionate

brother, said through her tears, "Mr. Cruncher."

"Does he think me a ghost?" Apparently, Mr. Cruncher did, to judge from

He said not a word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the depths of her reticule

through her tears with great difficulty paid for her wine.

As she did so, Solomon turned to the followers of the Good Republican Brutus of

Antiquity, and offered a few words of explanation in the French language, which

caused them all to relapse into their former places and pursuits.

"Now," said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, "what do you want?"

"How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned my love away from!" cried

Miss Pross, "to give me such a greeting, and show me no affection."

Confound it! There," said Solomon, making a dab at Miss

Pross's lips with his own. "Now are you content?"

Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.

"If you expect me to be surprised," said her brother Solomon, "I am not surprised; I

knew you were here; I know of most people who are here.

If you really don't want to endanger my existence--which I half believe you do--go

your ways as soon as possible, and let me go mine.

"My English brother Solomon," mourned Miss Pross, casting up her tear-fraught eyes,

"that had the makings in him of one of the best and greatest of men in his native

country, an official among foreigners, and such foreigners!

I would almost sooner have seen the dear boy lying in his--"

"I said so!" cried her brother, interrupting.

"I knew it. You want to be the death of me.

I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own sister.

Just as I am getting on!" "The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!"

"Far rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever loved you

Say but one affectionate word to me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estranged

between us, and I will detain you no longer."

As if the estrangement between them had come of any culpability of hers.

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Part 7 - A Tale of Two Cities Audiobook by Charles Dickens (Book 03, Chs 08-11)

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