| Charles Darnay, alone in a cell, had sustained himself with no flattering delusion since he came to it from the Tribunal. In every line of the narrative he had heard, he had heard his condemnation. He had fully comprehended that no personal influence could possibly save him, that he was virtually sentenced by the millions, and that units could avail him nothing. |
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| Footsteps in the stone passage outside the door. He stopped. The key was put in the lock, and turned. The door was quickly opened and closed, and there stood before him face to face, quiet, intent upon him, with the light of a smile on his features, and a cautionary finger on his lip, Sydney Carton. But, he spoke, and it was his voice; he took the prisoner’s hand, and it was his real grasp. |
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 | Of all the people upon earth, you least expected to see me? | |
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| I could not believe it to be you. I can scarcely believe it now. You are not --- a prisoner? | |
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| No. I am accidentally possessed of a power over one of the keepers here, and in virtue of it I stand before you. I come from her—your wife, I bring you a request from her. | |
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| What is it? | |
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