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FragmentWelcome to consult... Monseigneur never troubled it.

Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, a whisper
on one happy slave and wave of the hand on another,

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

f
A Tale of Two Cities

Monseigneur affably passed through his rooms to the remote
region of the Circumference of Truth. There, Monseigneur turned,
and came back again, and so in due course of time got himself shut
up in his sanctuary by the chocolate sprites, and was seen no
more.

The show being over, the flutter in the air became quite a little
storm, and the precious little bells went ringing downstairs. There
was soon but one person left of all the crowd, and he, with his hat
under his arm and his snuff-box in his hand, slowly passed among
the mirrors on his way out.

“I devote you,” said this person, stopping at the last door on his
way, and turning in the direction of the sanctuary, “to the Devil!”

With that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had
shaken the dust from his feet, and quietly walked downstairs.

He was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in
manner, and with a face like a fine mask. A face of a transparent
paleness; every feature in it clearly defined; one set on
it. The nose, beautifully formed otherwise, was very slightly
pinched at the top of each nostril. In those two compressions, or
dints, the only little change that the face ever showed, resided.
They persisted in changing colour sometimes, and they would be
occasionally dilated and contracted by something like a faint
pulsation: then, they gave a look of treachery, and cruelty, to the
whole countenance. Examined with attention, its capacity of
helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth, and
the lines of the orbits of the eyes, being much too horizontal and
thin; still, in the effect the face made, it was a handsome face, and
a remarkable one.

Its owner went downstairs into the courtyard, got into his

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

f
A Tale of Two Cities

carriage, and drove away. Not many people had talked with him at
the reception; he had stood in a little space apart, and
Monseigneur might have been warmer in his manner. It appeared
under the circumstances, rather agreeable to him to see the
common people dispersed before his horses, and often barely
escaping from being run down. His man drove as if he were
charging an enemy, and the furious recklessness of the man
brought no check into the face, or to the lips, of the master. The
complaint had sometimes made itself audible, even in that deaf
city and dumb age, that, in the narrow streets without footways,
the fierce patrician custom of hard driving endangered and
maimed the mere vulgar in a barbarous manner. But few cared
enough for that to think of it a second time, and, in this matter, as
in all others, the common wretches were left to get out of their
difficulties as they could.

With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of
consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage
dashed though the streets and swept round corners, with women
screaming before it, and men clutching each other and clutching
children out of its way. At last, swooping at a street corner by a
fountain, one of its wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there
was a loud cry from a number of voices, and the horses reared and
plunged.

But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would
not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and
leave their wounded b