In the dimly-lighted passages of the Old Bailey, Dr. Manette, his daughter, and Mr. Lorry stood by Mr. Charles Darnay--just acquitted on a charge of high treason--congratulating him on his escape from death.
It was not difficult to recognise in Dr. Manette, intellectual of face and upright in bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. He and his daughter had been unwilling witnesses for the prosecution, called to give evidence that might be distorted into corroboration of a paid spy's falsehoods as to Darnay's dealings with the French king.
Darnay kissed Lucie Manette's hand fervently and gratefully, and warmly thanked his counsel, Mr. Stryver. As he watched them go, a person who had been leaning against the wall stepped up to him. It was Mr. Carton, a barrister, who had sat throughout the trial with his whole attention seemingly concentrated upon the ceiling of the court. Everybody had been struck with the extraordinary resemblance, cleverly used by the defending counsel to confound a witness, between Mr. Carton and Mr. Darnay. Mr. Carton was shabbily dressed, and did not appear to be quite sober.
"This must be a strange sight to you," said Carton, with a laugh.
"I hardly seem yet," returned Darnay, "to belong to this world again."
"Then why the devil don't you dine?"
He led him to a tavern, where Darnay recruited his strength with a good, plain dinner. Carton drank, but ate nothing.
"Now your dinner is done," Carton presently said, "why don't you give your toast?"
"What toast?"
"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue."