The doctor looked up; a struggle was evidently in his face--a struggle with that look he still sometimes wore, with a tendency in it to dark doubt and dread.
"If Lucie should ever tell me," he said, "that you are essential to her perfect happiness, I will give her to you."
"Your confidence in me," answered Darnay, relieved, "ought to be returned with full confidence on my part. I am, as you know, like yourself, a voluntary exile from France. The name I bear at present is not my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England."
"Stop!"
The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips.
"Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!"
On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her work alone, Sydney Carton entered.
"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him.
"No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health."
"Is it not--forgive me--a pity to live no better life?"