The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote suspicion or alarm. There was none. Presently his door opened, and a gaoler looked in, merely saying: "Follow me," whereupon Carton followed him into a dark room. As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, a young woman, with a slight, girlish figure, came to speak to him.
"Citizen Evrémonde," she said, "I am a poor little seamstress, who was with you in La Force."
He murmured an answer.
"I heard you were released."
"I was, and was taken again and condemned."
"If I may ride with you, will you let me hold your hand?"
As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them.
"Are you dying for him?" she whispered. "Oh, you will let me hold your hand?"
"Hush! Yes, my poor sister, to the last."
That afternoon a coach going out of Paris drove up to the Barrier. "Papers!" demanded the guard. The papers are handed out and read.