¡¡¡¡"Therese!" she cries, in her shrill tones. "Who has seen her? Therese Defarge!" ¡¡¡¡"She never missed before," says a knitting-woman of the sisterhood. ¡¡¡¡"No; nor will she miss now," cries The Vengeance, petulantly. ¡¡¡¡"Therese." ¡¡¡¡"Louder," the woman recommends. ¡¡¡¡Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will scarcely hear thee. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it will hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her, lingering somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done dread deeds, it is questionable whether of their own wills they will go far enough to find her!
Bad Fortune!" cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair, "and here are the tumbrils! And Evremonde will be despatched in a wink, and she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her empty chair ready for her. I cry with vexation and disappointment!" ¡¡¡¡As The Vengeance descends from her elevation to do it, the tumbrils begin to discharge their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready. Crash!- A head is held up, and the knitting-women who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could think and speak, count One.
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