 of the said Gabelle (double-laden though the
horse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the German ballad of Leonora?
    It portended that there was one stone face too many, up at the château.
    The Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, and had added the
one stone face wanting; the stone face for which it had waited through about two
hundred years.
    It lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. It was like a fine mask,
suddenly startled, made angry, and petrified. Driven home into the heart of the
stone figure attached to it, was a knife. Round its hilt was a frill of paper,
on which was scrawled:
    »Drive him fast to his tomb. This, from JACQUES.«
 

                                   Chapter X

                                  Two Promises

More months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and Mr. Charles Darnay
was established in England as a higher teacher of the French language who was
conversant with French literature. In this age, he would have been a Professor;
in that age, he was a Tutor. He read with young men who could find any leisure
and interest for the study of a living tongue spoken all over the world, and he
cultivated a taste for its stores of knowledge and fancy. He could write of
them, besides, in sound English, and render them into sound English. Such
masters were not at that time easily found; Princes that had been, and Kings
that were to be, were not yet of the Teacher class, and no ruined nobility had
dropped out of Tellson's ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. As a tutor,
whose attainments made the student's way unusually pleasant and profitable, and
as an elegant translator who brought something to his work besides mere
dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon became known and encouraged. He was
well acquainted, moreover, with the circumstances of his country, and those were
of ever-growing interest. So, with great perseverance and untiring industry, he
prospered.
    In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements of gold, nor to lie
on beds of roses; if he had had any such exalted expectation, he would not have
prospered. He had expected labour, and he found it, and did it, and made the
best of it. In this, his prosperity consisted.
    A certain portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, where he read with
undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a contraband trade in
European languages, instead of conveying Greek and Latin through
