Book the Second - the Golden Thread
20. XX. A Plea
When the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared,
to offer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been
at home many hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in
habits, or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of
fidelity about him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay.
He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and
of speaking to him when no one overheard.
"Mr. Darnay," said Carton, "I wish we might be friends."
"We are already friends, I hope."
"You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don't
mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be friends,
I scarcely mean quite that, either."
Charles Darnay--as was natural--asked him, in all good-humour and
good-fellowship, what he did mean?
"Upon my life," said Carton, smiling, "I find that easier to comprehend
in my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. You
remember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than--
"I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess
that you had been drinking."
"I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me,
for I always remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one
day, when all days are at an end for me! Don't be alarmed;
I am not going to preach."
"I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but
alarming to me."
"Ah!" said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved
that away. "On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number,
as you know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you.
I wish you would forget it."