Book the Third - The Track of a Storm
5. V. The Wood-Sawyer
They had not made the round of their changed life many weeks,
when her father said to her, on coming home one evening:
"My dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to which Charles
can sometimes gain access at three in the afternoon. When he can get
to it--which depends on many uncertainties and incidents--he might
see you in the street, he thinks, if you stood in a certain place
that I can show you. But you will not be able to see him, my poor
child, and even if you could, it would be unsafe for you to make a
sign of recognition."
"O show me the place, my father, and I will go there every day."
From that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours.
As the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned
resignedly away. When it was not too wet or inclement for her child
to be with her, they went together; at other times she was alone;
but, she never missed a single day.
It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street.
The hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only
house at that end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being
there, he noticed her.
"Good day, citizeness."
"Good day, citizen."
This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been
established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough
patriots; but, was now law for everybody.
"Walking here again, citizeness?"
"You see me, citizen!"
The wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of gesture
(he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the prison,
pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers before his face to
represent bars, peeped through them jocosely.