midday
He was not missed ; for , nobody who crossed the threshold looked for him , nobody asked for him , nobody wondered to see only Madame Defarge in her seat , presiding over the distribution of wine , with a bowl of battered small coins before her , as much defaced and beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage of humanity from whose ragged pockets they had come . A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind , were perhaps observed by the spies who looked in at the wine-shop , as they looked in at every place , high and low , from the king 's palace to the criminal 's gaol . Games at cards languished , players at dominoes musingly built towers with them , drinkers drew figures on the tables with spilt drops of wine , Madame Defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleeve with her toothpick , and saw and heard something inaudible and invisible a long way off . Thus , Saint Antoine in this vinous feature of his , until midday . It was high noontide , when two dusty men passed through his streets and under his swinging lamps : of whom , one was Monsieur Defarge : the other a mender of roads in a blue cap . All adust and athirst , the two entered the wine-shop . Their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breast of Saint Antoine , fast spreading as they came along , which stirred and flickered in flames of faces at most doors and windows .