Sydney Carton continued to converse with the seamstress but his eyes seemed to be transfixed on the guillotine. A chilling thud and a number, calmly pronounced by a row of knitting-women, accompanied each crash of the death machine. They never faltered from their work and showed no compassion; the rash of executions had left them without sensitivity. Sydney Carton began his own count in his head: "Three," he thought with a shudder, then "Two," then "One." With all of the speed he could muster, Carton turned towards the Spy staring at him from the crowd and leapt upon him. The portly woman who had before yelled "Thérèse" now erupted with a shriek of "Darnay!" Before others could react, John Barsad began to smother Sydney Carton with a wet handkerchief. The life died out of the man's eyes and he fell to the ground without a final word uttered.
The Vengeance shrieked with delight. "Perhaps Thérèse will witness his beheading after all. Disturb him no further; though Darnay is dead Madame Defarge would surely find joy in removing his head. We must find her!" As the knitting-women dispersed to search for their leader, John Barsad enlisted the help of a few soldiers to help him carry the body away. "Help me take him to the wood-sawyer's hut. I shall store him in one of the wooden boxes until Madame Defarge calls for his body." The soldiers left Barsad outside of the hut and watched as he entered. A few minutes later he exited and obliged the soldiers in joining them for drinks.
The search for the Madame continued for hours, fruitless. Her patience wearing thin, The Vengeance headed towards the house where Lucie and her child had taken up residence. She knocked at the door slowly, then faster, then louder, until she was pounding with all her might. She drew a pistol and shot the lock. The door slowly creaked open. The body was so ghastly a sight to behold that The Vengeance first turned and ran out of the house. Sobbing tremendously, she turned around, reentered the door, and ran to Madame Defarge. Blood had pooled around her but it now lay still, blocked by a puddle of water. The two liquids did not mix; they were like oil and water. The Vengeance stumbled back outside, gasping for air in between her tears. She began to run through the streets, pulling at her hair and dragging her fingers down her face. She had but one thought, one destination, and she was nearing it presently.
The Vengeance entered the wood-sawyer's hut with a flurry and threw the tiny man aside. She sought only what her name entailed and she was determined to have it. Grabbing hold of the large box she heaved it to the floor. Knife in hand she wrenched it open with a yell but instantly fell silent, bewildered. Inside of the box lay nothing more than paving stones and earth.