The door of Charles Darnay's cell creaked open. Charles, who was lost in prayer, looked up to see who it was. He wasn't expecting anyone. Had they come for him early? He wasn't ready!

For just a moment he glimpsed the turnkey, Barsad, who had opened the door. But then he saw the man who had just walked into his cell, the last person he expected to see right now. It was Sydney Carton.

Charles suddenly felt ashamed that, in the past several hours as he had thought of all the people dear to him, who would miss him, he had not once thought of Carton. After all, Carton had just proven himself a faithful friend by coming all the way to Paris to say goodbye to him. He had not seen Carton at either of his trials, but he was glad to think that Carton would be there for his family in their hour of need.

"Carton?!" Charles said incredulously, approaching his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I come from your wife," Sydney said softly, motioning for Charles to lower his voice as well.

"My wife?" Charles repeated, softly this time. "I have a favor to ask of you. It's about her."

"Her?" Sydney asked, confused. "What is it?"

"I know you love her," Charles said. "I know you would never harm her, or allow her to come to harm. So when I'm gone, if you wish to ask for her hand in marriage… you have my blessing. I have written to her to tell her so."

Sydney was shocked. He had always thought that Charles knew of his feelings for Lucie, but this was the first time he had ever acknowledged them. A part of him felt honored that Charles trusted him with his wife and daughter. But Charles' request, and the desperation with which he made it, broke Sydney's heart, and made what he had come here to do so much harder.

"If I did ask her - after an appropriate mourning period, of course - do you think she would accept me?" Sydney asked.

"I do," Charles said.

"For her sake, or for Little Lucie's?"

"Both, I suppose," Charles said, trying to be honest.

"She could never love me as she loves you," Sydney said.

"She likes you," Charles said. "She trusts you. She respects you. She could learn to love you."

"If she did, she would be the worse for it," Sydney said. "I could bring her nothing but misery."

"Not this again, Carton," Charles said, exasperated. "Not now. No one can be as hard on you as you are on yourself. I don't know why you have such a low opinion of yourself and your abilities, but I can assure you that you are mistaken. And Lucie agrees with me."

Sydney raised an eyebrow. "She does?"

Charles nodded. "She told me so," he said. "Many years ago. I still remember her exact words. She said of you, 'I am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things, even magnanimous things.' I do not know what prompted her to say it, but I believe she was right."

Sydney felt tears building up in his eyes. He knew exactly what had prompted her to say it, and he was touched that she had taken his words to heart and kept them a secret even from Charles, as he had asked her to do. "God bless her for her sweet compassion," he whispered.

"Please, Sydney," Charles said. It was the first time he had ever called Sydney by his first name. "Promise me you'll look after her - after them. Consider it my last request."

Sydney stared into Charles' eyes, which were also now filled with tears. He felt as if Satan was tempting him. This was his last chance. He could still change his mind. He could still turn around and survive and leave Charles to his fate. And hope that maybe, just maybe, in her grief Lucie would turn to him, the family friend, her husband's doppelganger, the one who had loved her from afar for years. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe she could learn to love him.

But she shouldn't have to. She already loved a man, who loved her back, and it wasn't him. It was the man before him, who was worthy of her, who was a kind and honorable gentleman, who was a devoted husband and father and son-in-law, who had everything to live for, who didn't deserve to die for the crimes of his father and uncle, and who, despite everything, he had come to care for as a friend - perhaps the only real friend he had ever had. He had to live. And that meant Sydney had to die.

"I'm sorry, Charles," Sydney said finally, sadly. He had never called Charles by his first name either, but it felt appropriate to return the favor. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Charles' eyes widened in confusion. "Why on earth not?"

"Because I already made a promise to her," Sydney said.

"What sort of promise?" Charles asked. "What could possibly be more important than this?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," Sydney said. "But first, go to the window."

Charles got up and looked out the small window in the upper corner of his cell.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" he asked as he peered through the dim light.

"Look as far as you can, onto the horizon," Sydney said. "What do you see?"

Charles squinted and strained his eyes. "I can see the towers of Notre Dame," he said. "I can see the skyline, and the people going about their day. But what does this have to do with - "

But before he could turn around, he felt Sydney's hand over his nose and mouth, pressing a cloth against his face. He struggled against him, but he soon felt weak. Sydney, who was right behind him, caught him in his other arm and lowered him gently to the ground.

Charles stared up at Sydney, his eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening.

"No," he whispered. And then he closed his eyes and lost consciousness.

Sydney knelt down on the ground and kissed Charles on the forehead. "Goodbye, my friend," he whispered.

As gently as he could, Sydney took off Charles' coat and swapped it for his own. He sat down at the desk, wrote out a short note to Lucie, and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat that was on Charles' body. He looked down at Charles, who appeared to be sleeping, and hastily scrawled out another note. Then he folded the paper and wrote Charles' name on the outside.

Charles kept that note for the rest of his long life. He kept it inside a small box where it could never be lost or damaged, and never showed it to anyone, not even Lucie. But every once in a while, when he was alone, he took it out and read it again. It was only eight words, and he had it memorized, but every time he read it, he felt as if he could hear Sydney's voice again.

Love them - that's all I ask of you.

Every time he read it again, he closed his eyes. I do, he whispered to himself. And I will. I promise.