this dialogue had taken place at mr. lorry's usual desk, with monseigneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do to avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. it was too much the way of monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was much too much the way of native british orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible revolution as if it were the only harvest ever known under the skies that had not been sown as if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be done, that had led to it as if observers of the wretched millions in france, and of the misused and perverted resources that should have made them prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, and had not in plain words recorded what they saw. such vapouring, combined with the extravagant plots of monseigneur for the restoration of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself, and worn out heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be endured without some remonstrance by any sane man who knew the truth. and it was such vapouring all about his ears, like a troublesome confusion of blood in his own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, which had already made charles darnay restless, and which still kept him so.