Darnay arrived in France by La Havre’s harbor. The smell of fresh paint floated around the port as he stepped on the perfectly even walnut brown wooden floor deck. That symmetry and perfection could only be found on the north of France. He shakily walked out of the port and seeked a carriage to Paris. Cold fog surrounded the roads, nothing but whiteness could be seen on the empty streets of the city of light. 

          Wearing a worn-out, reddish-brown overcoat, and caring a faded scratched old, plastic suitcase, Darnay headed to Tellson’s Bank, one of the few places the revolutionaries hadn’t taken control of. His clever disguise worked quite well, a little too well. Monsieur Dubois, the manager of this unit screamed, “Imposteur!”. The sudden colder room was filled by pairs of eyes that, in a matter of seconds, turned towards Darnay. He dried his sweaty hands on the dirty coat as he spoke with a shaky voice, “I have proof”. He cracked open the lock on his luggage, allowing a short ray of light to get inside, which was reflected straight into Dubois’s eyes. “Mon Dieu, c’est vrais”, cried the old man, perplexed by what he had seen: a silk black blazer with a shiny gold coat-of-arm of the House of Evremonde.

          “Jacques! Jacques!”, screamed Dubois impatiently summoning his assistant. A tiny, funny looking man arrives, losing his breath from the short run from his desk. “Prends ma place, je dois emmener Lord Evremonde dans ton coffre privé”, said Dubois. To Darnay, “Follow me Monsieur.” Jacques’ eyes followed the two men until they disappeared from his sight. He marched across the street into the wine shop, trying to catch his breath he cried, “He is back, the Marquis is back!”

          Monsieur and Madame Defarge planned an attack to the Hotel de Ville, in which the Marquis was staying under the name Darnay.  The wind blew cold through the fogged darkness of the night as the clock struck 20; it was time. It was time for them to end this once and for all, it was time for the Revolution to destroy the last symbol of the Aristocracy and forever change France. With a strong and precise shot, they broke the greenish white door of the hotel room, making the numbers “715” fall from its margin. Silence spread through the room as the revolutionaries slowly marched inside. To their surprise, it was empty!

          “He was found, Darnay was spotted heading north”, cried one of the revolutionaries. Dozens of carriages were sent to the boarder with Belgium to catch him. The Defarges were leading the troops when they spotted a man who matched his exact description, it was him. They held their fire guns and shot the horses to death, leading to the loss of control of the carriage. Madame Darnay walked through the destroyed pieces of wood, as she slowly approached the body of a man who seemed to be dead. His lifeless pale skin, painted red from the blood flowing through his wounds, seemed to please the devilish shrewd. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head to deeply stare into his face. “Look alike, we were tricked! Damn you Darnay!”.

          On the east side of France was Charles Darnay inside a carriage with his good friend Gabelle, who had just broken out of jail. Both of them sailed smoothly to Germany and made their way back to London.