impressionist landscape painting

When Saint Antoine had again enfolded the Defarges in his dusky wings, and they, having finally alighted near the Saint's boundaries, were picking their way on foot through the black mud and offal of his streets, Madame Defarge spoke to her husband: ¡¡¡¡"Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tell thee?" ¡¡¡¡"Very little to-night, but all he knows. There is another spy commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more,
for all that he can say, but he knows of one." ¡¡¡¡"Eh well!" said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool business air. "It is necessary to register him. How do they call that man?" ¡¡¡¡"He is English." ¡¡¡¡"So much the better. His name?" ¡¡¡¡"Barsad," said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness. ¡¡¡¡"Barsad," repeated madame. "Good. Christian name?"