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- Джэйн Эйр
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"
Est-ce
que
ma
robe
va
bien
?
"
cried
she
,
bounding
forwards
;
"
et
mes
souliers
?
et
mes
bas
?
Tenez
,
je
crois
que
je
vais
danser
!
"
And
spreading
out
her
dress
,
she
chasseed
across
the
room
till
,
having
reached
Mr.
Rochester
,
she
wheeled
lightly
round
before
him
on
tip-toe
,
then
dropped
on
one
knee
at
his
feet
,
exclaiming
--
"
Monsieur
,
je
vous
remercie
mille
fois
de
votre
bonte
;
"
then
rising
,
she
added
,
"
C'est
comme
cela
que
maman
faisait
,
n‘est
-
ce
pas
,
monsieur
?
"
"
Pre-cise-ly
!
"
was
the
answer
;
"
and
,
'
comme
cela
,
'
she
charmed
my
English
gold
out
of
my
British
breeches
'
pocket
.
I
have
been
green
,
too
,
Miss
Eyre
,
--
ay
,
grass
green
:
not
a
more
vernal
tint
freshens
you
now
than
once
freshened
me
.
My
Spring
is
gone
,
however
,
but
it
has
left
me
that
French
floweret
on
my
hands
,
which
,
in
some
moods
,
I
would
fain
be
rid
of
.
Not
valuing
now
the
root
whence
it
sprang
;
having
found
that
it
was
of
a
sort
which
nothing
but
gold
dust
could
manure
,
I
have
but
half
a
liking
to
the
blossom
,
especially
when
it
looks
so
artificial
as
just
now
.
I
keep
it
and
rear
it
rather
on
the
Roman
Catholic
principle
of
expiating
numerous
sins
,
great
or
small
,
by
one
good
work
.
I
'll
explain
all
this
some
day
.
Good-night
.
"
Mr.
Rochester
did
,
on
a
future
occasion
,
explain
it
.
It
was
one
afternoon
,
when
he
chanced
to
meet
me
and
Adele
in
the
grounds
:
and
while
she
played
with
Pilot
and
her
shuttlecock
,
he
asked
me
to
walk
up
and
down
a
long
beech
avenue
within
sight
of
her
.
He
then
said
that
she
was
the
daughter
of
a
French
opera-dancer
,
Celine
Varens
,
towards
whom
he
had
once
cherished
what
he
called
a
"
grande
passion
.
"
This
passion
Celine
had
professed
to
return
with
even
superior
ardour
.
He
thought
himself
her
idol
,
ugly
as
he
was
:
he
believed
,
as
he
said
,
that
she
preferred
his
"
taille
d'athlete
"
to
the
elegance
of
the
Apollo
Belvidere
.
"
And
,
Miss
Eyre
,
so
much
was
I
flattered
by
this
preference
of
the
Gallic
sylph
for
her
British
gnome
,
that
I
installed
her
in
an
hotel
;
gave
her
a
complete
establishment
of
servants
,
a
carriage
,
cashmeres
,
diamonds
,
dentelles
,
etc.
.
In
short
,
I
began
the
process
of
ruining
myself
in
the
received
style
,
like
any
other
spoony
.
I
had
not
,
it
seems
,
the
originality
to
chalk
out
a
new
road
to
shame
and
destruction
,
but
trode
the
old
track
with
stupid
exactness
not
to
deviate
an
inch
from
the
beaten
centre
.
I
had
--
as
I
deserved
to
have
--
the
fate
of
all
other
spoonies
.
Happening
to
call
one
evening
when
Celine
did
not
expect
me
,
I
found
her
out
;
but
it
was
a
warm
night
,
and
I
was
tired
with
strolling
through
Paris
,
so
I
sat
down
in
her
boudoir
;
happy
to
breathe
the
air
consecrated
so
lately
by
her
presence
.
No
,
--
I
exaggerate
;
I
never
thought
there
was
any
consecrating
virtue
about
her
:
it
was
rather
a
sort
of
pastille
perfume
she
had
left
;
a
scent
of
musk
and
amber
,
than
an
odour
of
sanctity
.
I
was
just
beginning
to
stifle
with
the
fumes
of
conservatory
flowers
and
sprinkled
essences
,
when
I
bethought
myself
to
open
the
window
and
step
out
on
to
the
balcony
.
It
was
moonlight
and
gaslight
besides
,
and
very
still
and
serene
.
The
balcony
was
furnished
with
a
chair
or
two
;
I
sat
down
,
and
took
out
a
cigar
,
--
I
will
take
one
now
,
if
you
will
excuse
me
.
"
Here
ensued
a
pause
,
filled
up
by
the
producing
and
lighting
of
a
cigar
;
having
placed
it
to
his
lips
and
breathed
a
trail
of
Havannah
incense
on
the
freezing
and
sunless
air
,
he
went
on
--
"
I
liked
bonbons
too
in
those
days
,
Miss
Eyre
,
and
I
was
croquant
--
(
overlook
the
barbarism
)
--
croquant
chocolate
comfits
,
and
smoking
alternately
,
watching
meantime
the
equipages
that
rolled
along
the
fashionable
streets
towards
the
neighbouring
opera-house
,
when
in
an
elegant
close
carriage
drawn
by
a
beautiful
pair
of
English
horses
,
and
distinctly
seen
in
the
brilliant
city-night
,
I
recognised
the
'
voiture
'
I
had
given
Celine
.
She
was
returning
:
of
course
my
heart
thumped
with
impatience
against
the
iron
rails
I
leant
upon
.
