小说园

第28部分（第2页）

“Sententious　sage！　so　it　is：　but　I　swear　by　my　household　gods　not　to　abuse　it。”

“You　are　human　and　fallible。”

“I　am：　so　are　you—what　then？”

“The　human　and　fallible　should　not　arrogate　a　power　with　which　the　divine　and　perfect　alone　can　be　safely　intrusted。”

“What　power？”

“That　of　saying　of　any　strange；　unsanctioned　line　of　action；—‘Let　it　be　right。’”

“‘Let　it　be　right’—the　very　words：　you　have　pronounced　them。”

“May　it　be　right　then；”　I　said；　as　I　rose；　deeming　it　useless　to　continue　a　discourse　which　was　all　darkness　to　me；　and；　besides；　sensible　that　the　character　of　my　interlocutor　was　beyond　my　peration；　at　least；　beyond　its　present　reach；　and　feeling　the　uncertainty；　the　vague　sense　of　insecurity；　which　acpanies　a　conviction　of　ignorance。

“Where　are　you　going？”

“To　put　Adèle　to　bed：　it　is　past　her　bedtime。”

“You　are　afraid　of　me；　because　I　talk　like　a　Sphynx。”

“Your　language　is　enigmatical；　sir：　but　though　I　am　bewildered；　I　am　certainly　not　afraid。”

“You　are　afraid—your　self…love　dreads　a　blunder。”

“In　that　sense　I　do　feel　apprehensive—I　have　no　wish　to　talk　nonsense。”

“If　you　did；　it　would　be　in　such　a　grave；　quiet　manner；　I　should　mistake　it　for　sense。　Do　you　never　laugh；　Miss　Eyre？　Don’t　trouble　yourself　to　answer—I　see　you　laugh　rarely；　but　you　can　laugh　very　merrily：　believe　me；　you　are　not　naturally　austere；　any　more　than　I　am　naturally　vicious。　The　Lowood　constraint　still　clings　to　you　somewhat；　controlling　your　features；　muffling　your　voice；　and　restricting　your　limbs；　and　you　fear　in　the　presence　of　a　man　and　a　brother—or　father；　or　master；　or　what　you　will—to　smile　too　gaily；　speak　too　freely；　or　move　too　quickly：　but；　in　time；　I　think　you　will　learn　to　be　natural　with　me；　as　I　find　it　impossible　to　be　conventional　with　you；　and　then　your　looks　and　movements　will　have　more　vivacity　and　variety　than　they　dare　offer　now。　I　see　at　intervals　the　glance　of　a　curious　sort　of　bird　through　the　close…set　bars　of　a　cage：　a　vivid；　restless；　resolute　captive　is　there；　were　it　but　free；　it　would　soar　cloud…high。　You　are　still　bent　on　going？”

“It　has　struck　nine；　sir。”

“Never　mind；—wait　a　minute：　Adèle　is　not　ready　to　go　to　bed　yet。　My　position；　Miss　Eyre；　with　my　back　to　the　fire；　and　my　face　to　the　room；　favours　observation。　While　talking　to　you；　I　have　also　occasionally　watched　Adèle　（I　have　my　own　reasons　for　thinking　her　a　curious　study；—reasons　that　I　may；　nay；　that　I　shall；　impart　to　you　some　day）。　She　pulled　out　of　her　box；　about　ten　minutes　ago；　a　little　pink　silk　frock；　rapture　lit　her　face　as　she　unfolded　it；　coquetry　runs　in　her　blood；　blends　with　her　brains；　and　seasons　the　marrow　of　her　bones。　‘Il　faut　que　je　l’essaie！’　cried　she；　‘et　à　l’instant　même！’　and　she　rushed　out　of　the　room。　She　is　now　with　Sophie；　undergoing　a　robing　process：　in　a　few　minutes　she　will　re…　enter；　and　I　know　what　I　shall　see；—a　miniature　of　Céline　Varens；　as　she　used　to　appear　on　the　boards　at　the　rising　of—　But　never　mind　that。　However；　my　tenderest　feelings　are　about　to　receive　a　shock：　such　is　my　presentiment；　stay　now；　to　see　whether　it　will　be　realised。”

Ere　long；　Adèle’s　little　foot　was　heard　tripping　across　the　hall。　She　entered；　transformed　as　her　guardian　had　predicted。　A　dress　of　rose…coloured　satin；　very　short；　and　as　full　in　the　skirt　as　it　could　be　gathered；　replaced　the　brown　frock　she　had　previously　worn；　a　wreath　of　rosebuds　circled　her　forehead；　her　feet　were　dressed　in　silk　stockings　and　small　white　satin　sandals。

“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　chasséed　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　bonté；”　then　rising；　she　added；　“C’est　me　cela　que　maman　faisait；　n’est…ce　pas；　monsieur？”

“Pre…cise…ly！”　was　the　answer；　“and；　‘me　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。”

Chapter　15

Mr。　Rochester　did；　on　a　future　occasion；　explain　it。　It　was　one　afternoon；　when　he　chanced　to　meet　me　and　Adèle　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；　Céline　Varens；　towards　whom　he　had　once　cherished　what　he　called　a　“grande　passion。”　This　passion　Céline　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’athlète”　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　plete　establishment　of　servants；　a　carriage；　cashmeres；　diamonds；　dentelles；　&c。　In　short；　I　began　the　process　of　ruining　myself　in　the　received　style；　like　any　other　spoony。