简爱(英文版)-第39部分

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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。　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　Céline　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　fits；　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　Céline。　She　was　returning：　of　course　my　heart　thumped　with　impatience　against　the　iron　rails　I　leant　upon。　The　carriage　stopped；　as　I　had　expected；　at　the　hotel　door；　my　flame　（that　is　the　very　word　for　an　opera　inamorata）　alighted：　though　muffed　in　a　cloak—an　unnecessary　encumbrance；　by…the…bye；　on　so　warm　a　June　evening—I　knew　her　instantly　by　her　little　foot；　seen　peeping　from　the　skirt　of　her　dress；　as　she　skipped　from　the　carriage…step。　Bending　over　the　balcony；　I　was　about　to　murmur　‘Mon　ange’—in　a　tone；　of　course；　which　should　be　audible　to　the　ear　of　love　alone—when　a　figure　jumped　from　the　carriage　after　her；　cloaked　also；　but　that　was　a　spurred　heel　which　had　rung　on　the　pavement；　and　that　was　a　hatted　head　which　now　passed　under　the　arched　porte　cochère　of　the　hotel。
“You　never　felt　jealousy；　did　you；　Miss　Eyre？　Of　course　not：　I　need　not　ask　you；　because　you　never　felt　love。　You　have　both　sentiments　yet　to　experience：　your　soul　sleeps；　the　shock　is　yet　to　be　given　which　shall　waken　it。　You　think　all　existence　lapses　in　as　quiet　a　flow　as　that　in　which　your　youth　has　hitherto　slid　away。　Floating　on　with　closed　eyes　and　muffled　ears；　you　neither　see　the　rocks　bristling　not　far　off　in　the　bed　of　the　flood；　nor　hear　the　breakers　boil　at　their　base。　But　I　tell　you—and　you　may　mark　my　words—you　will　e　some　day　to　a　craggy　pass　in　the　channel；　where　the　whole　of　life’s　stream　will　be　broken　up　into　whirl　and　tumult；　foam　and　noise：　either　you　will　be　dashed　to　atoms　on　crag　points；　or　lifted　up　and　borne　on　by　some　master…wave　into　a　calmer　current—as　I　am　now。
“I　like　this　day；　I　like　that　sky　of　steel；　I　like　the　sternness　and　stillness　of　the　world　under　this　frost。　I　like　Thornfield；　its　antiquity；　its　retirement；　its　old　crow…trees　and　thorn…trees；　its　grey　facade；　and　lines　of　dark　windows　reflecting　that　metal　welkin：　and　yet　how　long　have　I　abhorred　the　very　thought　of　it；　shunned　it　like　a　great　plague…house？　How　I　do　still　abhor　—”
He　ground　his　teeth　and　was　silent：　he　arrested　his　step　and　struck　his　boot　against　the　hard　ground。　Some　hated　thought　seemed　to　have　him　in　its　grip；　and　to　hold　him　so　tightly　that　he　could　not　advance。
We　were　ascending　the　avenue　when　he　thus　paused；　the　hall　was　before　us。　Lifting　his　eye　to　its　battlements；　he　cast　over　them　a　glare　such　as　I　never　saw　before　or　since。　Pain；　shame；　ire；　impatience；　disgust；　detestation；　seemed　mo