e went
in, and I had removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my knee; kept
her there an hour, allowing her to prattle as she liked: not rebuking
even some little freedoms and trivialities into which she was apt to
stray when much noticed, and which betrayed in her a superficiality of
character, inherited probably from her mother, hardly congenial to an
English mind. Still she had her merits; and I was disposed to appreciate
all that was good in her to the utmost. I sought in her countenance and
features a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but found none: no trait, no turn
of expression announced relationship. It was a pity: if she could but
have been proved to resemble him, he would have thought more of her.

It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own chamber for the night,
that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had told me. As he had
said, there was probably nothing at all extraordinary in the substance of
the narrative itself: a wealthy Englishman's passion for a French dancer,
and her treachery to him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, in
society; but there was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm of
emotion which had suddenly seized him when he was in the act of
expressing the present contentment of his mood, and his newly revived
pleasure in the old hall and its environs. I meditated wonderingly on
this incident; but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the present
inexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my master's manner to
myself. The confidence he had thought fit to repose in me seemed a
tribute to my discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. His
deportment had now for some weeks been more uniform towards me than at
the first. I never seemed in his way; he did not take fits of chilling
hauteur: when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome; he
had always a word and sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formal
invitation to his presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of reception
that made me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and that
these evening conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for my
benefit.

I, indeed, talked comparatively little, but I heard him talk with relish.
It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open to a mind
unacquainted with the world glimpses of its scenes and ways (I do not
mean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such as derived their
interest from the great scale on which they