For several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In themornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in theafternoon, gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, andsometimes stayed to dine with him. When his sprain was well enoughto admit of horse exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably toreturn these visits, as he generally did not come back till late atnight.

During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to hispresence, and all my acquaintance with him was confined to anoccasional rencontre in the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery,when he would sometimes pass me haughtily and coldly, justacknowledging my presence by a distant nod or a cool glance, andsometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike affability. His changesof mood did not offend me, because I saw that I had nothing to dowith their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on causes quitedisconnected with me.

One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my portfolio;in order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen wentaway early, to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfaxinformed me; but the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochesterdid not accompany them. Soon after they were gone he rang the bell:a message came that I and Adele were to go downstairs. I brushedAdele's hair and made her neat, and having ascertained that I wasmyself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to retouch--all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to admit ofdisarrangement--we descended, Adele wondering whether the petitcoffre was at length come; for, owing to some mistake, its arrivalhad hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there it stood, alittle carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room. Sheappeared to know it by instinct.

"Ma boite! ma boite!" exclaimed she, running towards it.

"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, yougenuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowellingit," said the deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester,proceeding from the depths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside."And mind," he continued, "don't bother me with any details of theanatomical process, or any notice of the condition of the entrails:let your operation be conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille,enfant; comprends-tu?"

Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning--she had already retiredto a sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord whichsecured the lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted certainsilvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed -

"Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!" and then remained absorbed in ecstaticcontemplation.

"Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master, half rising from hisseat to look round to the door, near which I still stood.

"Ah! well, come forward; be seated here." He drew a chair near hisown. "I am not fond of the prattle of children," he continued;"for, old bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associationsconnected with their lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass awhole evening tete-e-tete with a brat. Don't draw that chairfarther off, Miss Eyre; sit down exactly where I placed it--if youplease, that is. Confound these civilities! I continually forgetthem. Nor do I particularly affect simple-minded old ladies. By-the-bye, I must have mine in mind; it won't do to neglect her; sheis a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is said to be thicker thanwater."

He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soonarrived, knitting-basket in hand.

"Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. Ihave forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she isbursting with repletion: have the goodness to serve her asauditress and interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolentacts you ever performed."

Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her toher sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, theivory, the waxen contents of her "boite;" pouring out, meantime,explanations and raptures in such broken English as she was mistressof.

"Now I have performed the part of a good host," pursued Mr.Rochester, "put my guests into the way of amusing each other, Iought to be at liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre,draw your chair still a little farther forward: you are yet too farback; I cannot see you without disturbing my position in thiscomfortable chair, which I have no mind to do."

I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remainedsomewhat in the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way ofgiving orders, it seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.

We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which hadbeen lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light;the large fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung richand ample before the lofty window and loftier arch; everything wasstill, save the subdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak loud),and, filling up each pause, the beating of winter rain against thepanes.

Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, lookeddifferent to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern--much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyessparkled, whether with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think itvery probable. He was, in short, in his after-dinner mood; moreexpanded and genial, and also more self-indulgent than the frigidand rigid temper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim,cushioning his massive head against the swelling back of his chair,and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-hewn features,and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and veryfine eyes, too--not without a certain change in their depthssometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, ofthat feeling.

He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been lookingthe same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught mygaze fastened on his physiognomy.

"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you think me handsome?"

I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question bysomething conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehowslipped from my tongue before I was aware--"No, sir."

"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said he:"you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, andsimple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyesgenerally bent on the carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they aredirected piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and whenone asks you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obligedto reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is atleast brusque. What do you mean by it?"

"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have repliedthat it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question aboutappearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of littleconsequence, or something of that sort."

"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of littleconsequence, indeed! And so, under pretence of softening theprevious outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, youstick a sly penknife under my ear! Go on: what fault do you findwith me, pray? I suppose I have all my limbs and all my featureslike any other man?"

"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended nopointed repartee: it was only a blunder."

"Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it.Criticise me: does my forehead not please you?"

He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over hisbrow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but anabrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should haverisen.

"Now, ma'am, am I a fool?"

"Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquiredin return whether you are a philanthropist?"

"There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended topat my head: and that is because I said I did not like the societyof children and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady, I amnot a general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience;" and hepointed to the prominences which are said to indicate that faculty,and which, fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous;giving, indeed, a marked breadth to the upper part of his head:"and, besides, I once had a kind of rude tenderness of heart. WhenI was as old as you, I was a feeling fellow enough, partial to theunfledged, unfostered, and unlucky; but Fortune has knocked me aboutsince: she has even kneaded me with her knuckles, and now I flattermyself I am hard and tough as an India-rubber ball; pervious,though, through a chink or two still, and with one sentient point inthe middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope for me?"

"Hope of what, sir?"

"Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?"

"Decidedly he has had too much wine," I thought; and I did not knowwhat answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whetherhe was capable of being re-transformed?

"You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are notpretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you;besides, it is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes ofyours away from my physiognomy, and busies them with the worstedflowers of the rug; so puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to begregarious and communicative to-night."

With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaninghis arm on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape wasseen plainly as well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest,disproportionate almost to his length of limb. I am sure mostpeople would have thought him an ugly man; yet there was so muchunconscious pride in his port; so much ease in his demeanour; such alook of complete indifference to his own external appearance; sohaughty a reliance on the power of other qualities, intrinsic oradventitious, to atone for the lack of mere personal attractiveness,that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference,and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the confidence.

"I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night," herepeated, "and that is why I sent for you: the fire and thechandelier were not sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot havebeen, for none of these can talk. Adele is a degree better, butstill far below the mark; Mrs. Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded,can suit me if you will: you puzzled me the first evening I invitedyou down here. I have almost forgotten you since: other ideas havedriven yours from my head; but to-night I am resolved to be at ease;to dismiss what importunes, and recall what pleases. It wouldplease me now to draw you out--to learn more of you--thereforespeak."

Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent orsubmissive smile either.

"Speak," he urged.

"What about, sir?"

"Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and themanner of treating it entirely to yourself."

Accordingly I sat and said nothing: "If he expects me to talk forthe mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he hasaddressed himself to the wrong person," I thought.

"You are dumb, Miss Eyre."

I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with asingle hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.

"Stubborn?" he said, "and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put myrequest in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg yourpardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you likean inferior: that is" (correcting himself), "I claim only suchsuperiority as must result from twenty years' difference in age anda century's advance in experience. This is legitimate, et j'ytiens, as Adele would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority,and this alone, that I desire you to have the goodness to talk to mea little now, and divert my thoughts, which are galled with dwellingon one point--cankering as a rusty nail."

He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not feelinsensible to his condescension, and would not seem so.

"I am willing to amuse you, if I can, sir--quite willing; but Icannot introduce a topic, because how do I know what will interestyou? Ask me questions, and I will do my best to answer them."

"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a rightto be a little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, onthe grounds I stated, namely, that I am old enough to be yourfather, and that I have battled through a varied experience withmany men of many nations, and roamed over half the globe, while youhave lived quietly with one set of people in one house?"

"Do as you please, sir."

"That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because avery evasive one. Reply clearly."

"I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely becauseyou are older than I, or because you have seen more of the worldthan I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you havemade of your time and experience."

"Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that itwould never suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to saya bad, use of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of thequestion, then, you must still agree to receive my orders now andthen, without being piqued or hurt by the tone of command. Willyou?"

I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester IS peculiar--he seemsto forget that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receiving hisorders.

"The smile is very well," said he, catching instantly the passingexpression; "but speak too."

"I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble themselvesto inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piqued andhurt by their orders."

"Paid subordinates! What! you are my paid subordinate, are you? Ohyes, I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenaryground, will you agree to let me hector a little?"

"No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did forgetit, and that you care whether or not a dependent is comfortable inhis dependency, I agree heartily."

"And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventionalforms and phrases, without thinking that the omission arises frominsolence?"

"I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insolence:one I rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, evenfor a salary."

"Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for asalary; therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture ongeneralities of which you are intensely ignorant. However, Imentally shake hands with you for your answer, despite itsinaccuracy; and as much for the manner in which it was said, as forthe substance of the speech; the manner was frank and sincere; onedoes not often see such a manner: no, on the contrary, affectation,or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension of one'smeaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not three in threethousand raw school-girl-governesses would have answered me as youhave just done. But I don't mean to flatter you: if you are castin a different mould to the majority, it is no merit of yours:Nature did it. And then, after all, I go too fast in myconclusions: for what I yet know, you may be no better than therest; you may have intolerable defects to counterbalance your fewgood points."

"And so may you," I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed mymind: he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import hadbeen spoken as well as imagined -

"Yes, yes, you are right," said he; "I have plenty of faults of myown: I know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you.God wot I need not be too severe about others; I have a pastexistence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate withinmy own breast, which might well call my sneers and censures from myneighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for like otherdefaulters, I like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adversecircumstances) was thrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right course since: but Imight have been very different; I might have been as good as you--wiser--almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, yourclean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memorywithout blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure--aninexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?"

"How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?"

"All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water hadturned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen--quite yourequal. Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre;one of the better kind, and you see I am not so. You would say youdon't see it; at least I flatter myself I read as much in your eye(beware, by-the-bye, what you express with that organ; I am quick atinterpreting its language). Then take my word for it,--I am not avillain: you are not to suppose that--not to attribute to me anysuch bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather tocircumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplacesinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which therich and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avowthis to you? Know, that in the course of your future life you willoften find yourself elected the involuntary confidant of youracquaintances' secrets: people will instinctively find out, as Ihave done, that it is not your forte to tell of yourself, but tolisten while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, thatyou listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but witha kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouragingbecause it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations."

"How do you know?--how can you guess all this, sir?"

"I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I werewriting my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have beensuperior to circumstances; so I should--so I should; but you see Iwas not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool:I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicioussimpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannotflatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confessthat he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm--God knows Ido! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorseis the poison of life."

"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir."

"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I couldreform--I have strength yet for that--if--but where is the use ofthinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, sincehappiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasureout of life: and I WILL get it, cost what it may."

"Then you will degenerate still more, sir."

"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure?And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the beegathers on the moor."

"It will sting--it will taste bitter, sir."

"How do you know?--you never tried it. How very serious--how verysolemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as thiscameo head" (taking one from the mantelpiece). "You have no rightto preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch oflife, and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries."

"I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error broughtremorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence."

"And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion thatflittered across my brain was an error. I believe it was aninspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial, verysoothing--I know that. Here it comes again! It is no devil, Iassure you; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel oflight. I think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entranceto my heart."

"Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel."

"Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend todistinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messengerfrom the eternal throne--between a guide and a seducer?"

"I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you saidthe suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work youmore misery if you listen to it."

"Not at all--it bears the most gracious message in the world: forthe rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourselfuneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!"

He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but hisown; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on hischest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being.

"Now," he continued, again addressing me, "I have received thepilgrim--a disguised deity, as I verify believe. Already it hasdone me good: my heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be ashrine."

"To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot keepup the conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only onething, I know: you said you were not as good as you should like tobe, and that you regretted your own imperfection;--one thing I cancomprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied memory was aperpetual bane. It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you wouldin time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve;and that if from this day you began with resolution to correct yourthoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a newand stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert withpleasure."

"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I ampaving hell with energy."

"Sir?"

"I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint.Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they havebeen."

"And better?"

"And better--so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. Youseem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, whatmy motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as thatof the Medes and Persians, that both are right."

"They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalisethem."

"They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute:unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules."

"That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at oncethat it is liable to abuse."

"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods notto 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 thedivine and perfect alone can be safely intrusted."

"What power?"

"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,--'Letit 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 tocontinue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides,sensible that the character of my interlocutor was beyond mypenetration; at least, beyond its present reach; and feeling theuncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies aconviction of ignorance.

"Where are you going?"

"To put Adele 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, Iam certainly not afraid."

"You ARE afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder."

"In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talknonsense."

"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I shouldmistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't troubleyourself to answer--I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh verymerrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than Iam naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to yousomewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, andrestricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and abrother--or father, or master, or what you will--to smile too gaily,speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think youwill learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to beconventional with you; and then your looks and movements will havemore vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see atintervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-setbars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; wereit but free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent ongoing?"

"It has struck nine, sir."

"Never mind,--wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet.My position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to theroom, favours observation. While talking to you, I have alsooccasionally watched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her acurious study,--reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to yousome day). She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, alittle pink silk frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it;coquetry runs in her blood, blends with her brains, and seasons themarrow of her bones. 'Il faut que je l'essaie!' cried she, 'et el'instant meme!' and she rushed out of the room. She is now withSophie, undergoing a robing process: in a few minutes she will re-enter; and I know what I shall see,--a miniature of Celine Varens,as she used to appear on the boards at the rising of-- But nevermind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about to receive ashock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it will berealised."

Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall.She entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress ofrose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as itcould be gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously worn;a wreath of rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed insilk stockings and small white satin sandals.

"Est-ce que ma robe va bien?" cried she, bounding forwards; "et messouliers? 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 himon 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 myEnglish gold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green,too, Miss Eyre,--ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshensyou now than once freshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but ithas 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 couldmanure, I have but half a liking to the blossom, especially when itlooks so artificial as just now. I keep it and rear it rather onthe Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous sins, great orsmall, by one good work. I'll explain all this some day. Good-night."