Jane Eyre

of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I had nothing to do with their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on causes quite disconnected 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 went away early, to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax informed me; but the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester did not accompany them. Soon after they were gone, he rang the bell: a message came that I and Adèle were to go down stairs. I brushed Adèle's hair and made her neat, and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to retouch – all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to admit of disarrangement – we descended; Adèle wondering whether the
petit coffre
was at length come: for owing to some mistake, its arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there it stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room. She appeared to know it by instinct.
    »Ma boîte! ma boîte!« exclaimed she, running towards it.
    »Yes – there is your ›boîte‹ at last: take it into a corner, you genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it,« 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 the anatomical process, or any notice of the condition of the entrails: let your operation be conducted in silence – tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu?«
    Adèle seemed scarcely to need the warning; she had already retired to a sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord which secured the lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted certain silvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed: –
    »Oh, Ciel! Que c'est beau!« and then remained absorbed in ecstatic contemplation.
    »Is Miss Eyre, there?« now demanded the master, half rising from his seat to look round to the door, near which I still stood.
    »Ah! well; come forward: be seated here.« He drew a chair near his own. »I am not fond of the prattle of children,« he continued; »for, old bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with their lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening
tête-à-tête
with a brat. Don't draw that chair further off, Miss Eyre; sit down exactly where I placed it – if you please, that is. Confound these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor do I particularly affect simple-minded old ladies. By-the-by, I must have in mine; it won't do to neglect her: she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is said to be thicker than water.«
    He rang and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon arrived, knitting-basket in hand.
    »Good-evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose: I have forbidden Adèle to talk to me about her presents, and she is bursting with repletion; have the goodness to serve her as auditress and interlocutrice: it will be one of the most benevolent acts you ever performed.«
    Adèle, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to her sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the waxen contents of her ›boîte‹; pouring out, meantime, explanations and raptures in such broken English as she was mistress of.
    »Now I have performed the part of a good host,« pursued Mr. Rochester, »put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I ought to be at liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a little further forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see you without disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have no mind to do.«
    I did as I was bid; though I would much rather have remained somewhat in the shade: but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of giving orders, it seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.
    We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which had been lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light; the large fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and ample before the lofty window and loftier arch: everything was still, save the subdued chat of Adèle (she dared not speak loud), and, filling up each pause, the beating of winter rain against the panes.
    Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to what I had seen