ied she, bounding forwards; 'et mes souliers? 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 him on 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 cella," 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.'