“Who talks of cadeaux?” said he gruffly.  “Did you expect a present, Miss Eyre?  Are you fond of presents?” and he searched my face with eyes that I saw were dark, irate, and piercing.

“I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them:  they are generally thought pleasant things.”

“Generally thought?  But what do you think?”

“I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answer worthy of your acceptance:  a present has many faces to it, has it not? and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion as to its nature.”

“Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele:  she demands a ‘cadeau,’ clamorously, the moment she sees me:  you beat about the bush.”

“Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adele has:  she can prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of custom; for she says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings; but if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger, and have done nothing to entitle me to an acknowledgment.”

“Oh, don’t fall back on over-modesty!  I have examined Adele, and find you have taken great pains with her:  she is not bright, she has no talents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement.”

“Sir, you have now given me my ‘cadeau;’ I am obliged to you:  it is the meed teachers most covet —­ praise of their pupils’ progress.”

“Humph!” said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in silence.

“Come to the fire,” said the master, when the tray was taken away, and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting; while Adele was leading me by the hand round the room, showing me the beautiful books and ornaments on the consoles and chiffonnieres.  We obeyed, as in duty bound; Adele wanted to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself with Pilot.

“You have been resident in my house three months?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you came from —­ ?”

“From Lowood school, in -shire.”

“Ah! a charitable concern.  How long were you there?”

“Eight years.”

“Eight years! you must be tenacious of life.  I thought half the time in such a place would have done up any constitution!  No wonder you have rather the look of another world.  I marvelled where you had got that sort of face.  When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse:  I am not sure yet.  Who are your parents?”

“I have none.”

“Nor ever had, I suppose:  do you remember them?”

“No.”

“I thought not.  And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on that stile?”

“For whom, sir?”

“For the men in green:  it was a proper moonlight evening for them.  Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on the causeway?”