Mr. Rochester did, on a future occasion, explain it. It was oernoon, when he ced to meet me and Adèle in the grounds: and while she played with Pilot and her shuttlecock, he asked me to walk up and down a long beech avehin sight of her.
He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer, e Varens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a “grande passion.” This passion e had professed to return with even superior ardour. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was: he believed, as he said, that she preferred his “taille d’athlète” to the elegance of the Apollo Belvidere.
“And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference of the Gallic sylph for her British ghat I installed her in an hotel; gave her a plete establishment of servants, a carriage, cashmeres, diamonds, dentelles, & short, I began the process of ruining myself in the received style, like any other spoony. I had not, it seems, the inality to chalk out a new road to shame aru, but trode the old track with stupid exaess not to deviate an inch from the beatere. I had—as I deserved to have—the fate of all other spoonies. Happening to call one evening when e did not expect me, I found her out; but it was a warm night, and I was tired with strolling through Paris, so I sat down in her boudoir; happy to breathe the air secrated so l……（内容加载失败！）
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