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Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by a French lady； and as I had always made a point of conversing with Madame Pierrot as often as I could； and had besides； during the last seven years； learnt a portion of French by heart daily—applying myself to take pains with my accent； and imitating as closely as possible the pronunciation of my teacher； I had acquired a certain degree of readiness and correctness in the language； and was not likely to be much at a loss with Mademoiselle Adela。 She came and shook hand with me when she heard that I was her governess； and as I led her in to breakfast； I addressed some phrases to her in her own tongue： she replied briefly at first； but after we were seated at the table； and she had examined me some ten minutes with her large hazel eyes； she suddenly menced chattering fluently。
“Ah！” cried she； in French； “you speak my language as well as Mr。 Rochester does： I can talk to you as I can to him； and so can Sophie。 She will be glad： nobody here understands her： Madame Fairfax is all English。 Sophie is my nurse； she came with me over the sea in a great ship with a chimney that smoked—how it did smoke！—and I was sick； and so was Sophie； and so was Mr。 Rochester。 Mr。 Rochester lay down on a sofa in a pretty room called the salon； and Sophie and I had little beds in another place。 I nearly fell out of mine； it was like a shelf。 And Mademoiselle—what is your name？”
“Eyre—Jane Eyre。”
“Aire？ Bah！ I canno
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