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Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, CHAPTER XXXVII-a

CHAPTER XXXVII-a

The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood. I had heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often spoke of it, and sometimes went there. His father had purchased the estate for the sake of the game covers. He would have let the house, but could find no tenant, in consequence of its ineligible and insalubrious site. Ferndean then remained uninhabited and unfurnished, with the exception of some two or three rooms fitted up for the accommodation of the squire when he went there in the season to shoot. To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetrating rain. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise and driver with the double remuneration I had promised. Even when within a very short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing of it, so thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Iron gates between granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing through them, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees. There was a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle between hoar and knotty shafts and under branched arches. I followed it, expecting soon to reach the dwelling; but it stretched on and on, it would far and farther: no sign of habitation or grounds was visible. I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way.

The darkness of natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. I looked round in search of another road. There was none: all was interwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense summer foliage—no opening anywhere. I proceeded: at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little; presently I beheld a railing, then the house—scarce, by this dim light, distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green were its decaying walls. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch, I stood amidst a space of enclosed ground, from which the wood swept away in a semicircle. There were no flowers, no garden-beds; only a broad gravel-walk girdling a grass-plat, and this set in the heavy frame of the forest. The house presented two pointed gables in its front; the windows were latticed and narrow: the front door was narrow too, one step led up to it. The whole looked, as the host of the Rochester Arms had said, “quite a desolate spot.” It was as still as a church on a week-day: the pattering rain on the forest leaves was the only sound audible in its vicinage. “Can there be life here?” I asked.

Yes, life of some kind there was; for I heard a movement—that narrow front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issue from the grange. It opened slowly: a figure came out into the twilight and stood on the step; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand as if to feel whether it rained. Dusk as it was, I had recognised him—it was my master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other. I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him—to examine him, myself unseen, and alas! to him invisible. It was a sudden meeting, and one in which rapture was kept well in check by pain. I had no difficulty in restraining my voice from exclamation, my step from hasty advance. His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever: his port was still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were his features altered or sunk: not in one year's space, by any sorrow, could his athletic strength be quelled or his vigorous prime blighted. But in his countenance I saw a change: that looked desperate and brooding—that reminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to approach in his sullen woe. The caged eagle, whose gold-ringed eyes cruelty has extinguished, might look as looked that sightless Samson. And, reader, do you think I feared him in his blind ferocity?—if you do, you little know me. A soft hope blest with my sorrow that soon I should dare to drop a kiss on that brow of rock, and on those lips so sternly sealed beneath it: but not yet. I would not accost him yet. He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towards the grass-plat. Where was his daring stride now? Then he paused, as if he knew not which way to turn. He lifted his hand and opened his eyelids; gazed blank, and with a straining effort, on the sky, and toward the amphitheatre of trees: one saw that all to him was void darkness. He stretched his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hidden in his bosom); he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what lay around him: he met but vacancy still; for the trees were some yards off where he stood. He relinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, and stood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head. At this moment John approached him from some quarter. “Will you take my arm, sir?” he said; “there is a heavy shower coming on: had you not better go in?”

“Let me alone,” was the answer.

John withdrew without having observed me.

Mr. Rochester now tried to walk about: vainly,—all was too uncertain. He groped his way back to the house, and, re-entering it, closed the door. I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me. “Mary,” I said, “how are you?” She started as if she had seen a ghost: I calmed her.

To her hurried “Is it really you, miss, come at this late hour to this lonely place?” I answered by taking her hand; and then I followed her into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire. I explained to them, in few words, that I had heard all which had happened since I left Thornfield, and that I was come to see Mr. Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turn-pike-house, where I had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk, which I had left there: and then, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, I questioned Mary as to whether I could be accommodated at the Manor House for the night; and finding that arrangements to that effect, though difficult, would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay. Just at this moment the parlour-bell rang. “When you go in,” said I, “tell your master that a person wishes to speak to him, but do not give my name.” “I don't think he will see you,” she answered; “he refuses everybody.” When she returned, I inquired what he had said.

“You are to send in your name and your business,” she replied. She then proceeded to fill a glass with water, and place it on a tray, together with candles. “Is that what he rang for?” I asked.

“Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is blind.” “Give the tray to me; I will carry it in.”

I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. The tray shook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heart struck my ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me, and shut it behind me. This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of the room. His old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out of the way, and coiled up as if afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon. Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in: then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. I set it on the table; then patted him, and said softly, “Lie down!” Mr. Rochester turned mechanically to see what the commotion was: but as he saw nothing, he returned and sighed. “Give me the water, Mary,” he said.

I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followed me, still excited. “What is the matter?” he inquired.

“Down, Pilot!” I again said.

He checked the water on its way to his lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. “This is you, Mary, is it not?” “Mary is in the kitchen,” I answered.

He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me.

“Who is this? Who is this?” he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to see with those sightless eyes—unavailing and distressing attempt! “Answer me—speak again!” he ordered, imperiously and aloud. “Will you have a little more water, sir?

I spilt half of what was in the glass,” I said. “ Who is it? What is it? Who speaks?” “Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here.

I came only this evening,” I answered. “Great God!—what delusion has come over me?

What sweet madness has seized me?” “No delusion—no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, your health too sound for frenzy.” “And where is the speaker?

Is it only a voice? Oh! I cannot see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst. Whatever—whoever you are—be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!” He groped; I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in both mine. “Her very fingers!” he cried; “her small, slight fingers! If so there must be more of her.” The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, my shoulder—neck—waist—I was entwined and gathered to him.

“Is it Jane?

What is it? This is her shape—this is her size—” “And this her voice,” I added.

“She is all here: her heart, too. God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again.” “Jane Eyre!—Jane Eyre,” was all he said.

“My dear master,” I answered, “I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out—I am come back to you.” “In truth?—in the flesh?

My living Jane?” “You touch me, sir,—you hold me, and fast enough: I am not cold like a corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?” “My living darling!

These are certainly her limbs, and these her features; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. It is a dream; such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus—and felt that she loved me, and trusted that she would not leave me.” “Which I never will, sir, from this day.”

“Never will, says the vision?

But I always woke and found it an empty mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned—my life dark, lonely, hopeless—my soul athirst and forbidden to drink—my heart famished and never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before you go—embrace me, Jane.” “There, sir—and there!”'

I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes—I swept his hair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenly seemed to arouse himself: the conviction of the reality of all this seized him. “It is you—is it, Jane?

You are come back to me then?” “I am.”

“And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? And you are not a pining outcast amongst strangers?” “No, sir!

I am an independent woman now.” “Independent!

What do you mean, Jane?” “My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds.” “Ah!

this is practical—this is real!” he cried: “I should never dream that. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers, so animating and piquant, as well as soft: it cheers my withered heart; it puts life into it.—What, Janet! Are you an independent woman? A rich woman?” “If you won't let me live with you, I can build a house of my own close up to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour when you want company of an evening.” “But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will look after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lameter like me?” “I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own mistress.”

“And you will stay with me?”

“Certainly—unless you object.

I will be your neighbour, your nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your companion—to read to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait on you, to be eyes and hands to you. Cease to look so melancholy, my dear master; you shall not be left desolate, so long as I live.” He replied not: he seemed serious—abstracted; he sighed; he half-opened his lips as if to speak: he closed them again. I felt a little embarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped conventionalities; and he, like St. John, saw impropriety in my inconsiderateness. I had indeed made my proposal from the idea that he wished and would ask me to be his wife: an expectation, not the less certain because unexpressed, had buoyed me up, that he would claim me at once as his own. But no hint to that effect escaping him and his countenance becoming more overcast, I suddenly remembered that I might have been all wrong, and was perhaps playing the fool unwittingly; and I began gently to withdraw myself from his arms—but he eagerly snatched me closer. “No—no—Jane; you must not go.

No—I have touched you, heard you, felt the comfort of your presence—the sweetness of your consolation: I cannot give up these joys. I have little left in myself—I must have you. The world may laugh—may call me absurd, selfish—but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.” “Well, sir, I will stay with you: I have said so.” “Yes—but you understand one thing by staying with me; and I understand another. You, perhaps, could make up your mind to be about my hand and chair—to wait on me as a kind little nurse (for you have an affectionate heart and a generous spirit, which prompt you to make sacrifices for those you pity), and that ought to suffice for me no doubt. I suppose I should now entertain none but fatherly feelings for you: do you think so? Come—tell me.” “I will think what you like, sir: I am content to be only your nurse, if you think it better.” “But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet: you are young—you must marry one day.” “I don't care about being married.”

“You should care, Janet: if I were what I once was, I would try to make you care—but—a sightless block!” He relapsed again into gloom.

I, on the contrary, became more cheerful, and took fresh courage: these last words gave me an insight as to where the difficulty lay; and as it was no difficulty with me, I felt quite relieved from my previous embarrassment. I resumed a livelier vein of conversation. “It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you,” said I, parting his thick and long uncut locks; “for I see you are being metamorphosed into a lion, or something of that sort. You have a ‘faux air' of Nebuchadnezzar in the fields about you, that is certain: your hair reminds me of eagles' feathers; whether your nails are grown like birds' claws or not, I have not yet noticed.” “On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails,” he said, drawing the mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. “It is a mere stump—a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?” “It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes—and the scar of fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger of loving you too well for all this; and making too much of you.” “I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my cicatrised visage.” “Did you?

Don't tell me so—lest I should say something disparaging to your judgment. Now, let me leave you an instant, to make a better fire, and have the hearth swept up. Can you tell when there is a good fire?” “Yes; with the right eye I see a glow—a ruddy haze.” “And you see the candles?”

“Very dimly—each is a luminous cloud.”

“Can you see me?”

“No, my fairy: but I am only too thankful to hear and feel you.” “When do you take supper?”

“I never take supper.”

“But you shall have some to-night.

I am hungry: so are you, I daresay, only you forget.” Summoning Mary, I soon had the room in more cheerful order: I prepared him, likewise, a comfortable repast. My spirits were excited, and with pleasure and ease I talked to him during supper, and for a long time after. There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Delightful consciousness! It brought to life and light my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine. Blind as he was, smiles played over his face, joy dawned on his forehead: his lineaments softened and warmed. After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I had been, what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gave him only very partial replies: it was too late to enter into particulars that night. Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrilling chord—to open no fresh well of emotion in his heart: my sole present aim was to cheer him. Cheered, as I have said, he was: and yet but by fits. If a moment's silence broke the conversation, he would turn restless, touch me, then say, “Jane.” “You are altogether a human being, Jane?

You are certain of that?” “I conscientiously believe so, Mr. Rochester.”

“Yet how, on this dark and doleful evening, could you so suddenly rise on my lone hearth?

I stretched my hand to take a glass of water from a hireling, and it was given me by you: I asked a question, expecting John's wife to answer me, and your voice spoke at my ear.” “Because I had come in, in Mary's stead, with the tray.” “And there is enchantment in the very hour I am now spending with you. Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have dragged on for months past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging night in day; feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire go out, of hunger when I forgot to eat: and then a ceaseless sorrow, and, at times, a very delirium of desire to behold my Jane again. Yes: for her restoration I longed, far more than for that of my lost sight. How can it be that Jane is with me, and says she loves me? Will she not depart as suddenly as she came? To-morrow, I fear I shall find her no more.” A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his own disturbed ideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring for him in this frame of mind. I passed my finger over his eyebrows, and remarked that they were scorched, and that I would apply something which would make them grow as broad and black as ever. “Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent spirit, when, at some fatal moment, you will again desert me—passing like a shadow, whither and how to me unknown, and for me remaining afterwards undiscoverable? “Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?”

“What for, Jane?”

“Just to comb out this shaggy black mane.

I find you rather alarming, when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my being a fairy, but I am sure, you are more like a brownie.” “Am I hideous, Jane?”

“Very, sir: you always were, you know.”

“Humph!

The wickedness has not been taken out of you, wherever you have sojourned.” “Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundred times better people; possessed of ideas and views you never entertained in your life: quite more refined and exalted.” “Who the deuce have you been with?”

“If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out of your head; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts of my substantiality.” “Who have you been with, Jane?”

“You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait till to-morrow; to leave my tale half told, will, you know, be a sort of security that I shall appear at your breakfast table to finish it. By the bye, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with only a glass of water then: I must bring an egg at the least, to say nothing of fried ham.” “You mocking changeling—fairy-born and human-bred! You make me feel as I have not felt these twelve months. If Saul could have had you for his David, the evil spirit would have been exorcised without the aid of the harp.” “There, sir, you are redd up and made decent.

Now I'll leave you: I have been travelling these last three days, and I believe I am tired. Good night.” “Just one word, Jane: were there only ladies in the house where you have been?” I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran upstairs. “A good idea!” I thought with glee. “I see I have the means of fretting him out of his melancholy for some time to come.”

CHAPTER XXXVII-a CAPÍTULO XXXVII-a CAPÍTULO XXXVII-a BÖLÜM XXXVII-a

The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity, moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood. Le manoir de Ferndean était un bâtiment d'une antiquité considérable, de taille moyenne, sans prétention architecturale, profondément enfoui dans un bois. I had heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often spoke of it, and sometimes went there. His father had purchased the estate for the sake of the game covers. Son père avait acheté le domaine pour les couvertures du jeu. He would have let the house, but could find no tenant, in consequence of its ineligible and insalubrious site. Il aurait loué la maison, mais n'a pu trouver aucun locataire, en raison de son emplacement inéligible et insalubre. Ferndean then remained uninhabited and unfurnished, with the exception of some two or three rooms fitted up for the accommodation of the squire when he went there in the season to shoot. Ferndean est alors resté inhabité et non meublé, à l'exception de deux ou trois pièces aménagées pour l'hébergement du squire lorsqu'il s'y rendait en saison pour tirer. To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetrating rain. To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetrating rain. Dans cette maison, je suis arrivé juste avant la tombée de la nuit par une soirée marquée par les caractéristiques d'un ciel triste, d'un vent froid et d'une petite pluie continue. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise and driver with the double remuneration I had promised. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise and driver with the double remuneration I had promised. Even when within a very short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing of it, so thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Even when within a very short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing of it, so thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Même à une distance très courte du manoir, on ne pouvait rien voir de lui, si épais et si sombre poussait le bois du bois sombre autour de lui. Iron gates between granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing through them, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees. Iron gates between granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing through them, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees. Des portes de fer entre des piliers de granit m'indiquèrent par où entrer, et en les traversant, je me retrouvai aussitôt dans le crépuscule des arbres serrés. There was a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle between hoar and knotty shafts and under branched arches. There was a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle between hoar and knotty shafts and under branched arches. Il y avait une piste herbeuse descendant l'allée de la forêt entre des arbres givrés et noueux et sous des arcs ramifiés. I followed it, expecting soon to reach the dwelling; but it stretched on and on, it would far and farther: no sign of habitation or grounds was visible. I followed it, expecting soon to reach the dwelling; but it stretched on and on, it would far and farther: no sign of habitation or grounds was visible. Je le suivis, espérant atteindre bientôt la demeure; mais il s'étirait encore et encore, il allait de plus en plus loin: aucun signe d'habitation ou de terrain n'était visible. I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way.

The darkness of natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. Les ténèbres du crépuscule naturel et sylvestre m'ont envahi. I looked round in search of another road. There was none: all was interwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense summer foliage—no opening anywhere. There was none: all was interwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense summer foliage—no opening anywhere. Il n'y en avait pas: tout était tige entrelacée, tronc colonnaire, feuillage d'été dense - aucune ouverture nulle part. I proceeded: at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little; presently I beheld a railing, then the house—scarce, by this dim light, distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green were its decaying walls. Je continuai: enfin mon chemin s'ouvrit, les arbres s'éclaircirent un peu; bientôt je vis une balustrade, puis la maison - rare, à cette faible lumière, distincte des arbres; si humides et verts étaient ses murs pourris. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch, I stood amidst a space of enclosed ground, from which the wood swept away in a semicircle. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch, I stood amidst a space of enclosed ground, from which the wood swept away in a semicircle. En entrant dans un portail, fixé seulement par un loquet, je me tenais au milieu d'un espace de terrain clos, d'où le bois balayait en demi-cercle. There were no flowers, no garden-beds; only a broad gravel-walk girdling a grass-plat, and this set in the heavy frame of the forest. There were no flowers, no garden-beds; only a broad gravel-walk girdling a grass-plat, and this set in the heavy frame of the forest. Il n'y avait ni fleurs, ni parterres; seulement une large allée de gravier ceignant un plateau herbeux, et ce dans le lourd cadre de la forêt. The house presented two pointed gables in its front; the windows were latticed and narrow: the front door was narrow too, one step led up to it. The house presented two pointed gables in its front; the windows were latticed and narrow: the front door was narrow too, one step led up to it. La maison présentait deux pignons pointus en façade ; les fenêtres étaient grillagées et étroites ; la porte d'entrée était également étroite, une marche y menait. The whole looked, as the host of the Rochester Arms had said, “quite a desolate spot.”  It was as still as a church on a week-day: the pattering rain on the forest leaves was the only sound audible in its vicinage. The whole looked, as the host of the Rochester Arms had said, “quite a desolate spot.” It was as still as a church on a week-day: the pattering rain on the forest leaves was the only sound audible in its vicinage. L'ensemble avait l'air, comme l'avait dit l'hôte des Rochester Arms, «un endroit assez désolé». C'était aussi immobile qu'une église un jour de semaine: la pluie crépitante sur les feuilles de la forêt était le seul son audible dans son voisinage. “Can there be life here?” I asked. "Peut-il y avoir de la vie ici ? ai-je demandé.

Yes, life of some kind there was; for I heard a movement—that narrow front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issue from the grange. Yes, life of some kind there was; for I heard a movement—that narrow front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issue from the grange. Oui, il y avait une sorte de vie; car j'entendis un mouvement - cette porte d'entrée étroite se fermait, et une forme était sur le point de sortir de la grange. It opened slowly: a figure came out into the twilight and stood on the step; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand as if to feel whether it rained. It opened slowly: a figure came out into the twilight and stood on the step; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand as if to feel whether it rained. Il s'ouvrit lentement: une silhouette sortit dans le crépuscule et se tint sur la marche; un homme sans chapeau: il étendit la main comme pour sentir s'il pleuvait. Dusk as it was, I had recognised him—it was my master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other. Dusk as it was, I had recognised him—it was my master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other. I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him—to examine him, myself unseen, and alas! I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him—to examine him, myself unseen, and alas! Je suis resté mon pas, presque mon souffle, et me suis levé pour le regarder - pour l'examiner, moi-même invisible, et hélas! to him invisible. It was a sudden meeting, and one in which rapture was kept well in check by pain. Ce fut une rencontre soudaine, et une dans laquelle le ravissement était bien maîtrisé par la douleur. I had no difficulty in restraining my voice from exclamation, my step from hasty advance. I had no difficulty in restraining my voice from exclamation, my step from hasty advance. Je n'avais aucune difficulté à retenir ma voix d'exclamation, mon pas d'avance précipitée. His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever: his port was still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were his features altered or sunk: not in one year’s space, by any sorrow, could his athletic strength be quelled or his vigorous prime blighted. Sa forme était du même contour fort et vigoureux que jamais: son port était toujours dressé, ses cheveux étaient encore noirs de corbeau; ses traits ne furent ni altérés ni affaiblis: pas dans l'espace d'un an, par aucun chagrin, sa force athlétique ne pouvait être étouffée ou sa vigueur vigoureuse altérée. But in his countenance I saw a change: that looked desperate and brooding—that reminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to approach in his sullen woe. Mais dans sa physionomie, j'ai vu un changement: cela semblait désespéré et maussade - cela me rappelait une bête ou un oiseau sauvage lésé et enchaîné, dangereux à approcher dans son malheur maussade. The caged eagle, whose gold-ringed eyes cruelty has extinguished, might look as looked that sightless Samson. L'aigle en cage, dont la cruauté aux yeux annelés d'or s'est éteinte, pourrait ressembler à ce Samson aveugle. And, reader, do you think I feared him in his blind ferocity?—if you do, you little know me. A soft hope blest with my sorrow that soon I should dare to drop a kiss on that brow of rock, and on those lips so sternly sealed beneath it: but not yet. Un doux espoir béni de ma douleur que j'ose bientôt oser déposer un baiser sur ce front de roche et sur ces lèvres si sévèrement scellées en dessous: mais pas encore. I would not accost him yet. He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towards the grass-plat. Il descendit d'un pas et s'avança lentement et à tâtons vers le plateau herbeux. Where was his daring stride now? Où était sa foulée audacieuse maintenant? Then he paused, as if he knew not which way to turn. Puis il s'arrêta, comme s'il ne savait pas de quel côté se tourner. He lifted his hand and opened his eyelids; gazed blank, and with a straining effort, on the sky, and toward the amphitheatre of trees: one saw that all to him was void darkness. Il leva la main et ouvrit ses paupières; regarda le ciel et vers l'amphithéâtre des arbres avec un effort intense: on vit que tout pour lui n'était que ténèbres vides. He stretched his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hidden in his bosom); he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what lay around him: he met but vacancy still; for the trees were some yards off where he stood. Il étendit sa main droite (le bras gauche, le mutilé, il se cachait dans sa poitrine); il semblait vouloir par le toucher se faire une idée de ce qui l'entourait: il se rencontrait, mais la vacance encore; car les arbres étaient à quelques mètres de là où il se tenait. He relinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, and stood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head. Il abandonna l'effort, croisa les bras et resta silencieux et muet sous la pluie, tombant maintenant rapidement sur sa tête découverte. At this moment John approached him from some quarter. En ce moment, John s'approcha de lui depuis quelque part. “Will you take my arm, sir?” he said; “there is a heavy shower coming on: had you not better go in?” “Will you take my arm, sir?” he said; “there is a heavy shower coming on: had you not better go in?” «Voulez-vous prendre mon bras, monsieur? il a dit; «Il y a une forte averse qui arrive: ne feriez-vous pas mieux d'entrer?»

“Let me alone,” was the answer.

John withdrew without having observed me. John s'est retiré sans m'avoir observé.

Mr. Rochester now tried to walk about: vainly,—all was too uncertain. M. Rochester essaya alors de se promener : en vain, tout était trop incertain. He groped his way back to the house, and, re-entering it, closed the door. Il retourna à la maison à tâtons et, y pénétrant de nouveau, ferma la porte. I now drew near and knocked: John’s wife opened for me. Je m'approchai et frappai : La femme de Jean m'ouvrit. “Mary,” I said, “how are you?” She started as if she had seen a ghost: I calmed her.

To her hurried “Is it really you, miss, come at this late hour to this lonely place?”  I answered by taking her hand; and then I followed her into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire. To her hurried “Is it really you, miss, come at this late hour to this lonely place?” I answered by taking her hand; and then I followed her into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire. I explained to them, in few words, that I had heard all which had happened since I left Thornfield, and that I was come to see Mr. Rochester. I explained to them, in few words, that I had heard all which had happened since I left Thornfield, and that I was come to see Mr. Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turn-pike-house, where I had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk, which I had left there: and then, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, I questioned Mary as to whether I could be accommodated at the Manor House for the night; and finding that arrangements to that effect, though difficult, would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay. J'ai demandé à John de descendre à la maison du tournant, où j'avais laissé la chaise, et d'apporter ma malle, que j'avais laissée là ; puis, pendant que j'enlevais mon bonnet et mon châle, j'ai demandé à Mary si je pouvais être logée au manoir pour la nuit ; et, constatant que les arrangements à cet effet, bien que difficiles, ne seraient pas impossibles, je l'ai informée que je devais rester. Just at this moment the parlour-bell rang. “When you go in,” said I, “tell your master that a person wishes to speak to him, but do not give my name.” “I don’t think he will see you,” she answered; “he refuses everybody.” When she returned, I inquired what he had said.

“You are to send in your name and your business,” she replied. "Vous devez envoyer votre nom et votre entreprise", a-t-elle répondu. She then proceeded to fill a glass with water, and place it on a tray, together with candles. “Is that what he rang for?” I asked.

“Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is blind.” “Give the tray to me; I will carry it in.”

I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. The tray shook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heart struck my ribs loud and fast. Le plateau a tremblé pendant que je le tenais; l'eau renversée du verre; mon cœur a frappé mes côtes haut et fort. Mary opened the door for me, and shut it behind me. This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of the room. This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against the high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of the room. His old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out of the way, and coiled up as if afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon. Son vieux chien, Pilot, gisait sur le côté, écarté du chemin et enroulé comme s'il craignait d'être piétiné par inadvertance. Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in: then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in: then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. Le pilote a dressé ses oreilles quand je suis entré: puis il a sauté avec un cri et un gémissement, et a bondi vers moi: il a failli me faire tomber le plateau des mains. I set it on the table; then patted him, and said softly, “Lie down!”  Mr. Rochester turned mechanically to see what the commotion was: but as he saw nothing, he returned and sighed. I set it on the table; then patted him, and said softly, “Lie down!” Mr. Rochester turned mechanically to see what the commotion was: but as he saw nothing, he returned and sighed. Je l'ai mis sur la table; puis lui a tapoté et a dit doucement: «Allongez-vous! M. Rochester se retourna mécaniquement pour voir quelle était l'agitation: mais comme il ne voyait rien, il revint et soupira. “Give me the water, Mary,” he said.

I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followed me, still excited. I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followed me, still excited. “What is the matter?” he inquired.

“Down, Pilot!” I again said.

He checked the water on its way to his lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. Il vérifia l'eau qui arrivait à ses lèvres et sembla écouter: il but et reposa le verre. “This is you, Mary, is it not?” “Mary is in the kitchen,” I answered.

He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. Il a tendu la main d'un geste rapide, mais ne voyant pas où je me tenais, il ne m'a pas touché.

“Who is this? Who is this?” he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to see with those sightless eyes—unavailing and distressing attempt! Qui est-ce?" demanda-t-il, essayant, comme il semblait, de voir avec ces yeux aveugles - tentative inutile et pénible! “Answer me—speak again!” he ordered, imperiously and aloud. “Will you have a little more water, sir?

I spilt half of what was in the glass,” I said. “ Who is it? What is it? Who speaks?” “Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here.

I came only this evening,” I answered. “Great God!—what delusion has come over me? «Grand Dieu! Quelle illusion m'est venue?

What sweet madness has seized me?” Quelle douce folie m'a saisi? “No delusion—no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, your health too sound for frenzy.” «Pas d'illusion - pas de folie: votre esprit, monsieur, est trop fort pour l'illusion, votre santé trop saine pour la frénésie. “And where is the speaker?

Is it only a voice? Oh! I cannot see, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst. Je ne peux pas voir, mais je dois sentir, sinon mon cœur s'arrêtera et mon cerveau éclatera. Whatever—whoever you are—be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!” Peu importe - qui que vous soyez - soyez perceptible au toucher ou je ne peux pas vivre! He groped; I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in both mine. Il tâtonna; J'ai arrêté sa main errante et l'ai emprisonnée dans les deux miennes. “Her very fingers!” he cried; “her small, slight fingers! «Ses doigts mêmes! il pleure; «Ses petits doigts légers! If so there must be more of her.” Si c'est le cas, il doit y avoir plus d'elle. The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, my shoulder—neck—waist—I was entwined and gathered to him. La main musclée s'est détachée de ma garde; mon bras était saisi, mon épaule - le cou - la taille - j'étais enlacé et serré contre lui.

“Is it Jane?

What is it? This is her shape—this is her size—” C'est sa forme - c'est sa taille - " “And this her voice,” I added.

“She is all here: her heart, too. God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again.” “Jane Eyre!—Jane Eyre,” was all he said.

“My dear master,” I answered, “I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out—I am come back to you.” «Mon cher maître, répondis-je, je suis Jane Eyre: je vous ai découvert, je suis revenu vers vous. “In truth?—in the flesh? «En vérité? - dans la chair?

My living Jane?” “You touch me, sir,—you hold me, and fast enough: I am not cold like a corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?” «Vous me touchez, monsieur, vous me tenez, et assez vite: je n'ai pas froid comme un cadavre, ni vide comme l'air, n'est-ce pas? “My living darling!

These are certainly her limbs, and these her features; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. Ce sont certainement ses membres et ce sont ses traits; mais je ne peux pas être aussi béni, après toute ma misère. It is a dream; such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus—and felt that she loved me, and trusted that she would not leave me.” C'est un rêve; tels rêves que j'ai eu la nuit quand je l'ai serrée une fois de plus contre mon cœur, comme je le fais maintenant; et je l'ai embrassée, comme ainsi - et a senti qu'elle m'aimait, et elle avait confiance qu'elle ne me quitterait pas. “Which I never will, sir, from this day.” "Ce que je ne ferai jamais, monsieur, à partir de ce jour."

“Never will, says the vision? «Jamais, dit la vision?

But I always woke and found it an empty mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned—my life dark, lonely, hopeless—my soul athirst and forbidden to drink—my heart famished and never to be fed. Mais je me suis toujours réveillé et j'ai trouvé que c'était une moquerie vide; et j'étais désolé et abandonné - ma vie sombre, solitaire, sans espoir - mon âme avait soif et interdiction de boire - mon cœur affamé et ne jamais être nourri. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before you go—embrace me, Jane.” Doux, doux rêve, blotti dans mes bras maintenant, tu volera aussi, comme tes sœurs ont toutes fui devant toi: mais embrasse-moi avant de partir - embrasse-moi, Jane. “There, sir—and there!”'

I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes—I swept his hair from his brow, and kissed that too. J'ai pressé mes lèvres sur ses yeux autrefois brillants et maintenant sans rayons - j'ai balayé ses cheveux de son front et l'ai embrassé aussi. He suddenly seemed to arouse himself: the conviction of the reality of all this seized him. “It is you—is it, Jane?

You are come back to me then?” “I am.”

“And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? «Et vous n'êtes pas mort dans un fossé sous un ruisseau? And you are not a pining outcast amongst strangers?” Et vous n’êtes pas un paria parmi les étrangers? “No, sir!

I am an independent woman now.” “Independent!

What do you mean, Jane?” “My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds.” “Ah!

this is practical—this is real!” he cried: “I should never dream that. c'est pratique - c'est réel! " il a pleuré: «Je ne devrais jamais rêver cela. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers, so animating and piquant, as well as soft: it cheers my withered heart; it puts life into it.—What, Janet! D'ailleurs, il y a sa voix particulière, si animée et piquante, aussi bien que douce: elle réjouit mon cœur desséché; ça y met la vie. - Quoi, Janet! Are you an independent woman? A rich woman?” “If you won’t let me live with you, I can build a house of my own close up to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour when you want company of an evening.” «Si vous ne me laissez pas vivre avec vous, je peux construire ma propre maison près de votre porte, et vous pouvez venir vous asseoir dans mon salon quand vous voulez compagnie d'un soir. “But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will look after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lameter like me?” «Mais comme vous êtes riche, Jane, vous avez maintenant, sans aucun doute, des amis qui prendront soin de vous et ne vous laisseront pas vous adonner à un aveugle comme moi? “I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own mistress.”

“And you will stay with me?”

“Certainly—unless you object.

I will be your neighbour, your nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your companion—to read to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait on you, to be eyes and hands to you. Cease to look so melancholy, my dear master; you shall not be left desolate, so long as I live.” He replied not: he seemed serious—abstracted; he sighed; he half-opened his lips as if to speak: he closed them again. I felt a little embarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped conventionalities; and he, like St. Peut-être avais-je trop imprudemment dépassé les conventions; et lui, comme St. John, saw impropriety in my inconsiderateness. John, a vu l'inconvenance dans mon manque de considération. I had indeed made my proposal from the idea that he wished and would ask me to be his wife: an expectation, not the less certain because unexpressed, had buoyed me up, that he would claim me at once as his own. J'avais en effet fait ma proposition à partir de l'idée qu'il voulait et me demanderait d'être sa femme: une attente, non moins certaine car inexprimée, m'avait soutenu, qu'il me revendiquerait aussitôt comme sienne. But no hint to that effect escaping him and his countenance becoming more overcast, I suddenly remembered that I might have been all wrong, and was perhaps playing the fool unwittingly; and I began gently to withdraw myself from his arms—but he eagerly snatched me closer. Mais aucune allusion à cet effet ne lui échappant et son visage devenant plus sombre, je me suis soudainement souvenu que j'avais peut-être tout faux, et que je jouais peut-être le fou sans le savoir; et je commençai doucement à me retirer de ses bras - mais il m'attrapa avec empressement. “No—no—Jane; you must not go.

No—I have touched you, heard you, felt the comfort of your presence—the sweetness of your consolation: I cannot give up these joys. I have little left in myself—I must have you. Il me reste peu de chose en moi - je dois vous avoir. The world may laugh—may call me absurd, selfish—but it does not signify. Le monde peut rire - peut m'appeler absurde, égoïste - mais cela ne signifie pas. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.” Mon âme même vous demande: elle sera satisfaite, ou elle prendra une vengeance mortelle sur son cadre. “Well, sir, I will stay with you: I have said so.” “Yes—but you understand one thing by staying with me; and I understand another. You, perhaps, could make up your mind to be about my hand and chair—to wait on me as a kind little nurse (for you have an affectionate heart and a generous spirit, which prompt you to make sacrifices for those you pity), and that ought to suffice for me no doubt. Vous pourriez peut-être vous décider à vous occuper de ma main et de ma chaise - de m'attendre comme une bonne petite infirmière (car vous avez un cœur affectueux et un esprit généreux, qui vous poussent à faire des sacrifices pour ceux que vous avez pitié), et cela devrait me suffire sans doute. I suppose I should now entertain none but fatherly feelings for you: do you think so? Je suppose que je ne devrais maintenant entretenir que des sentiments paternels pour vous: le pensez-vous? Come—tell me.” “I will think what you like, sir: I am content to be only your nurse, if you think it better.” «Je penserai ce que vous voudrez, monsieur: je me contente de n'être que votre infirmière, si vous pensez que c'est mieux. “But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet: you are young—you must marry one day.” “I don’t care about being married.”

“You should care, Janet: if I were what I once was, I would try to make you care—but—a sightless block!” «Tu devrais t'inquiéter, Janet: si j'étais ce que j'étais autrefois, j'essaierais de te faire t'inquiéter - mais - un bloc aveugle! He relapsed again into gloom. Il retomba dans l'obscurité.

I, on the contrary, became more cheerful, and took fresh courage: these last words gave me an insight as to where the difficulty lay; and as it was no difficulty with me, I felt quite relieved from my previous embarrassment. Moi, au contraire, je suis devenu plus gai et j'ai repris courage: ces derniers mots m'ont donné une idée de l'endroit où se trouvait la difficulté; et comme ce n'était pas un problème avec moi, je me sentais tout à fait soulagée de mon embarras antérieur. I resumed a livelier vein of conversation. J'ai repris une veine de conversation plus animée. “It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you,” said I, parting his thick and long uncut locks; “for I see you are being metamorphosed into a lion, or something of that sort. «Il est temps que quelqu'un entreprenne de vous réhumaniser», dis-je en écartant ses longues et épaisses mèches non coupées; «Car je vois que vous êtes métamorphosé en lion, ou quelque chose de ce genre. You have a ‘faux air' of Nebuchadnezzar in the fields about you, that is certain: your hair reminds me of eagles' feathers; whether your nails are grown like birds' claws or not, I have not yet noticed.” Vous avez un «faux air» de Nabuchodonosor dans les champs autour de vous, c'est certain: vos cheveux me rappellent les plumes d'aigles; si vos ongles poussent comme des griffes d'oiseaux ou non, je ne l'ai pas encore remarqué. “On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails,” he said, drawing the mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. «Sur ce bras, je n'ai ni main ni clous», dit-il en tirant de sa poitrine le membre mutilé et en me le montrant. “It is a mere stump—a ghastly sight! «C'est une simple souche - un spectacle horrible! Don’t you think so, Jane?” “It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes—and the scar of fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger of loving you too well for all this; and making too much of you.” «C'est dommage de le voir; et dommage de voir vos yeux - et la cicatrice de feu sur votre front: et le pire, c'est que l'on risque de trop vous aimer pour tout cela; et faire trop de toi. “I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my cicatrised visage.” “Did you?

Don’t tell me so—lest I should say something disparaging to your judgment. Ne me le dites pas, de peur que je ne dise quelque chose de désobligeant à votre avis. Now, let me leave you an instant, to make a better fire, and have the hearth swept up. Maintenant, laissez-moi vous laisser un instant, pour faire un meilleur feu, et faire balayer le foyer. Can you tell when there is a good fire?” Pouvez-vous dire quand il y a un bon feu? “Yes; with the right eye I see a glow—a ruddy haze.” "Oui; avec l'œil droit, je vois une lueur - une brume rougeâtre. “And you see the candles?”

“Very dimly—each is a luminous cloud.”

“Can you see me?”

“No, my fairy: but I am only too thankful to hear and feel you.” “When do you take supper?”

“I never take supper.”

“But you shall have some to-night.

I am hungry: so are you, I daresay, only you forget.” J'ai faim : vous aussi, j'ose le dire, mais vous l'oubliez". Summoning Mary, I soon had the room in more cheerful order: I prepared him, likewise, a comfortable repast. En convoquant Mary, je fis bientôt la chambre dans un ordre plus gai: je lui préparai également un repas confortable. My spirits were excited, and with pleasure and ease I talked to him during supper, and for a long time after. Mes esprits étaient excités, et avec plaisir et facilité je lui ai parlé pendant le souper et longtemps après. There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. Il n'y avait pas de contrainte harcelante, pas de répression de joie et de vivacité avec lui; car avec lui j'étais à l'aise, parce que je savais que je lui convenais; tout ce que j'ai dit ou fait semblait le consoler ou le ranimer. Delightful consciousness! Délicieuse conscience! It brought to life and light my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine. It brought to life and light my whole nature: in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine. Il a fait vivre et éclairer toute ma nature: en sa présence j'ai vécu à fond; et il a vécu dans le mien. Blind as he was, smiles played over his face, joy dawned on his forehead: his lineaments softened and warmed. Aveugle comme il était, des sourires jouaient sur son visage, la joie montait sur son front: ses linéaments s'adoucissaient et se réchauffaient. After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I had been, what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gave him only very partial replies: it was too late to enter into particulars that night. After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I had been, what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gave him only very partial replies: it was too late to enter into particulars that night. Après le souper, il a commencé à me poser beaucoup de questions, d'où j'avais été, ce que j'avais fait, comment je l'avais découvert; mais je ne lui ai donné que des réponses très partielles: il était trop tard pour entrer dans les détails cette nuit-là. Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrilling chord—to open no fresh well of emotion in his heart: my sole present aim was to cheer him. Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrilling chord—to open no fresh well of emotion in his heart: my sole present aim was to cheer him. D'ailleurs, je ne voulais toucher à aucune corde passionnante - ne pas ouvrir de nouveau puits d'émotion dans son cœur: mon seul but actuel était de le réjouir. Cheered, as I have said, he was: and yet but by fits. Acclamé, comme je l'ai dit, il était: et pourtant mais par accès. If a moment’s silence broke the conversation, he would turn restless, touch me, then say, “Jane.” Si un moment de silence interrompait la conversation, il devenait agité, me touchait, puis disait: «Jane». “You are altogether a human being, Jane? «Vous êtes tout à fait un être humain, Jane?

You are certain of that?” “I conscientiously believe so, Mr. Rochester.”

“Yet how, on this dark and doleful evening, could you so suddenly rise on my lone hearth? «Mais comment, en cette nuit sombre et triste, as-tu pu si soudainement te lever sur mon seul foyer?

I stretched my hand to take a glass of water from a hireling, and it was given me by you: I asked a question, expecting John’s wife to answer me, and your voice spoke at my ear.” J'ai tendu la main pour prendre un verre d'eau à un mercenaire, et il m'a été donné par vous: j'ai posé une question, m'attendant à ce que la femme de John me réponde, et votre voix a parlé à mon oreille. “Because I had come in, in Mary’s stead, with the tray.” «Parce que j'étais venu, à la place de Mary, avec le plateau. “And there is enchantment in the very hour I am now spending with you. «Et il y a de l'enchantement dans l'heure même que je passe maintenant avec vous. Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have dragged on for months past? Qui peut dire à quelle vie sombre, morne et désespérée j'ai traîné pendant des mois? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging night in day; feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire go out, of hunger when I forgot to eat: and then a ceaseless sorrow, and, at times, a very delirium of desire to behold my Jane again. Ne rien faire, n'attendre rien; fusion de nuit en jour; ne ressentant que la sensation de froid quand je laisse le feu s'éteindre, de faim quand j'oublie de manger: et puis un chagrin incessant, et, parfois, un très délire de désir de revoir ma Jane. Yes: for her restoration I longed, far more than for that of my lost sight. Oui: je désirais sa restauration, bien plus que celle de ma vue perdue. How can it be that Jane is with me, and says she loves me? Comment se fait-il que Jane soit avec moi et dise qu'elle m'aime? Will she not depart as suddenly as she came? Ne partira-t-elle pas aussi soudainement qu'elle est venue? To-morrow, I fear I shall find her no more.” A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his own disturbed ideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring for him in this frame of mind. A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his own disturbed ideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring for him in this frame of mind. Une réponse banale et pratique, sortie du train de ses propres idées dérangées, était, j'en étais sûr, la meilleure et la plus rassurante pour lui dans cet état d'esprit. I passed my finger over his eyebrows, and remarked that they were scorched, and that I would apply something which would make them grow as broad and black as ever. I passed my finger over his eyebrows, and remarked that they were scorched, and that I would apply something which would make them grow as broad and black as ever. Je passai mon doigt sur ses sourcils et remarquai qu'ils étaient brûlés et que j'appliquerais quelque chose qui les ferait devenir aussi larges et noirs que jamais. “Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent spirit, when, at some fatal moment, you will again desert me—passing like a shadow, whither and how to me unknown, and for me remaining afterwards undiscoverable? “Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent spirit, when, at some fatal moment, you will again desert me—passing like a shadow, whither and how to me unknown, and for me remaining afterwards undiscoverable? «Où est l'utilité de me faire du bien de quelque manière que ce soit, esprit bienfaisant, quand, à un moment fatal, tu m'abandonneras à nouveau - passant comme une ombre, où et comment m'ignorerait, et pour moi restant ensuite indécouvrable? “Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?”

“What for, Jane?”

“Just to comb out this shaggy black mane. «Juste pour peigner cette crinière noire hirsute.

I find you rather alarming, when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my being a fairy, but I am sure, you are more like a brownie.” I find you rather alarming, when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my being a fairy, but I am sure, you are more like a brownie.” Je vous trouve plutôt alarmant, quand je vous examine de près: vous parlez de mon être une fée, mais je suis sûr que vous êtes plutôt un brownie. “Am I hideous, Jane?”

“Very, sir: you always were, you know.” "Très, monsieur : vous l'avez toujours été, vous savez."

“Humph!

The wickedness has not been taken out of you, wherever you have sojourned.” The wickedness has not been taken out of you, wherever you have sojourned.” La méchanceté ne vous a pas été enlevée, où que vous ayez séjourné. “Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundred times better people; possessed of ideas and views you never entertained in your life: quite more refined and exalted.” “Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundred times better people; possessed of ideas and views you never entertained in your life: quite more refined and exalted.” "Pourtant, j'ai fréquenté de bonnes personnes, bien meilleures que vous, cent fois meilleures, possédant des idées et des points de vue que vous n'avez jamais eus dans votre vie, bien plus raffinés et exaltés. “Who the deuce have you been with?”

“If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out of your head; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts of my substantiality.” “If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out of your head; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts of my substantiality.” «Si vous vous tordez ainsi, vous me ferez arracher les cheveux de votre tête; et alors je pense que vous cesserez d'entretenir des doutes sur mon caractère substantiel. “Who have you been with, Jane?”

“You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait till to-morrow; to leave my tale half told, will, you know, be a sort of security that I shall appear at your breakfast table to finish it. “You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait till to-morrow; to leave my tale half told, will, you know, be a sort of security that I shall appear at your breakfast table to finish it. «Vous ne m'en tirerez pas ce soir, monsieur; il faut attendre demain; laisser mon récit à moitié raconté sera, vous le savez, une sorte de garantie que j'apparaisse à votre table de petit-déjeuner pour le terminer. By the bye, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with only a glass of water then: I must bring an egg at the least, to say nothing of fried ham.” By the bye, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with only a glass of water then: I must bring an egg at the least, to say nothing of fried ham.” Au revoir, je dois me garder de me lever sur votre foyer avec seulement un verre d'eau: je dois apporter au moins un œuf, sans parler de jambon frit. “You mocking changeling—fairy-born and human-bred! «Vous vous moquez du changeling - né des fées et des humains! You make me feel as I have not felt these twelve months. Tu me fais sentir comme je ne l'ai pas ressenti ces douze mois. If Saul could have had you for his David, the evil spirit would have been exorcised without the aid of the harp.” Si Saül avait pu vous avoir pour son David, le mauvais esprit aurait été exorcisé sans l'aide de la harpe. “There, sir, you are redd up and made decent. «Là, monsieur, vous êtes rougi et rendu décent.

Now I’ll leave you: I have been travelling these last three days, and I believe I am tired. Good night.” “Just one word, Jane: were there only ladies in the house where you have been?” "Juste un mot, Jane : n'y avait-il que des femmes dans la maison où vous avez été ?" I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran upstairs. “A good idea!”  I thought with glee. "Une bonne idée!" J'ai pensé avec joie. “I see I have the means of fretting him out of his melancholy for some time to come.” «Je vois que j'ai le moyen de le faire sortir de sa mélancolie pendant quelque temps encore.