简爱(英文版)-第43部分

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；　physically　speaking；　but　then　there　was　an　expression　of　almost　insupportable　haughtiness　in　her　bearing　and　countenance。　She　had　Roman　features　and　a　double　chin；　disappearing　into　a　throat　like　a　pillar：　these　features　appeared　to　me　not　only　inflated　and　darkened；　but　even　furrowed　with　pride；　and　the　chin　was　sustained　by　the　same　principle；　in　a　position　of　almost　preternatural　erectness。　She　had；　likewise；　a　fierce　and　a　hard　eye：　it　reminded　me　of　Mrs。　Reed’s；　she　mouthed　her　words　in　speaking；　her　voice　was　deep；　its　inflections　very　pompous；　very　dogmatical；—very　intolerable；　in　short。　A　crimson　velvet　robe；　and　a　shawl　turban　of　some　gold…wrought　Indian　fabric；　invested　her　（I　suppose　she　thought）　with　a　truly　imperial　dignity。
Blanche　and　Mary　were　of　equal　stature；—straight　and　tall　as　poplars。　Mary　was　too　slim　for　her　height；　but　Blanche　was　moulded　like　a　Dian。　I　regarded　her；　of　course；　with　special　interest。　First；　I　wished　to　see　whether　her　appearance　accorded　with　Mrs。　Fairfax’s　description；　secondly；　whether　it　at　all　resembled　the　fancy　miniature　I　had　painted　of　her；　and　thirdly—it　will　out！—　whether　it　were　such　as　I　should　fancy　likely　to　suit　Mr。　Rochester’s　taste。
As　far　as　person　went；　she　answered　point　for　point；　both　to　my　picture　and　Mrs。　Fairfax’s　description。　The　noble　bust；　the　sloping　shoulders；　the　graceful　neck；　the　dark　eyes　and　black　ringlets　were　all　there；—but　her　face？　Her　face　was　like　her　mother’s；　a　youthful　unfurrowed　likeness：　the　same　low　brow；　the　same　high　features；　the　same　pride。　It　was　not；　however；　so　saturnine　a　pride！　she　laughed　continually；　her　laugh　was　satirical；　and　so　was　the　habitual　expression　of　her　arched　and　haughty　lip。
Genius　is　said　to　be　self…conscious。　I　cannot　tell　whether　Miss　Ingram　was　a　genius；　but　she　was　self…conscious—remarkably　self…　conscious　indeed。　She　entered　into　a　discourse　on　botany　with　the　gentle　Mrs。　Dent。　It　seemed　Mrs。　Dent　had　not　studied　that　science：　though；　as　she　said；　she　liked　flowers；　“especially　wild　ones；”　Miss　Ingram　had；　and　she　ran　over　its　vocabulary　with　an　air。　I　presently　perceived　she　was　（what　is　vernacularly　termed）　trailing　Mrs。　Dent；　that　is；　playing　on　her　ignorance—her　trail　might　be　clever；　but　it　was　decidedly　not　good…natured。　She　played：　her　execution　was　brilliant；　she　sang：　her　voice　was　fine；　she　talked　French　apart　to　her　mamma；　and　she　talked　it　well；　with　fluency　and　with　a　good　accent。
Mary　had　a　milder　and　more　open　countenance　than　Blanche；　softer　features　too；　and　a　skin　some　shades　fairer　（Miss　Ingram　was　dark　as　a　Spaniard）—but　Mary　was　deficient　in　life：　her　face　lacked　expression；　her　eye　lustre；　she　had　nothing　to　say；　and　having　once　taken　her　seat；　remained　fixed　like　a　statue　in　its　niche。　The　sisters　were　both　attired　in　spotless　white。
And　did　I　now　think　Miss　Ingram　such　a　choice　as　Mr。　Rochester　would　be　likely　to　make？　I　could　not　tell—I　did　not　know　his　taste　in　female　beauty。　If　he　liked　the　majestic；　she　was　the　very　type　of　majesty：　then　she　was　acplished；　sprightly。　Most　gentlemen　would　admire　her；　I　thought；　and　that　he　did　admire　her；　I　already　seemed　to　have　obtained　proof：　to　remove　the　last　shade　of　doubt；　it　remained　but　to　see　them　together。
You　are　not　to　suppose；　reader；　that　Adèle　has　all　this　time　been　sitting　motionless　on　the　stool　at　my　feet：　no；　when　the　ladies　entered；　she　rose；　advanced　to　meet　them；　made　a　stately　reverence；　and　said　with　gravity—
“Bon　jour；　mesdames。”
And　Miss　Ingram　had　looked　down　at　her　with　a　mocking　air；　and　exclaimed；　“Oh；　what　a　little　puppet！”
Lady　Lynn　had　remarked；　“It　is　Mr。　Rochester’s　ward；　I　suppose—the　little　French　girl　he　was　speaking　of。”
Mrs。　Dent　had　kindly　taken　her　hand；　and　given　her　a　kiss。
Amy　and　Louisa　Eshton　had　cried　out　simultaneously—“What　a　love　of　a　child！”
And　then　they　had　called　her　to　a　sofa；　where　she　now　sat；　ensconced　between　them；　chattering　alternately　in　French　and　broken　English；　absorbing　not　only　the　young　ladies’　attention；　but　that　of　Mrs。　Eshton　and　Lady　Lynn；　and　getting　spoilt　to　her　heart’s　content。
At　last　coffee　is　brought　in；　and　the　gentlemen　are　summoned。　I　sit　in　the　shade—if　any　shade　there　be　in　this　brilliantly…lit　apartment；　the　window…curtain　half　hides　me。　Again　the　arch　yawns；　they　e。　The　collective　appearance　of　the　gentlemen；　like　that　of　the　ladies；　is　very　imposing：　they　are　all　costumed　in　black；　most　of　them　are　tall；　some　young。　Henry　and　Frederick　Lynn　are　very　dashing　sparks　indeed；　and　Colonel　Dent　is　a　fine　soldierly　man。　Mr。　Eshton；　the　magistrate　of　the　district；　is　gentleman…like：　his　hair　is　quite　white；　his　eyebrows　and　whiskers　still　dark；　which　gives　him　something　of　the　appearance　of　a　“père　noble　de　théatre。”　Lord　Ingram；　like　his　sisters；　is　very　tall；　like　them；　also；　he　is　handsome；　but　he　shares　Mary’s　apathetic　and　listless　look：　he　seems　to　have　more　length　of　limb　than　vivacity　of　blood　or　vigour　of　brain。
And　where　is　Mr。　Rochester？
He　es　in　last：　I　am　not　looking　at　the　arch；　yet　I　see　him　enter。　I　try　to　concentrate　my　attention　on　those　ting…needles；　on　the　meshes　of　the　purse　I　am　forming—I　wish　to　think　only　of　the　work　I　have　in　my　hands；　to　see　only　the　silver　beads　and　silk　threads　that　lie　in　my　lap；　whereas；　I　distinctly　behold　his　figure；　and　I　inevitably　recall　the　moment　when　I　last　saw　it；　just　after　I　had　rendered　him；　what　he　deemed；　an　essential　service；　and　he；　holding　my　hand；　and　looking　down　on　my　face；　surveyed　me　with　eyes　that　revealed　a　heart　full　and　eager　to　overflow；　in　whose　emotions　I　had　a　part。　How　near　had　I　approached　him　at　that　moment！　What　had　occurred　since；　calculated　to　change　his　and　my　relative　positions？　Yet　now；　how　distant；　how　far　estranged　we　were！　So　far　estranged；　that　I　did　not　expect　him　to　e　and　speak　to　me。　I　did　not　wonder；　when；　without　looking　at　me；　he　took　a　seat　at　the　other　side　of　the　room；　and　began　conversing　with　some　of　the　ladies。
No　sooner　did　I　see　that　his　attention　was　riveted　on　them；　and　that　I　might　gaze　without　being　observed；　than　my　eyes　were　drawn　involuntarily　to　his　face；　I　could　not　keep　their　lids　under　control：　they　would　rise；　and　the　irids　would　fix　on　him。　I　looked；　and　had　an　acute　pleasure　in　looking；—a　precious　yet　poignant　pleasure；　pure　gold；　with　a　steely　point　of　agony：　a　pleasure　like　what　the　thirst…perishing　man　might　feel　who　knows　the　well　to　which　he　has　crept　is　poisoned；　yet　stoops　and　drinks　divine　draughts　nevertheless。
Most　true　is　it　that　“beauty　is　in　the　eye　of　the　gazer。”　My　master’s　colourless；　olive　face；　square；　massive　brow；　broad　and　jetty　eyebrows；　deep　eyes；　strong　features；　firm；　grim　mouth；—all　energy；　decision；　will；—were　not　beautiful；　according　to　rule；　but　they　were　more　than　beautiful　to　me；　they　were　full　of　an　interest；　an　influence　that　quite　mastered　me；—that　took　my　feelings　from　my　own　power　and　fettered　them　in　his。　I　had　not　intended　to　love　him；　the　reader　knows　I　had　wrought　hard　to　extirpate　from　my　soul　the　germs　of　love　there　detected；　and　now；　at　the　first　renewed　view　of　him；　they　spontaneously　arrived；　green　and　strong！　He　made　me　love　him　without　looking　at　me。
I　pared　him　with　his　guests。　What　was　the　gallant　grace　of　the　Lynns；　the　languid　elegance　of　Lord　Ingram；—even　the　military　distinction　of　Colonel　Dent；　contrasted　with　his　look　of　native　pith　and　genuine　power？　I　had　no　sympathy　in　their　appearance；　their　expression：　yet　I　could　imagine　that　most　observers　would　call　them　attractive；　handsome；　imposing；　while　they　would　pronounce　Mr。　Rochester　at　once　harsh…featured　and　melancholy…looking。　I　saw　them　smile；　laugh—it　was　nothing；　the　light　of　the　candles　had　as　much　soul　in　it　as　their　smile；　the　tinkle　of　the　bell　as　much　significance　as　their　laugh。　I　saw　Mr。　Rochester　smile：…　his　stern　features　softened；　his　eye　grew　both　brilliant　and　gentle；　its　ray　both　searching　and　sweet。　He　was　talking；　at　the　moment；　to　Louisa　and　Amy　Eshton。　I　wondered　to　see　them　receive　with　calm　that　look　which　seemed　to　me　so　perating：　I　expected　their　eyes　to　fall；　their　colour　to　rise　under　it；　yet　I　was　glad　when　I　found　they　were　in　no　sense　moved。　“He　is　not　to　them　what　he　is　to　me；”　I　thought：　“he　is　not　of　their　kind。　I　believe　he　is　of　mine；—I　am　sure　he　is—I　feel　akin　to　him—I　understand　the　language　of　his　countenance　and　movements：　though　rank　and　wealth　sever　us　widely；　I　have　something　in　my　brain　and　heart；　in　my　blood　and　nerves；　that　assimilates　me　mentally　to　him。　Did　I　say；　a　few　days　since；　that　I　had　nothing　to　do　with　him　but　to　receive　my　salary　at　his　hands？　Did　I　forbid　myself　to　think　of　him　in　any　other　light　than　as　a　paymaster？　Blasphemy　against　nature！　Every　good；　true；　vigorous　feeling　I　have　gathers　impulsively　round　him。　I　know　I　must　conceal　my　sentiments：　I　must　smother　hope；　I　must　remember　that　he　cannot　care　much　for　me。　For　when　I　say　that　I　am　of　his　kind；　I　do　not　mean　that　I　have　his　force　to　influence；　and　his　spell　to　attract；　I　mean　only　that　I　have　certain　tastes　and　feelings　in　mon　with　him。　I　must；　then；　repeat　continually　that　we　are　for　ever　sundered：…　and　yet；　while　I　breathe　and　think；　I　must　love　him。”
Coffee　is　ha