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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