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