“‘Oh，’ returned the fairy， ‘that does not signify！ Here is a talisman will remove all difficulties；’ and she held out a pretty gold ring. ‘Put it，’ she said， ‘on the fourth finger of my left hand， and I am yours， and you are mine； and we shall leave earth， and make our own heaven yonder.’ She nodded again at the moon. The ring， Adèle， is in my breeches-pocket， under the disguise of a sovereign：but I mean soon to change it to a ring again.”
“But what has mademoiselle to do with it？ I don’t care for the fairy： you said it was mademoiselle you would take to the moon？”
“Mademoiselle is a fairy，” he said， whispering mysteriously.Whereupon I told her not to mind his badinage； and she， on her part， evinced a fund of genuine French scepticism： denominating Mr. Rochester “un vrai menteur，” and assuring him that she made no account whatever of his “Contes de fée，” and that “du reste， il n’y avait pas de fées， et quand même il y en avait：” she was sure they would never appear to him， nor ever give him rings， or offer to live with him in the moon.
The hour spent at Millcote was a somewhat harassing one to me. Mr. Rochester obliged me to go to a certain silk warehouse：there I was ordered to choose half-a-dozen dresses. I hated the business， I begged leave to defer it： no—it should be gone through with now. By dint of entreaties expressed in energetic whispers， I reduced the half-dozen to two： these however， he vowed he would select himself. With anxiety I watched his eye rove over the gay stores： he fixed on a rich silk of the most brilliant amethyst dye， and a superb pink satin. I told him in a new series of whispers， that he might as well buy me a gold gown and a silver bonnet at once： I should certainly never venture to wear his choice. With infinite difficulty， for he was stubborn as a stone， I persuaded him to make an exchange in favour of a sober black satin and pearl-grey silk. “It might pass for the present，” he said；“but he would yet see me glittering like a parterre.”
Glad was I to get him out of the silk warehouse， and then out of a jewellers shop： the more he bought me， the more my cheek burned with a sense of annoyance and degradation. As we re-entered the carriage， and I sat back feverish and fagged， I remembered what， in the hurry of events， dark and bright， I had wholly forgotten—the letter of my uncle， John Eyre， to Mrs. Reed：his intention to adopt me and make me his legatee. “It would， indeed， be a relief，” I thought， “if I had ever so small an independency； I never can bear being dressed like a doll by Mr. Rochester， or sitting like a second Danae with the golden shower falling daily round me. I will write to Madeira the moment I get home， and tell my uncle John I am going to be married， and to whom： if I had but a prospect of one day bringing Mr. Rochester an accession of fortune， I could better endure to be kept by him now.” And somewhat relieved by this idea (which I failed not to execute that day)， I ventured once more to meet my master’s and lover’s eye， which most pertinaciously sought mine， though I averted both face and gaze. He smiled； and I thought his smile was such as a sultan might， in a blissful and fond moment， bestow on a slave his gold and gems had enriched： I crushed his hand， which was ever hunting mine， vigorously， and thrust it back to him red with the passionate pressure.
“You need not look in that way，” I said；“if you do， I’ll wear nothing but my old Lowood frocks to the end of the chapter. I’ll be married in this lilac gingham： you may make a dressing-gown for yourself out of the pearl-grey silk， and an infinite series of waistcoats out of the black satin.”
He chuckled； he rubbed his hands. “Oh， it is rich to see and hear her？” he exclaimed. “Is she original？ Is she piquant？ I would not exchange this one little English girl for the Grand Turk’s whole seraglio， gazelle-eyes， houri forms， and all！”
The Eastern allusion bit me again. “I’ll not stand you an inch in the stead of a seraglio，” I said；“so don’t consider me an equivalent for one. If you have a fancy for anything in that line， away with you， sir， to the bazaars of Stamboul without delay， and lay out in extensive slave-purchases some of that spare cash you seem at a loss to spend satisfactorily here.”
“And what will you do， Janet， while I am bargaining for so many tons of flesh and such an assortment of black eyes？”
“I’ll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty to them that are enslaved—your harem inmates amongst the rest. I’ll get admitted there， and I’ll stir up mutiny； and you， three-tailed bashaw as you are， sir， shall in a trice find yourself fettered amongst our hands： nor will I， for one， consent to cut your bonds till you have signed a charter， the most liberal that despot ever yet conferred.”
“I would consent to be at your mercy， Jane.”
“I would have no mercy， Mr. Rochester， if you supplicated for it with an eye like that. While you looked so， I should be certain that whatever charter you might grant under coercion， your first act， when released， would be to violate its conditions.”
“Why， Jane， what would you have？ I fear you will compel me to go through a private marriage ceremony， besides that performed at the altar. You will stipulate， I see， for peculiar terms—what will they be？”
“I only want an easy mind， sir； not crushed by crowded obligations. Do you remember what you said of Céline Varens？—of the diamonds， the cashmeres you gave her？ I will not be your English Céline Varens. I shall continue to act as Adèle’s governess；by that I shall earn my board and lodging， and thirty pounds a year besides. I’ll furnish my own wardrobe out of that money， and you shall give me nothing but—”
“Well， but what？”
“Your regard； and if I give you mine in return， that debt will be quit.”
“Well， for cool native impudence and pure innate pride， you haven’t your equal，” said he. We were now approaching Thornfield. “Will it please you to dine with me to-day？” he asked，as we re-entered the gates.
“No， thank you， sir.”
“And what for， ‘no， thank you？’ if one may inquire.”
