"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 "pere noble de theatre." 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?