Villette

Dover Publications

Chapter One

BRETTON

My godmother lived in a handsome house in the clean and ancient town ofBretton. Her husband's family had been residents there for generations,and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace ? Bretton of Bretton:whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been apersonage of sufficient importance to leave his name to hisneighbourhood, I know not.

When I was a girl I went to Bretton about twice a year, and well I likedthe visit. The house and its inmates specially suited me. The largepeaceful rooms, the well-arranged furniture, the clear wide windows, thebalcony outside, looking down on a fine antique street, where Sundaysand holidays seemed always to abide ? so quiet was its atmosphere, soclean its pavement ? these things pleased me well.

One child in a household of grown people is usually made very much of,and in a quiet way I was a good deal taken notice of by Mrs. Bretton,who had been left a widow, with one son, before I knew her; her husband,a physician, having died while she was yet a young and handsome woman.

She was not young, as I remember her, but she was still handsome, tall,well-made, and though dark for an English-woman, yet wearing always theclearness of health in her brunette cheek, and its vivacity in a pair offine, cheerful black eyes. People esteemed it a grievous pity that shehad not conferred her complexion on her son, whose eyes were blue ?though, even in boyhood, very piercing ? and the colour of his longhair such as friends did not venture to specify, except as the sun shoneon it, when they called it golden. He inherited the lines of hismother's features, however; also her good teeth, her stature (or thepromise of her stature, for he was not yet full-grown), and, what wasbetter, her health without flaw, and her spirits of that tone andequality which are better than a fortune to the possessor.

In the autumn of the year ? I was staying at Bretton, my godmotherhaving come in person to claim me of the kinsfolk with whom was at thattime fixed my permanent residence. I believe she then plainly saw eventscoming, whose very shadow I scarce guessed; yet of which the faintsuspicion sufficed to impart unsettled sadness, and made me glad tochange scene and society.

Time always flowed smoothly for me at my godmother's side; not withtumultuous swiftness, but blandly, like the gliding of a full riverthrough a plain. My visits to her resembled the sojourn of Christian andHopeful beside a certain pleasant stream, with "green trees on eachbank, and meadows beautified with lilies all the year round." The charmof variety there was not, nor the excitement of incident; but I likedpeace so well, and sought stimulus so little, that when the latter cameI almost felt it a disturbance, and wished rather it had still heldaloof.

One day a letter was received of which the contents evidently causedMrs. Bretton surprise and some concern. I thought at first it was fromhome, and trembled, expecting I know not what disastrous communication:to me, however, no reference was made, and the cloud seemed to pass.

The next day, on my return from a long walk, I found, as I entered mybedroom, an unexpected change. In addition to my own French bed in itsshady recess, appeared in a corner a small crib, draped with white; andin addition to my mahogany chest of drawers, I saw a tiny rosewoodchest. I stood still, gazed, and considered.

"Of what are these things the signs and tokens?" I asked. The answer wasobvious. "A second guest is coming; Mrs. Bretton expects othervisitors."

On descending to dinner, explanations ensued. A little girl, I was told,would shortly be my companion: the daughter of a friend and distantrelation of the late Dr. Bretton's. This little girl, it was added, hadrecently lost her mother; though, indeed, Mrs. Bretton ere longsubjoined, the loss was not so great as might at first appear. Mrs. Home(Home it seems was the name) had been a very pretty, but a giddy,careless woman, who had neglected her child, and disappointed anddisheartened her husband. So far from congenial had the union proved,that separation at last ensued ? separation by mutual consent, notafter any legal process. Soon after this event, the lady havingover-exerted herself at a ball, caught cold, took a fever, and diedafter a very brief illness. Her husband, naturally a man of verysensitive feelings, and shocked inexpressibly by too suddencommunication of the news, could hardly, it seems, now be persuaded butthat some over-severity on his part ? some deficiency in patience andindulgence ? had contributed to hasten her end. He had brooded overthis idea till his spirits were seriously affected; the medical meninsisted on travelling being tried as a remedy, and meanwhile Mrs.Bretton had offered to take charge of his little girl. "And I hope,"added my godmother in conclusion, "the child will not be like her mamma;as silly and frivolous a little flirt as ever sensible man was weakenough to marry. For," said she, "Mr. Home is a sensible man inhis way, though not very practical: he is fond of science, and liveshalf his life in a laboratory trying experiments ? a thing hisbutterfly wife could neither comprehend nor endure; and indeed,"confessed my godmother, "I should not have liked it myself."

In answer to a question of mine, she further informed me that her latehusband used to say, Mr. Home had derived this scientific turn from amaternal uncle, a French savant: for he came, it seems, of mixed Frenchand Scottish origin, and had connections now living in France, of whommore than one wrote de before his name, and called himself noble.

That same evening at nine o'clock, a servant was despatched to meet thecoach by which our little visitor was expected. Mrs. Bretton and I satalone in the drawing-room waiting her coming; John Graham Bretton beingabsent on a visit to one of his schoolfellows who lived in the country.My godmother read the evening paper while she waited; I sewed. It was awet night; the rain lashed the panes, and the wind sounded angry andrestless.

"Poor child!" said Mrs. Bretton from time to time. "What weather for herjourney! I wish she were safe here."

A little before ten the door-bell announced Warren's return. No soonerwas the door opened than I ran down into the hall; there lay a trunk andsome bandboxes, beside them stood a person like a nurse girl, and at thefoot of the staircase was Warren with a shawled bundle in his arms.

"Is that the child?" I asked.

"Yes, miss."

I would have opened the shawl, and tried to get a peep at the face, butit was hastily turned from me to Warren's shoulder.

"Put me down, please," said a small voice when Warren opened thedrawing-room door, "and take off this shawl," continued the speaker,extracting with its minute hand the pin, and with a sort of fastidioushaste doffing the clumsy wrapping. The creature which now appeared madea deft attempt to fold the shawl; but the drapery was much too heavy andlarge to be sustained or wielded by those hands and arms. "Give it toHarriet, please," was then the direction, "and she can put it away."This said, it turned and fixed its eyes on Mrs. Bretton.

"Come here, little dear," said that lady. "Come and let me see if youare cold and damp: come and let me warm you at the fire."

The child advanced promptly. Relieved of her wrapping, she appearedexceedingly tiny; but was a neat, completely-fashioned little figure,light, slight, and straight. Seated on my godmother's ample lap,...