Charlotte Bronte

Villette Charlotte Bronte

My godmother lived in a handsome house in the clean and ancient town of Bretton. Herhusband's family had been residents there for generations, and bore, indeed, the nameof their birthplace- Bretton of Bretton: whether by coincidence, or because some remoteancestor had been a personage 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 liked the visit. Thehouse and its inmates specially suited me. The large peaceful rooms, the well-arrangedfurniture, the clear wide windows, the balcony outside, looking down on a fine antiquestreet, where Sundays and holidays seemed always to abide- so quiet was itsatmosphere, so clean its pavement- these things pleased me well. One child in a household of grown people is usually made very much of, and in a quietway I was a good deal taken notice of by Mrs. Bretton, who had been left a widow, withone son, before I knew her; her husband, a physician, having died while she was yet ayoung and handsome woman.