came off in his hand, he caught her foot and pressed it tenderly against
his breast.

Charlotte was one of those women who, being of naturally calm
temperaments, continue in marriage, without any purpose or any effort,
the air and character of lovers. She was never expressive toward her
husband; generally, indeed, she rather shrank from any warm
demonstration on his part. It was not that she was cold, or at all hard
and repulsive, but she remained always like a loving bride, who draws
back with a kind of shyness even from what is permitted. And so Edward
found her this evening, in a double sense. How sorely did she not long
that her husband would go; the figure of his friend seemed to hover in
the air and reproach her. But what should have had the effect of driving
Edward away only attracted him the more. There were visible traces of
emotion about her. She had been crying; and tears, which with weak
persons detract from their graces, add immeasurably to the
attractiveness of those whom we know commonly as strong and
self-possessed.

Edward was so agreeable, so gentle, so pressing; he begged to be allowed
to stay with her. He did not demand it, but half in fun, half in
earnest, he tried to persuade her; he never thought of his rights. At
last, as if in mischief, he blew out the candle.

In the dim lamplight, the inward affection, the imagination, maintained
their rights over the real; it was Ottilie that was resting in Edward's
arms; and the Captain, now faintly, now clearly, hovered before
Charlotte's soul. And so, strangely intermingled, the absent and the
present flowed in a sweet enchantment one into the other.