The sombre and jealous, or even tranquil and unsuspecting, face of a husband has a wonderful power of repression.

One is embarrassed to love under the glance of an eye that darts flashes as bright as steel; and a calm, kindly look is more terrible yet, for all jealousy seems tyrannical, and tyranny leads to revolt; but a confiding husband is like a victim strangled in his sleep, and inspires, by his very calmness, the most poignant remorse.
The meeting of these two men naturally led Clemence to a comparison which could but be to Christian's advantage.

Gerfaut had nothing remarkable about him save an intelligent, intensely clever air; there was a thoughtful look in his eyes and an archness in his smile, but his irregular features showed no mark of beauty; his face wore an habitually tired expression, peculiar to those people who have lived a great deal in a short time, and it made him look older than Christian, although he was really several years younger.

The latter, on the contrary, owed to his strong constitution, fortified by country life, an appearance of blooming youth that enhanced his noble regularity of features.
In a word, Christian was handsomer than his rival, and Clemence exaggerated her husband's superiority over her lover.

Not being able to find the latter awkward or insignificant, she tried to persuade herself that he was ugly.