The black ash on the table fascinated him.

For several moments he stared at it.
"'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'," he said, softly.
He touched the ash with the tip of his finger, and the feathery particles sifted about, as if the living had imparted to the inanimate the sense of uneasiness.

"For a space I thought he would kiss her.

In faith, there is more to Monsieur du Cevennes than I had credited to his account.

It takes power, in the presence of that woman, to resist the temptation to kiss her.