Arriving there he learnt that Ottilie had shut herself up—­she was writing.  In spite of the agreeable feeling that she was doing something for him, it was the keenest mortification to him not to be able to see her.  His impatience increased every moment.  He walked up and down the large drawing-room; he tried a thousand things, and could not fix his attention upon any.  He was longing to see her alone, before Charlotte came back with the Captain.  It was dark by this time, and the candles were lighted.

At last she came in beaming with loveliness:  the sense that she had done something for her friend had lifted all her being above itself.  She put down the original and her transcript on the table before Edward.

“Shall we collate them?” she said, with a smile.

Edward did not know what to answer.  He looked at her—­he looked at the transcript.  The first few sheets were written with the greatest carefulness in a delicate woman’s hand—­then the strokes appeared to alter, to become more light and free—­but who can describe his surprise as he ran his eyes over the concluding page?  “For heaven’s sake,” he cried, “what is this? this is my hand!” He looked at Ottilie, and again at the paper; the conclusion, especially, was exactly as if he had written it himself.  Ottilie said nothing, but she looked at him with her eyes full of the warmest delight.  Edward stretched out his arms.  “You love me!” he cried:  “Ottilie, you love me!” They fell on each other’s breast—­which had been the first to catch the other it would have been impossible to distinguish.

From that moment the world was all changed for Edward.  He was no longer what he had been, and the world was no longer what it had been.  They parted—­he held her hands; they gazed in each other’s eyes.  They were on the point of embracing each other again.

Charlotte entered with the Captain.  Edward inwardly smiled at their excuses for having stayed out so long.  Oh! how far too soon you have returned, he said to himself.

They sat down to supper.  They talked about the people who had been there that day.  Edward, full of love and ecstasy, spoke well of every one—­always sparing, often approving.  Charlotte, who was not altogether of his opinion, remarked this temper in him, and jested with him about it—­he who had always the sharpest thing to say on departed visitors, was this evening so gentle and tolerant.

With fervor and heartfelt conviction, Edward cried, “One has only to love a single creature with all one’s heart, and the whole world at once looks lovely!”

Ottilie dropped her eyes on the ground, and Charlotte looked straight before her.

The Captain took up the word, and said, “It is the same with deep feelings of respect and reverence:  we first learn to recognize what there is that is to be valued in the world, when we find occasion to entertain such sentiments toward a particular object.”