Even in the dim light, Erik saw the flicker of change pass across his wife's expression. It disappeared as soon as it manifested, but it still troubled the composer. He sat up in bed and studied her.
"Tell me what is on your mind, Ange," he said gently. Whatever it was, it marred her happiness. It must be addressed.
The youth of his wife was still pronounced, and such youth came out in many small ways. He found it endearing. But he also knew that such things, while seemingly minute to his eyes, never were for her. He would not understand unless he asked, and he very much wished to understand.