A fanfare of trumpets sounded at the Palace entrance.
"The Doge cometh!" exclaimed Matteo.
Villehardouin broke off abruptly and left them, making his way to his place at the head of the deputation of barons of the host, as an imposing procession emerged upon the Square.
First came the trumpeters and heralds, then the members of the Council of Ten, and after them the most impressive figure Hugh had ever seen. Very tall and gaunt, with a dead-white face and silvery hair, this man gave the appearance of great age, but he walked with the splendid, upright carriage of youth. He wore a long loose robe of black velvet and on his head a peculiar cap resembling a bishop's mitre. His eyes were closed, and he rested one hand lightly on the arm of a page.
"Who is he?" whispered Hugh.
"The Doge," Matteo whispered back, "Henry Dandolo."
"Why are his eyes closed?"
"He is blind. His eyes were seared by the Greeks long ago when he went to Constantinople on an embassy for the Republic. 'Tis said he sees a little, but not much."
"He is very old, is he not?"
"He is one of the oldest men in the world," returned Matteo. "He is ninety-two years old."