But to you belongs my heart.”
Florent became curious to see who sang.
Sir Gabriel seemed self-absorbed, so he rose and moved so that he could see beyond the curtain into the inner room.
Just beyond the door he saw a young man, with one foot on a chair, holding across his knee a long-necked lute of shining ivory and satinwood.
His face was turned away. His person was a matter of great marvel and admiration to Florent, who had never seen anything more splendid than this cavalier.
He was a well-made man, very young, it seemed, and dressed in a dark rose brocade stiff with threads of silver and fastened with little knots of pearls; round his waist was a white silk sash branched and fringed with silver; his sleeves were unbuttoned and turned back over his rich needlework shirt, he wore a deep falling collar of Venetian lace and had fine ruffles of it at his wrists and knees.
A baldric of white velvet worked with jewels supported his slender sword with its curious gold hilt; his close, high boots were of white leather, and his spurs gilt and fantastically shaped.
On the chair lay his gloves, trimmed with pearls, and his grey hat with an upright plume of white feathers and twisted with a silver cord fastened with a diamond brooch.
As Van Mander stared at him he seemed to become conscious of the scrutiny and turned his head, revealing the most beautiful face Florent had ever seen on man or woman.
Yet the sheer perfection of curving line and warm brown colour made not the chief attraction—this lay in the expression, a charming combination of dare-devilry and sweetness, amiability and an innocent pride; a face by no means effeminate, not very intelligent, but wholly lovely and lovable.