He had deep, soft brown eyes, straight, thick brows, a blunt English nose, a fair complexion, a beautiful and expressive mouth; his thick, waving, chestnut hair fell in curls on to his shoulders and on the left side was tied with a knot of pink ribbon, a fashion Florent had not seen before.
His glance dwelt for a moment on the man observing him, then he turned away again, bending over the gleaming lute, but now without singing.
Sir Gabriel came from the window and Florent went over to him.
“Who is that cavalier in there—decked out like a woman?” he whispered.
“Is there one in there?”
“Yes, Mynheer, he who sang.”
“Ah, yes——”
Sir Gabriel crossed the room and looked into the outer chamber.
The lutanist had set his instrument down and was gathering up his gloves and hat.
“It is the Englishman,” said Sir Gabriel indifferently.