He wore green velvet, cut short in the French fashion to show his shirt, a gold baldric, and no ornament save a little brooch of pearls at his collar; his hair, chestnut colour and very fine, was frizzed to stand out in a multitude of little curls that fell to the middle of his shoulders.
Behind him, leaning on the back of his chair, stood another gentleman, eating chocolates, who was far more richly dressed, being nearly as extravagant as my lord Monmouth, but not near so handsome, though of a delicate face and a graceful carriage.
Standing by the hearth was a tall man very plainly habited in brown velvet, well past middle life, but erect and powerful, with haggard features, fiery eyes, and an air of melancholy, dishevelled grandeur; of these four he had the most appearance of greatness, and seemed to know it and to despise his surroundings.
Monmouth advanced, his hat in his hand.
The man in the green velvet turned in his chair.
“Sire, this is Sir Gabriel, the messenger from His Highness of Orange,” said his Grace.
Florent stared, wondering which was the King, and attracted by the man on the hearth who took no notice of any.
“We are glad to see you, Monsieur,” said the gentleman in green graciously, and then Florent knew that he was the King, for Sir Gabriel knelt and kissed his hand.
When he rose he motioned towards Florent.
“My secretary, Sire, who is in His Highness’ favour.”