“I think they come to confirm their alliance with France—not to obtain justice for us.”
“Will you see them alone, Highness?”
“No—you remain, William.”
The Prince spoke in a gasping way, and held his hand to his side.
The room was full of hot air from the camp-fires, and the smell of the cooking. William rose and closed the window again, and as he was returning to his chair the English envoys entered, preceded by Count Struym.
There was a second’s pause of curiosity on either side.
William saw two splendidly dressed gentlemen, who carried themselves with an air of pride and grandeur, both tall, handsome, and decked out in the extreme of fashion.
Their persons he remembered perfectly well. The Earl of Arlington, quiet in manner, of a placid countenance, dark ringlets and moustaches, his carriage fine, but rather stout; richly habited now in black velvet and gold brocade, scarlet feathers in his hat, and wearing a collar of jewels. My lord Buckingham, once “the most beautiful person that ever graced a European Court,” but now over florid and heavy, his face suffused and lined, but still with the manner of his youth, and gorgeously attired in white cut velvet, his blonde hair elaborately curled, his blue mantle starred with silver, every detail of his attire sumptuous and costly.
On their part the Englishmen beheld a slight youth of the middle height, with a thin face, an arched nose, curved lips set disdainfully, and deep and powerful eyes, wearing plain armour and top-boots, leather gloves, and a linen cravat.
The envoys swept off their hats and bowed very low; then Buckingham held his beaver against his breast and looked at his companion over the curling feathers.