I examined the tapestry over and over again,
noticing, particularly, the redoubtable expression of a horseman with
lance in rest, and wondering how he had ever emerged from the tower
behind him, of which the gateway was half his size.
A page came out of the doorway through which De Quelus had disappeared.
Did he bring word to me? No. He glanced at me casually, and passed on,
leaving the gallery at the other end. Presently he returned, preceding
Marguerite, the Queen of Navarre, whom he had gone to summon.
"More trouble in the royal family," I said to myself. The King must
have scented another plot, to have summoned his sister before the time
for the _petite levee_. I feared that this would hinder his
consideration of my case.
Suddenly a tall figure, wearing a doublet of cloth of silver, gray velvet
breeches, gray mantle, and gray silk stockings, strode rapidly through
the gallery, and curtly commanded the usher to announce him. While
awaiting the usher's return, he stood still, stroking now his light
mustaches, and now his fine, curly blonde beard, which was little more
than delicate down on his chin. As his glance roved over the gallery it
fell for a moment on me, but he did not know me, and his splendid blue
eyes turned quickly away. His face had a pride, a nobility, a subtlety
that I never saw united in another. He was four inches more than six feet
high, slender, and of perfect proportion, erect, commanding, and in the
flower of youth.
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