A scarlet plume was clasped by a
great diamond in his velvet cap, and on his right wrist was perched a
hooded falcon.
He was a tall and gracefully shaped man of something over forty years of
age, black-haired and olive-skinned, wearing a small pointed beard that
added length to his face. His nose was aquiline, and he had fine eyes, but
under them there were heavy brown shadows, and as he came nearer it was
seen that his countenance was marred by an unpleasant eruption of sores.
After him came his gentlemen, a round dozen of them, with half that number
of splendid ladies, all a very dazzling company. Behind these, in blazing
liveries, there was a cloud of pages upon mules, and lackeys leading
sumpter-beasts; and then to afford them an effective background, a grey,
steel phalanx of men-at-arms.
I describe his entrance as it appeared at a glance, for I did not study it
or absorb any of its details. My horrified gaze was held by a figure that
rode on his right hand, a queenly woman with a beautiful pale countenance
and a lazy, insolent smile.
It was Giuliana.
How she came there I did not at the moment trouble to reflect. She was
there. That was the hideous fact that made me doubt the sight of my own
eyes, made me conceive almost that I was at my disordered visions again,
the fruit of too much brooding.
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