He was a vision now.
Dressed in a splendid brocade coat of rose and gold, he wore slippers with gold heels, and layers of Italian lace at his collar. Only his hair was what it used to be, dark and very curly, and boyish looking for some reason though it was tied back with a fine bit of silk ribbon.
Parisian fashion, all this --the sort that passed as fast as it could through the local post house.
And here I was to meet him in threadbare wool and scuffed leather boots and yellowed lace that had been seventeen times mended.
We bowed to each other, as he was apparently the spokesman for the town, and then he unwrapped from its modest covering of black serge a great red velvet cloak lined in fur. Gorgeous thing. His eyes were positively shining when he looked at me. You would have thought
