The air was charged with odors of perfume.
It _was_ intoxicating, and yet it was pleasant. No, "pleasant" was not
the word, it was alluring, it played upon the senses, it threw a glow
over the rooms and the people, and the youth saw everything through a
tawny mist that heightened and deepened the colors. He was glad that he
had come. Nor was "glad" the word either. Seeing what he now saw and
knowing what he now knew, he would have blamed himself bitterly had he
stayed away.
"Welcome, Mr. Lennox, my brave and generous opponent of the morning,"
said a voice, and, looking through the tawny mist, he saw the man whom
he had fought and spared, Count Jean de Mezy, in a wonderful coat,
waistcoat and knee breeches of white satin, heavily embroidered, white
silk stockings, and low white shoes with great silver buckles, and a
small gold-hilted sword hanging at his thigh. The cheeks, a trifle too
fat, were mottled again, but his manner like his costume was silken. One
would have thought that he and not Robert was the victor in that trial
of skill by the St.
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