The Bishop himself wore crimson and gold; and, just as the dark beauty
of the Knight was enhanced by the fair white and silver of his dress,
so did these gorgeous Italian robes set off the frail whiteness of the
Bishop's delicate face, the silvery softness of his abundant hair. And
just as the collar of rubies gleamed like fiery eyes upon the Knight's
white satin doublet, so from out the pallor of the Prelate's
countenance the eyes shone forth, bright with the fires of eternal,
youth, the gay joy of life, the twinkling humour of a shrewd yet kindly
wit.
They supped at a round table of small size, in the very centre of the
huge apartment. It formed a point of light and brightness from which
all else merged into shadow, and yet deeper shadow, until the eye
reached the dark panelling of the walls.
The light seemed to centre in the Knight--white and silver; the colour,
in the figure of the Bishop--crimson and gold.
In and out of the shadows, swift and silent, on sandalled feet, moved
the lay-brothers serving the feast; watchful of each detail; quickly
supplying every need.
At length they loaded the table with fruit; put upon it fresh flagons
of wine, and finally withdrew; each black-robed figure merging into the
black shadows, and vanishing in silence.
The Bishop's Chaplain appeared in a distant doorway.
"_Benedicite_," said Symon of Worcester, looking up.
"_Deus_," replied the Chaplain, making a profound obeisance.
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