He was dressed in complete black, somewhat
threadbare, but scrupulously brushed. He had a large frill at the
bosom of his shirt, and more frills around the wristbands of it; one
or two rings of immense size and weight on his small fingers; boots
with heels two inches high, and a rather long frock-coat buttoned
closely round his little body. Signor Ercole had never been known to
wear a swallow-tailed coat on any occasion. And spiteful people told
each other, that his motive for never quitting the greater shelter
of the frock was to be found in his fear of exhibiting to the
unkindly glances of the world a pair of knock-knees of rare
perfection.
When his toilet was completed, he threw over all a handsome black
cloth cloak turned up with a broad border of velvet, which he draped
around his person with the air of an Apollo, throwing the corner of
the garment round the lower part of his face and over his shoulder,
in a manner wholly unattainable by any man born on the northern side
of the Alps; and kindly telling Marta that he would take the key,
and that she had better not sit up for him in the cold, stepped
forth on his errand.
"Ben tornato, Signor Ercole! I thank you for coming to me," said the
Marchese, rising from his seat at his library-table, which was
covered with papers and books, to receive the impresario.
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