Ardently admiring as well as fervently thanking, he
watched the friend in need, the splendid ally, the only agent of
Providence that could have saved him.
Who would not admire such a prince?
He was old and big, and though rather frail, yet so magnificently
grand. His costume was of the plainest character--black satin
neck-scarf tied negligently, with a pearl pin stuck through it anyhow,
a queer sort of black pea-jacket with braid on its edges, square-toed
patent-leather boots with white spats--and, nevertheless, he seemed to
be dressed as sumptuously as if he had been wearing all the gold and
glitter of his Privy Councilor's uniform. His face seemed to Dale like
the mask of a Roman emperor--a high-bridged delicate nose, thin gray
hair combed back from a low forehead, a ridge like a straight bar
above the tired eyes and a puffiness of flesh below them, a moustache
that showed the lose curves of the mouth, and a small pointed beard
that perhaps concealed an unbeautiful protrusion of the chin. His
voice, so calm, so evenly modulated, had been trained in the senate
and the palace. His attitude, his manner, his freedom from gesture
and emphasis, all indicated a born ruler as well as a born aristocrat.
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