That evening when Hector returned to his room after he had finished
his meal, he found Paolo waiting outside his door. His appearance
had so changed that he would not have known him. His hair had been
cut short in the front and left long behind, as was the custom of
the day, hanging down on to his collar. He was neat and tidy. He
wore a dark blue doublet reaching to the hips, with a buff leather
belt, in which was stuck a dagger. His leggings, fitting tightly
down to the ankles, were of dark maroon cloth, and he wore short
boots of tanned leather. A plain white collar, some four inches
deep, was worn turned down over the neck of the doublet, and a
yellow cloth cap, with a dark cock's feather, was stuck on one side
of his head. In his hand he held a bundle containing a leather
jerkin and breeches of the same material, and a pair of buff leather
riding boots that would reach to the knee.

"Your brother has laid out the money well, Paolo," Hector said, as
he opened the door and led the way into his room. "I do not think
that I should have known you."

"I am quite sure that I should not have known myself, master, if
I had looked into a horse trough and seen my reflection. It will
be a long time before I shall be able to persuade myself that these
clothes are my own, and that I really am an officer's lackey. Now,
master, you must teach me my duties, of which I know nought when
in a house like this, though I know well enough what they are when
you are in the field."

"They are few enough at present, Paolo. Monsieur de Turenne's
stablemen look after the horses of his staff. When I do not dine