There was something dread and impressive in the very appearance of this room, where Death, that destroys, was in mortal conflict with Youth and Beauty, that adorn, while the eyes of one old man watched in loneliness the awful progress of the strife.
Morning came, and still there was no change.

Once, when the lamp that lit the room was fading out as the dawn appeared, Numerian had risen and looked close on his daughter's face--he thought at that moment that her features moved; but he saw that the flickering of the dying light on them had deceived him; the same stillness was over her.

He placed his ear close to her lips for an instant, and then resumed his place, not stirring from it again.

The slow current of his blood seemed to have come to a pause--he was waiting as a man waits with his head on the block ere the axe descends--as a mother waits to hear that the breath of life has entered her new-born child.
The sun rose bright in a cloudless sky.

As the fresh, sharp air of the early dawn warmed under its spreading rays, the women entered the apartment again, and partly drew aside the curtain and shutter from the window.