On the billiard-table, in the room to the right of the hall, lay Wilhelm's motionless form, while the people who had carried him in stood round.
Water flowed from his clothes and made little pools on the green cloth and trickled into the leather pockets of the billiard-table.

His breast did not move, and death stared from the glazed, half-open eyes.
A doctor was soon on the spot, the curious were turned out of the house, and they began the work of resuscitation.

They had labored uninterruptedly for nearly an hour when Paul burst in, crying in a choking voice: "Doctor--doctor, is he alive ?" The servants had told him all in flying haste outside.
The doctor shook his head.

"There is nothing more to be done." But Paul would not believe it.

He would not suffer them to cease their efforts.