"I will call Casimir." I knelt beside the Prince and raised his hand.

It was cold and heavy.
His lips were blue, and his closed eyelids looked as though, in the words of Homer, "Death's purple finger" had shut them fast forever.

No breath--no pulsation of the heart.

I looked fearfully at Zara.

She smiled half sadly.
"He is not dead," she repeated.
"Are you sure ?" I murmured.