His face, always white and delicate, now appeared as if carved in ivory.

His lips fell apart, but no breath issued from them.

Except for a slight twitching of the eyelids, the Bishop's countenance was lifeless.
Startled and greatly alarmed, Hugh looked around for some means whereby he might summon help, but could see none.
Hastening to the table, he poured wine into the Venetian goblet, brought it back, and moistened the Bishop's lips.

Then kneeling on one knee loosed the cold fingers from their grip.
Presently the Bishop opened his eyes--no longer points of blue steel, but soft and dreamy like a mist of bluebells on distant hills.

He looked, with unseeing gaze, into the anxious face on a level with his own; then turned his eyes slowly upon the ruby goblet which the Knight had lifted from the floor and was trying to hold to his lips.
Waving it away, the Bishop slipped the finger and thumb of his left hand into his sash, and drew out a small gold box of exquisite workmanship, set with emeralds.
At this he gazed for some time, as if uncertain what to do with it; then touched a spring and as the lid flew open, sat up and took from the box a tiny white tablet.