Marc Henri continued in the prince s own words:
"Doctor," had said the prince, "it is not that I love to live nor that I am afraid to die. I fear death—not dying. I fear that fraction of a second when my body will step from life to death, don't you understand? I dread the—ah—the utter uselessness of it—and, too, the utter ignorance! What is it? What does it feel like? What does the whole mystery consist in? Why are we so helpless against it?
"I—I have felt this fear all my life—since I can remember—waking and sleeping my life has been a continuous martyrdom—and I have always tried to fight death—to fight sickness and accidents—with light and life and even with steel. So I shun sport, I shun darkness and loneliness, and my servants never leave my side. But what is the use, doctor? What is the use?
"For death is a coward—death—may be watching me even now—from the corner of the room—about to pounce on me and strangle me!"
"You see/ the doctor went on as he told his colleagues across the marble-topped table of the Café des Reines, "the prince convinced me that there is a grain of truth in the Bible after all. His fear
