The king was dead.

Who would ask if it were in truth the king who lay in state in the great hall of the palace, or whether the humble grave at Zenda held the bones of the last male Elphberg?
In the silence of the grave all murmurs and questionings were hushed.
Throughout the day people had been passing and repassing through the great hall.

There, on a stately bier surmounted by a crown and the drooping folds of the royal banner, lay Rudolf Rassendyll.

The highest officer guarded him; in the cathedral the archbishop said a mass for his soul.

He had lain there three days; the evening of the third had come, and early on the morrow he was to be buried.