THE PASSING OF IVAN
315
"That—dead wasp!" he gasped. "I might have guessed!"
His arm slipped off his chest and fell limply. There were strangling noises in his throat. Then the blue colour faded, leaving the beautifully chiselled features of a marble pallor. I turned and looked at Léontine, who was standing, half crouched, both hands pressed against her temples.
"He is dead!" I told her gently.
