power, and of beguilement that the world could give were added, to the beauty of Idalia, Countess Vassalis.
Men passing her in the open air gazed after her, and felt a sudden giddy worship for what they only saw one moment to lose the next; men who held themselves, by age or coldness, steeled to all the glamour of her sex, fell before her; a few low lingering words from her lips, a breath of fragrance from her laces, the disdain of her delicate scorn, the caress of her soft persuasion, the challenge of her haughty indifference, the sorcery of her sovereign smile—these at her will did with men as they would; intoxicated them, blinded them, wooed them, bound them, subdued their will, their honour, and their pride, fettered their senses, broke their peace, gave them heaven, gave them hell, won from them their closest secret, and drew them down into the darkest path. A power wide and fatal—power that she was said, and justly, to have used with little scruple. Who was she—what was she, this beautiful enchantress?
In one word she was—"Idalia."
Her supper-room, perfumed, mellowly lighted, the supper served without ostentation, yet in truth, as extravagantly as any Court banquet, with summer
