self, who have none of your sex's weaknesses—is only given to be broken. Is it so?"
She answered nothing still; a slight quick shudder of hatred or of contempt passed over her one moment; she was torn inwardly with such a conflict as the prisoner on parole feels when he might break his fetters away, and strive, at least, for the sweet chance of liberty, were he not held back by one torturing memory—his word.
Suddenly she turned and bent rapidly towards him, her eyes looking into his with so full and brilliant a lustre of unuttered scorn, that he started and drew back.
"You sell everything—your body and your soul! What bribe would you take to give me my release?"
"What bribe? None! You are much more to me, my exquisite Idalia, than any gold, well as I love the little god. 'Bribe!' What an ugly word! Bribes are like medicines; every one takes them, but no one talks about them. Your 'release' too I when you live as free as air!"
She said no more, but stood aloof from him again in haughty and enforced composure.
"Leave my presence, or let me pass out," she said, briefly. "One or the other."
