CHAPTER IV.
"a temple not made with hands."
The day on which Conrad Phaulcon left her was just in the mellow heat of noon, yet not oppressive where the great overhanging rocks with drooping masses of entwined foliage shut out the sun; and where in the privacy of her villa gardens Idalia came, leaving her prosecutor to his half triumphant and half mortified solitude.
Alone, she sank down on the stone bench that overlooked the sea, while the hound Sulla was couched at her feet; alone, a profound weariness and dejection broke down the pride which had never drooped before her foe, while a passionate hatred quivered over the fairness of her face.
"Oh God!" she said, half aloud in the unconscious utterance of her thoughts, "and I once believed in that man as simple women believe in their religion! Fool—fool—fool! And yet I was so young then; how could I know what I worked for
