what is sacred, and tramples holy customs under foot,
shall be accursed, execrated, given over to want, hunger, disease,
death!"

With rattling breath and closed eyes she leaned farther back against the
cushions that supported her; but Bias, in their common language, tried to
soothe her, and informed her that, though Ledscha had probably run away
from her husband, she had by no means renounced her vengeance. He was
bringing two talents with him to place in the Temple of Nemesis.

"Of Nemesis?" repeated the old dame. Then she tried to raise herself and,
as she constantly sank back again, Bias aided her. But she had scarcely
recovered her sitting posture when she gasped to the freedman: "Nemesis,
who helped, and is to continue to help her to destroy her foe? Well,
well! Five talents--a great sum, a great sum! But the more the better! To
Nemesis with them, to Ate and the Erinyes! The talons of the avenging
goddess shall tear the beautiful face, the heart, and the liver of the
accursed one! A twofold malediction on her who has wronged the son of my
Satabus!"

While speaking, her head nodded swiftly up and down, and when at last she
bowed it wearily, her visitors heard her murmur the names of Satabus and
Hanno, sometimes tenderly, sometimes mournfully.

Finally she asked whether any one else was concerned in Ledscha's flight;
and when she learned that a Gallic bridge-builder accompanied the
fugitive wife, she again started up as if frantic, exclaiming: "Yes, to
Nemesis with the gold! We neither need nor want it, and Satabus, my son,
he will bless me for renunciation--"

Here exhaustion again silenced her. She gazed mutely and thoughtfully
into vacancy, until at last, turning to Bias, she began more calmly: "You
will see her again, man, and must tell her what the clan of Tabus bought
with her talents. Take her my curse, and let her know that her friends
would be my foes, and her foes should find in Tabus a benefactress!"

Then, deeply buried in thought, she again fixed her eyes on the floor;
but at last she called to Hermon, saying: "You, blind Greek--am I not
right?--the torch was thrust into your face, and you lost the sight of
both eyes?"

The artist assented to this question; but she bade him sit down before
her, and when he bent his face near her she raised one lid after the
other with trembling fingers, yet lightly and skilfully, gazed long and
intently into his eyes, and murmured: "Like black Psoti and lawless