She followed the direction of his eyes and saw the same image which had fascinated his gaze--Sirona's lovely form, flooded with sunlight.

She looked as if formed out of snow, and roses, and gold, like the angel at the sepulchre in the new picture in the church.

Yes, just like the angel, and the thought flew through her mind how brown and black she was herself, and that he had called her a she-devil.

A sense of deep pain came over her, she felt as though paralyzed in body and soul; but soon she shook off the spell, and her heart began to beat violently; she had to bite her lip hard with her white teeth to keep herself from crying out with rage and anguish.
How she wished that she could swing herself up to the window on which Hermas' gaze was fixed, and clutch Sirona's golden hair and tear her down to the ground, and suck the very blood from her red lips like a vampire, till she lay at her feet as pale as the corpse of a man dead of thirst in the desert.

Then she saw the light mantle slip from Sirona's shoulders, and observed Hermas start and press his hand to his heart.
Then another impulse seized her.