They simply would not see such a one as she was, however much effort she might make.

They had left their admiration and their desires on the other side of the door.
Freya perceived that she had ceased to be a woman and was no more than one accused.

Another of her sex, an irresistible rival, was now engrossing everything, binding these men with a profound and austere love.

Instinct made her regard fixedly the white matron of grave countenance whose vigorous bust appeared over the head of the president.

She was Patriotism, Justice, the Republic, contemplating with her vague and hollow eyes this female of flesh and blood who was beginning to tremble upon realizing her situation.
"I do not want to die!" cried Freya, suddenly abandoning her seductions and becoming a poor, wretched creature crazed by fear.