She tottered and clutched at a statue, gazing about her, listening to the uproar, and wondering whether she were awake or dreaming.
She tried not to see and hear what was going on there; it was revolting, loathsome, horrible; but it was too manifest to be overlooked or ignored; its vulgarity and horror forced it on her attention.

For some time she stood spell-bound, paralyzed; but then she covered her face with her hands; maidenly shame, bitter disillusion, and pious indignation at the gross desecration of all that she deemed most sacred and inviolable surged up in her stricken soul, and she burst into tears, weeping as she had never wept in all her life before.

Sobbing bitterly, she wrapped her face in her veil, as though to protect herself from storm and chill.
No one heeded her; her companion had left her to seek her father.

She could only await his return, and she looked round for a hiding place.
Then she observed a woman in mourning garb sitting huddled at the foot of the statue of justice; she recognized her as the widow of Asclepiodorus and breathed more freely as she went up to her and said, between her sobs "Let me sit by you; we can mourn together." "Yes, yes, come," said the other; and without enquiring what Gorgo's trouble might be, moved only by the mysterious charm of finding another in like sorrow with herself, she drew the girl to her and bending over her, at length found relief in tears.
The two weeping women sat in silence, side by side, while in front of them the orgy went on its frantic course.

A party of men and women were dancing down the hall, singing and shouting.