I also seek her who would give me happiness--" He was silent--and for a time there was nothing to be heard save the light plash of the water into which little Aulus was throwing pebbles to frighten the fish; but after a while Vinicius began again in a voice still softer and lower,--"But thou knowest of Vespasian's son Titus?
They say that he had scarcely ceased to be a youth when he so loved Berenice that grief almost drew the life out of him.

So could I too love, O Lygia! Riches, glory, power are mere smoke, vanity! The rich man will find a richer than himself; the greater glory of another will eclipse a man who is famous; a strong man will be conquered by a stronger.

But can Caesar himself, can any god even, experience greater delight or be happier than a simple mortal at the moment when at his breast there is breathing another dear breast, or when he kisses beloved lips?
Hence love makes us equal to the gods, O Lygia." And she listened with alarm, with astonishment, and at the same time as if she were listening to the sound of a Grecian flute or a cithara.

It seemed to her at moments that Vinicius was singing a kind of wonderful song, which was instilling itself into her ears, moving the blood in her, and penetrating her heart with a faintness, a fear, and a kind of uncomprehended delight.

It seemed to her also that he was telling something which was in her before, but of which she could not give account to herself.