At the thought that soon she would hear that dear and pleasant voice, which had spoken of love to her and of happiness worthy of the gods, and which was sounding like a song in her ears yet, delight seized her straightway.
But the next moment she feared that delight.

It seemed to her that she would be false to the pure teaching in which she had been reared, false to Pomponia, and false to herself.

It is one thing to go by constraint, and another to delight in such a necessity.

She felt guilty, unworthy, and ruined.
Despair swept her away, and she wanted to weep.

Had she been alone, she would have knelt down and beaten her breast, saying, "Mea culpa! mea culpa!" Acte, taking her hand at that moment, led her through the interior apartments to the grand triclinium, where the feast was to be.