Some voice, like that of Pomponia, was calling yet in her soul, "O Lygia, save thyself!" But something told her also that it was too late; that the one whom such a flame had embraced as that which had embraced her, the one who had seen what was done at that feast and whose heart had beaten as hers had on hearing the words of Vinicius, the one through whom such a shiver had passed as had passed through her when he approached, was lost beyond recovery.
Egy hang, a Pomponiáéhoz hasonló, még megszólalt a szívében: „Lygia, menekülj!” - de valami azt súgta, már késő, mert aki ennyire fellángolt, aki látta mindazt, ami ezen a lakomán történt, akinek a szíve olyan lázasan dobogott, mint az övé, mikor Vinicius szavait hallgatta, s akit olyan remegés fogott el, mint öt, mikor az ifjú feléje közeledett, az már elveszett, s nincs számára semmiféle mentség.