come staggerin' in here one night with blood runnin' from

puissance of Nana's sex, which at this very hour lay nudely

displayed there in the religious immodesty befitting an idol of all

men's worship. And close by, beneath the snowy reflections of her

bosom and amid the triumph of the goddess, lay wallowing a shameful,

decrepit thing, a comic and lamentable ruin, the Marquis de Chouard

The count had clasped his hands together and, shaken by a paroxysmal

It was for the Marquis de Chouard, then, that the golden roses

flourished on the side panels, those bunches of golden roses

Great!（6）