Finally there were Maria Blond and Louise Violaine and Lea de Horn, who had all shot up to woman's estate on the pavements of Paris, not to mention Tatan Nene, who had herded cows in Champagne till she was twenty.
Georges listened and looked at these ladies, feeling dizzy and excited by the coarse recital thus crudely whispered in his ear, while behind his chair the waiters kept repeating in respectful tones: "Pullets a la marechale; fillets of sole with ravigote sauce." "My dear fellow," said Daguenet, giving him the benefit of his experience, "don't take any fish; it'll do you no good at this time of night.

And be content with Leoville: it's less treacherous." A heavy warmth floated upward from the candelabras, from the dishes which were being handed round, from the whole table where thirty-eight human beings were suffocating.

And the waiters forgot themselves and ran when crossing the carpet, so that it was spotted with grease.
Nevertheless, the supper grew scarce any merrier.

The ladies trifled with their meat, left half of it uneaten.

Tatan Nene alone partook gluttonously of every dish.