The rest of the furniture looked like that of a bourgeois household fixed up for Lent, or for a charity dance or for a visit from the priest.

A great fire blazed on the hearth.

The room was lighted by a very high lamp with a wide shade of pink lace-- "Stinks of the sacristy!" Durtal was saying to himself at the moment the door opened.
Mme.

Chantelouve entered, the lines of her figure advantageously displayed by a wrapper of white swanskin, which gave off a fragrance of frangipane.

She pressed Durtal's hand and sat down facing him, and he perceived under the wrap her indigo silk stockings in little patent leather bootines with straps across the insteps.
They talked about the weather.