The gentlemen burst into applause.
The company went upstairs to take coffee in the little drawing room,
where a couple of lamps cast a soft glow over the rosy hangings and the
lacquer and old gold of the knickknacks. At that hour of the evening
the light played discreetly over coffers, bronzes and china, lighting up
silver or ivory inlaid work, bringing into view the polished contours of
a carved stick and gleaming over a panel with glossy silky reflections.
The fire, which had been burning since the afternoon, was dying out
in glowing embers. It was very warm--the air behind the curtains and
hangings was languid with warmth. The room was full of Nana's intimate
existence: a pair of gloves, a fallen handkerchief, an open book, lay
scattered about, and their owner seemed present in careless attire with
that well-known odor of violets and that species of untidiness which
became her in her character of good-natured courtesan and had such a
charming effect among all those rich surroundings. The very armchairs,
which were as wide as beds, and the sofas, which were as deep as
alcoves, invited to slumber oblivious of the flight of time and to
tender whispers in shadowy corners.
Satin went and lolled back in the depths of a sofa near the fireplace.
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