But directly afterward he was surprised and angry with himself.

Why, in the presence of this courtesan, should the idea of being virtuous embarrass him?
He could have struck her.

But in attempting to take up a brush Nana had just let it drop on the ground, and as she stooped to pick it up he rushed forward.

Their breath mingled for one moment, and the loosened tresses of Venus flowed over his hands.

But remorse mingled with his enjoyment, a kind of enjoyment, moreover, peculiar to good Catholics, whom the fear of hell torments in the midst of their sin.
At this moment Father Barillot's voice was heard outside the door.
"May I give the knocks, madame?
The house is growing impatient." "All in good time," answered Nana quietly.
She had dipped her paint brush in a pot of kohl, and with the point of her nose close to the glass and her left eye closed she passed it delicately along between her eyelashes.