It was papered with a paper at seven sous a roll with a pattern of roses twining over green trelliswork.

Two boards, placed near one another and covered with oilcloth, did duty for dressing tables.

They were black with spilled water, and underneath them was a fine medley of dinted zinc jugs, slop pails and coarse yellow earthenware crocks.

There was an array of fancy articles in the room--a battered, soiled and well-worn array of chipped basins, of toothless combs, of all those manifold untidy trifles which, in their hurry and carelessness, two women will leave scattered about when they undress and wash together amid purely temporary surroundings, the dirty aspect of which has ceased to concern them.
"Do come here," Fauchery repeated with the good-humored familiarity which men adopt among their fallen sisters.

"Clarisse is wanting to kiss you." Muffat entered the room at last.