The Count of Monte Cristo

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in the dead of the night over the sleep of pleasure. They were the
same statues, rich in form, in attraction, and poesy, with eyes of
fascination, smiles of love, and bright and flowing hair. They were
Phryne, Cleopatra, Messalina, those three celebrated courtesans. Then
among them glided like a pure ray, like a Christian angel in the midst
of Olympus, one of those chaste figures, those calm shadows, those
soft visions, which seemed to veil its virgin brow before these marble
wantons. Then the three statues advanced towards him with looks of love,
and approached the couch on which he was reposing, their feet hidden in
their long white tunics, their throats bare, hair flowing like waves,
and assuming attitudes which the gods could not resist, but which saints
withstood, and looks inflexible and ardent like those with which the
serpent charms the bird; and then he gave way before looks that held him
in a torturing grasp and delighted his senses as with a voluptuous kiss.
It seemed to Franz that he closed his eyes, and in a last look about him
saw the vision of modesty completely veiled; and then followed a dream
of passion like that promised by the Prophet to the elect. Lips of stone