There was a tinge of scarlet in the very air of the place that one could not merely see, thru the haze of smoke, but that one inhaled, as well, in the vivid blend of perfumes; that one heard in the wild lilt of the orchestra, drenched in the voices of beautiful women; that one felt passing into his or her veins thru the fiery liqueurs and volatile, sparkling wines that gave zest to every rich repast. Here was the last word of sensuous gayety, and the Temple of Feeling. Wine, women and songand the kind of men who made them their gods.