There were twenty-four of us at table, and it is no exaggeration to say
that we emptied a hundred bottles of the choicest wines. Everybody was
drunk, with the exception of myself and the poet Poinsinet, who had taken
nothing but water. The company rose from table, and then began a foul
orgy which I should never have conceived possible, and which no pen could
describe, though possibly a seasoned profligate might get some idea of
it.

A castrato and a girl of almost equal height proposed to strip in an
adjoining room, and to lie on their backs, in the same bed with their
faces covered. They challenged us all to guess which was which.

We all went in and nobody could pronounce from sight which was male and
which was female, so I bet the earl fifty crowns that I would point out
the woman.

He accepted the wager, and I guessed correctly, but payment was out of
the question.

This first act of the orgy ended with the prostitution of the two
individuals, who defied everybody to accomplish the great act. All, with
the exception of Poinsinet and myself, made the attempt, but their
efforts were in vain.

The second act displayed four or five couples reversed, and here the
abbes shone, both in the active and passive parts of this lascivious
spectacle. I was the only person respected.

All at once, the earl, who had hitherto remained perfectly motionless,
attacked the wretched Poinsinet, who in vain attempted to defend himself.