chapter 21 he wakes to a burial of flowers : hundreds of rose petals , hundreds of babys breaths , hundreds of carnations plucked , blanketing him ... he is perfumed , fragranced , honeyed , sweetenedbefore him she stands , in funereal black , missal in hand , crushing ancient latin phrases , pressing out their vinegar ... around the bed she walks , waving one of his thick cigars smoking : incensei want you to have my baby , bertha pleads with frank .