I went into the Café du Roi and sat down at a table; I calculated what would cost me the least; I concluded that a small glass of brandy would give me the right to wait, and at least to look as though I was a habitué of the establishment; so I ordered one. Now, I had never managed to swallow one drop of that abominable liquor; however, although obliged to order it, I was not obliged to drink it. I had scarcely taken my seat when I saw one of the regular customers (I judged he was a regular attender, because I saw that he had nothing at all on the table before him) get up and come towards me. I uttered a cry of surprise and joy: it was Lafarge. Lafarge had gone a step lower towards poverty: he wore a coat shiny at the elbows, trousers shiny at the knees.
"Why, surely I am not mistaken, it is really you?" he said.
"It is really I. Sit down here."
"With pleasure. Ask for another glass."
"For you?"
"Yes."
"Take mine, my dear fellow. I never touch brandy."
"Then why did you ask for it?"
"Because I did not like to wait till Adolphe came in without asking for something."