The waiter came back with the St. Galmier and the champagne; he first uncorked the latter and put it down between the two diners. The bottle was no sooner on the table than Defouqueblize seized hold of it without noticing which one it was, poured out a glassful and swallowed it at one gulp. The waiter was going to interfere but Lafcadio stopped him with a laugh.
“Oh! what on earth is this stuff?” cried Defouqueblize with a frightful grimace.
“This gentleman’s Montebello,” replied the waiter with dignity. “This is your St. Galmier! Here!”
He put down the second bottle.
“I’m extremely sorry, Sir.... My eyesight is so bad.... Really, I’m overcome with....”
“You would greatly oblige me, Sir,” interrupted Lafcadio, “by not apologising—and even by accepting another glass—if the first was to your taste, that is.”
“Alas! my dear sir, I must confess that I thought it was horrible and I can’t think how I came to be so absentminded as to swallow a whole glassful.... I was so thirsty.... Would you mind telling me whether it’s very strong wine?... because I must confess that ... I never drink anything but water.... The slightest drop invariably goes to my head.... Good heavens! Good heavens! What’ll happen to me? Perhaps it would be more prudent to go back at once to my compartment. I expect I had better lie down.”
He made as though to get up.
“Stop! Stop! my dear sir,” said Lafcadio, who was beginning to be amused. “You’d better eat your dinner, on the contrary, and not trouble about the glass of wine. I will take you back myself later on, if you’re in need of help; but don’t be alarmed; you haven’t taken enough to turn the head of a baby.”
“I’ll take your word for it. But really, I don’t know how to.... May I offer you a little St. Galmier?”