“Might I venture to ask for just a little more?”
He pushed his glass timidly towards the almost empty bottle.
Lafcadio, surprised out of his uneasiness and delighted at the diversion, poured him out the last drops.
“I’m afraid it’s impossible to give you much.... But shall I order some more?”
“Oh, well, not more than half a bottle then.”
Defouqueblize was obviously elevated and had lost all sense of the proprieties. Lafcadio, for whom dry champagne had no terrors and who was amused at the other’s ingenuousness, ordered the waiter to uncork another bottle of Montebello.
“No, no, not too much,” said Defouqueblize, as with a quavering hand he raised the glass which Lafcadio succeeded in filling to the brim. “It’s curious—I thought it so nasty at first. That’s the way with a great many things which one makes mountains of till one knows more about them. The fact is, I thought I was drinking St. Galmier, and you see I thought that for St. Galmier it had a very queer taste. If you were given St. Galmier now, when you thought you were drinking champagne, wouldn’t you say: ‘For champagne, it has a very queer taste’?...”
He laughed at his own words, then bending across the table to Lafcadio, who was laughing too, he went on in a low voice:
“I can’t think why I’m laughing so; it must be the fault of your wine. I suspect, all the same, it’s rather more heady than you make out. Eh! Eh! Eh! But you’ll take me back to my carriage? That’s agreed, isn’t it? If I behave indecently, you’ll know why.”
“When one’s travelling,” hazarded Lafcadio, “there’s no fear of consequences.”