“Come, now, Mama Vauquer, a couple of bottles of champagne,” called Vautrin.
“Quien! just like you! Why not ask for the whole house at once. A couple of bottles of champagne; that means twelve francs! I shall never see the money back again, I know! But if M. Eugene has a mind to pay for it, I have some currant cordial.”
“That currant cordial of hers is as bad as a black draught,” muttered the medical student.
“Shut up, Bianchon,” exclaimed Rastignac; “the very mention of black draught makes me feel——. Yes, champagne, by all means; I will pay for it,” he added.
“Sylvie,” called Mme. Vauquer, “bring in some biscuits, and the little cakes.”
“Those little cakes are mouldy graybeards,” said Vautrin. “But trot out the biscuits.”
The Bordeaux wine circulated; the dinner table became a livelier scene than ever, and the fun grew fast and furious. Imitations of the cries of various animals mingled with the loud laughter; the Museum official having taken it into his head to mimic a cat-call rather like the caterwauling of the animal in question, eight voices simultaneously struck up with the following variations:
“Scissors to grind!”
“Chick-weeds for singing bir-ds!”
“Brandy-snaps, ladies!”