They looked about them till the clock indicated that it was time to start for the hotel; but they decided to repeat the dose from the decanter, and did so.
"That's the strongest wine I ever drank," said Grossbeck.
"How much is it?" asked Lynch.
"Let's see—combien?"
"Un franc cinquante centimes," replied the waiter, after he had glanced at a gauge on the decanter which indicated the quantity of the fiery fluid that had been consumed.
Neither of them could understand the answer, and Grossbeck handed the garçon a franc. The man shook his head, and held out his hand for more. Lynch gave him another franc, and he returned a half franc piece.
"Pour boire?" said the man with a winning smile.
"Poor bwar! Who's he?" demanded Lynch, in whose head the strong water was producing its effect. "He means 'poor boy.' I say, Grossbeck, does he think I'm—I'm sizzled? I feel so myself. Come, let's go."
They rose, and moved in a serpentine path to the door.
"Pour boire?" repeated the garçon, following them.