"Ah! he's a distiller, is he?"
"Why, everybody knows him!"
"I must tell you that I very rarely have dealings with distillers."
"He's the man who makes the syrup of punch—that's a famous brew! Did you ever drink it?"
"No; and I am not anxious to."
"Oh! you must take some, and tell us what you think of it.—Come here quick, Cousin Bocal! I say! here's a gentleman from your landlord's party; he's never tasted your punch."
The stout man with the glassy eyes stopped at Cousin Ravinet's summons; then he came to me and gripped my other arm, saying with an effusiveness that scorched my cheeks, for he had the unpleasant habit of speaking within an inch of your nose:
"Ah! monsieur, you're one of my landlord's guests. Surely you won't insult me by joining us without taking something?—Here, waiter!"
"You are too good, Monsieur Bocal, but——"
"The punch is made with my syrup; it's perfumed, and sweetens your breath."