“Oh, Lord, it’s Herr Dufresne--is it as late as all that?” Then, glancing at his watch, he growled: “’Tain’t even nine yet! I could ’a’ slept another hour!” “Yes,” laughed Leo, “but I know a better way of entertaining you and myself. Just think, when I came home last night I found a package from Paris, and in it the best wines of France. Well, since I’m really happy about your success, I thought we could celebrate our victory a little, just we two, before we go on to the Parliament. For you, my dear sir, being a connoisseur, will soon admit that never in all your life have you tasted a wine to compare with the one I’ll pour out for you now.” Electrified, Herr Krötzl leaped out of his bed, got partly dressed, and admiringly stroked one after the other the six wine-bottles that stood before him with all the earmarks of venerable age. There was white bread, and the Strassbourg patty drew from Herr Krötzl a half-belch, half-grunt that became a hymn of joy as the first glass of the golden Burgundy trickled down his throat. “W’at a wine! If I c’d have that all the time I’d be a diff’rent guy! No wonder you Frenchies know how to live, if you got wine like this!” The second glass was drained to the victory of Herr Krötzl, the third to “Down with the Jews,” the fourth to “Long live beautiful Vienna, free of Jews.” Then the neck of a bottle of blood-red Bordeaux was broken, and when only the dregs were left in it, and Leo was uncorking the third bottle, Krötzl declared he loved him like a brother. At the fourth bottle he acquainted the Frenchman with the secrets of his sexual life, and proclaimed that skirts over fourteen was nothin’ more nor less’n old women. When they reached the sixth bottle Leo, unobserved by the half-dazed and quite dizzy Krötzl, mixed the wine with an equal amount of cognac; but now they had to stop, for else it would have been impossible ever to bring the worthy Deputy downstairs. Besides, the correct time was twelve o’clock, so that there was danger of Krötzl’s colleagues coming in at any moment to look for him. Leo’s own sobriety after this drinking party was due solely to the circumstance that he had each time emptied the contents of his glass under the table, on the beautiful Persian rug. With hard work Leo finished dressing the deputy, practically carried him down several flights of stairs, and, with the assistance of the chauffeur, put him in the interior of the closed car. The chauffeur had grinned as he nodded to the Frenchman, whom he often drove about the town. Leo entered, sat down beside Krötzl, who was lying in the corner dead drunk, and the car rolled forward at moderate speed. The day before Leo had had an important conference with the chauffeur, beginning with the question: “How’d you like to make a hundred French francs?” The chauffeur’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers, his face had flushed and he had gasped: “Sir, I’ll take you to the moon for a hundred francs!”