“Alas! my dear sir, I must confess that I thought it was horrible and I can’t think how I came to be so absentminded as to swallow a whole glassful.... I was so thirsty.... Would you mind telling me whether it’s very strong wine?... because I must confess that ... I never drink anything but water.... The slightest drop invariably goes to my head.... Good heavens! Good heavens! What’ll happen to me? Perhaps it would be more prudent to go back at once to my compartment. I expect I had better lie down.” He made as though to get up. “Stop! Stop! my dear sir,” said Lafcadio, who was beginning to be amused. “You’d better eat your dinner, on the contrary, and not trouble about the glass of wine. I will take you back myself later on, if you’re in need of help; but don’t be alarmed; you haven’t taken enough to turn the head of a baby.” “I’ll take your word for it. But really, I don’t know how to.... May I offer you a little St. Galmier?” “Thank you very much--will you excuse me if I say I prefer my champagne?” “Ah! really! So it was champagne, was it? And ... you are going to drink all that?” “Just to give you confidence.” “You’re exceedingly kind, but in your place I should....” “Suppose you were to eat your dinner,” interrupted Lafcadio, who was himself eating and had had enough of Defouqueblize. His attention was now attracted by the widow. An Italian certainly. An officer’s widow, no doubt. What modesty in her bearing! What tenderness in her eyes! How pure a brow! What intelligent hands! How elegantly dressed and yet how simply!... Lafcadio, when your heart fails to re-echo to such a blended concord of harmonies, may that heart have ceased to beat! Her daughter is like her, and even at that early age, what nobility--half serious, half sad even--tempers the child’s excessive grace! With what solicitude her mother bends towards her! Ah! the fiend himself would yield to such beings as these; to such beings as these, Lafcadio, who can doubt that you would offer your heart’s devotion?... At that moment the waiter passed by to change the plates. Lafcadio allowed his to be carried away before it was half empty, for at that moment he was gazing at a sight that filled him with sudden stupor--the widow--the exquisitely refined widow--had bent down towards the side nearest the aisle, and deftly raising her skirt, with the most natural movement in the world, had revealed a scarlet stocking and a neatly turned calf and ankle. So incongruous was this fiery note that burst into the calm gravity of the symphony ... could he be dreaming? In the meantime the waiter was handing round another dish. Lafcadio was on the point of helping himself; his eyes fell upon his plate, and what he saw there finally did for him.