A cheerful wood fire was blazing on the hearth, lighting up the array of bottles in the bar, which was placed near it, where the master of the establishment sat enthroned, keeping a watchful eye on the noisy crowd gathered round the many small tables with which the room abounded, drinking, smoking, playing at various games, and singing ribald songs.
Lampourde paid no attention to the uproarious throng, further than to look about and make sure that none of his own particular friends and associates were among them.

He found an unoccupied table, to which a servant quickly brought a bottle of fine old Canary wine, very choice and rare, which was reserved for a few privileged and appreciative customers, who could afford to indulge in such luxuries.

Although he was quite by himself, two glasses were placed before him, as his dislike of drinking alone was well known, and at any moment a comrade might come in and join him.

Meantime he slowly filled his glass, raised it to the level of his eyes, and looked long and lovingly through the beautiful, clear topaz of the generous wine.

Having thus satisfied the sense of sight, he passed to that of smell, and held the glass under his nostrils, where he could enjoy the delicious aroma arising from it, giving the wine a rotary motion as he did so, in a very artistic manner; then, putting the glass to his lips, he let a few drops trickle slowly down over his tongue to his palate, lengthening out the enjoyment as much as possible, and approving smack of relish as he at last swallowed the smooth nectar.