silver domes whetted both appetite and curiosity.

Few words were spoken. Neighbors exchanged glances as the Maderia
circulated. Then the first course appeared in all its glory; it would
have done honor to the late Cambaceres, Brillat-Savarin would have
celebrated it. The wines of Bordeaux and Burgundy, white and red, were
royally lavished. This first part of the banquet might been compared
in every way to a rendering of some classical tragedy. The second act
grew a trifle noisier. Every guest had had a fair amount to drink, and
had tried various crus at this pleasure, so that as the remains of the
magnificent first course were removed, tumultuous discussions began; a
pale brow here and there began to flush, sundry noses took a purpler
hue, faces lit up, and eyes sparkled.

While intoxication was only dawning, the conversation did not overstep
the bounds of civility; but banter and bon mots slipped by degrees
from every tongue; and then slander began to rear its little snake's
heard, and spoke in dulcet tones; a few shrewd ones here and there
gave heed to it, hoping to keep their heads. So the second course
found their minds somewhat heated. Every one ate as he spoke, spoke
while he ate, and drank without heeding the quantity of the liquor,
the wine was so biting, the bouquet so fragrant, the example around so
infectious. Taillefer made a point of stimulating his guests, and
plied them with the formidable wines of the Rhone, with fierce Tokay,
and heady old Roussillon.

The champagne, impatiently expected and lavishly poured out, was a
scourge of fiery sparks to these men; released like post-horses from
some mail-coach by a relay; they let their spirits gallop away into
the wilds of argument to which no one listened, began to tell stories