"As a matter of fact, I didn't say so. Still, you are right."

"The fourth and fifth glasses, too, seemed to have no more kick in
them than the first. . . . Nothing much seemed to be happening,
except that Sebillot had brought in an extra lamp--at any rate, the
room was brighter, and I could see the bagmen's faces more distinctly
as they smiled and congratulated us. I drank off the last glass
'to the honour of England,' and suggested to Jinks--who had kept pace
with me, glass for glass--that we should take a stroll and view the
town. There was a fair (as I had heard) across the bridge. . . .
We stood up together. I had been feeling nervous about Jinks, and it
came as a relief to find that he was every bit as steady on his legs
as I was. We said good evening to the bagmen and walked out into the
street. 'Up the hill or down?' asked Jinks, and I explained to him
very clearly that, since rivers followed the bottoms of their
valleys, we should be safe in going downhill if we wanted to find the
bridge. And I'd scarcely said the words before it flashed across me
that I was drunk as Chloe.

"Here's another thing.--I'd never been drunk before, and I haven't
been drunk since: but all the same I knew that this wasn't the least
like ordinary drunkenness: it was too--what shall I say?--too
brilliant. The whole town of Bergerac belonged to me: and, what was
better, it was lit so that I could steer my way perfectly, although
the street seemed to be quite amazingly full of people, jostling and
chattering. I turned to call Jinks's attention to this, and was
saying something about a French crowd--how much cheerfuller it was
than your average English one--when all of a sudden Jinks wasn't
there! No, nor the crowd! I was alone on Bergerac bridge, and I