The long loaves standing against the wall behind the guests appeared to melt away.

Between the mouthfuls one could hear the sound of glasses being replaced on the table.

The sauce was a trifle too salty.

It required four bottles of wine to drown that blessed stewed veal, which went down like cream, but which afterwards lit up a regular conflagration in one's stomach.

And before one had time to take a breath, the pig's back, in the middle of a deep dish surrounded by big round potatoes, arrived in the midst of a cloud of smoke.