They were cracking in their skins, the blessed gormandizers! With their mouths open, their chins besmeared with grease, they had such bloated red faces that one would have said they were bursting with prosperity.
As for the wine, well, that was flowing as freely around the table as water flows in the Seine.

It was like a brook overflowing after a rainstorm when the soil is parched.

Coupeau raised the bottle high when pouring to see the red jet foam in the glass.

Whenever he emptied a bottle, he would turn it upside down and shake it.

One more dead solder! In a corner of the laundry the pile of dead soldiers grew larger and larger, a veritable cemetery of bottles onto which other debris from the table was tossed.
Coupeau became indignant when Madame Putois asked for water.