Seeing the stove lighted he called out:-- "Who is making a fire here?
Do you want to burn the house down ?" "Why, uncle," said the Cardinal, "it is wood I bought with my own money, to warm your wine.

The doctor doesn't want you to drink it cold." "Where is it, that wine ?" demanded Toupillier, calming down a little at the thought that the fire was not burning at his expense.
"It must come to a boil," said his nurse; "the doctor insisted upon that.

Still, if you'll be good I'll give you half a glass of it cold, just to wet your whistle.

I'll take that upon myself, but don't you tell the doctor." "Doctor! I won't have a doctor; they are all scoundrels, invented to kill people," cried Toupillier, whom the idea of drink had revived.
"Come, give me the wine!" he said, in the tone of a man whose patience had come to an end.
Convinced that though this compliance would do no harm it could do no good, Madame Cardinal poured out half a glass, and while she gave it with one hand to the sick man, with the other she raised him to a sitting posture that he might drink it.
With his fleshless, eager fingers Toupillier clutched the glass, emptied it at a gulp, and exclaimed:-- "Ah! that's a fine drop, that is! though you've watered it." "You mustn't say that, uncle; I went and bought it myself of Pere Legrelu, and I've given it you quite pure.

But you let me simmer the rest; the doctor said I might then give you all you wanted." Toupillier resigned himself with a shrug of the shoulders.