Rose, Blanche, and Violet, Volume III by George Henry Lewes

After a dinner at the Thatched House, limited in the number of dishes, but selected with the skill of a Frank Forrester, and assisted by a bottle of Barsac, two bottles of Æil-de-perdrix, and a bottle of Romané, the two friends were seated at the table in that state of indolent beatitude which succeeds a scientifically-chosen repast. The pulse is heightened, but digestion is light; the brain is active, yet somewhat dreamy; the will seems lulled, and anything like an effort seems impossible.

Sipping their Burgundy, Frank and Cecil sat talking over the various experiences of their lives, especially with women -- a subject on which men are usually communicative during such hours. Frank was inexhaustible in stories, which made Cecil roll with laughter, or listen with breath-suspended interest. Meanwhile the lights grew dimmer, and their brains grew heavier: the Burgundy was steadily overcoming them. Frank perceiving it, made a movement to go. Cecil tried to persuade him to have another bottle, but he was resolute; and having paid the bill, they departed.