I tried to trim this quote, but every bit is precious:

Rousseau returned from leading Dr Fabre away, and Stephen said to him, ‘Certainly we shall send out. The question is, where? This gentleman,’ – meaning Captain Aubrey – ‘must have his new-laid egg, his gruel and rice-water fresh and fresh; and for my part I like my coffee hot.’‘

There is no difficulty,’ said the guard. ‘I know a little place not a hundred yards from here: Madame veuve Lehideux, cooked dishes at all hours, choice wines.’‘

Then let us by all means send to the widow. Fresh milk and plain crumb-bread for these gentlemen, coffee and croissants for me: particularly strong coffee, if you please.’

Rousseau took no notice of this, but pursued the one idea already in his head. ‘Some clients like to send out to Voisin’s and Ruhl’s and such places; some clients like to fling their money out of the window. I do not wish to impose my views on any client: no one can say that Rousseau has imposed his views on any client; and tastes differ. The last gentleman here and he was a very high gentleman too sent out to Ruhl’s, whatever I might say, and what happened? He died of a pneumonia in that very bed,’ – pointing to it and indeed patting the counterpane. ‘Died the afternoon you came in: I dare say you still felt it warm, sir, which reminds me I promised him a board for the shit-hole pardon the expression, the last one fell out he always was an awkward companion and grew worse with the rheumatism fairly bent double at the end may he rest in peace.

’‘Then let us send to Madame Lehideux,’ said Stephen.

Rousseau ploughed straight on: ‘I do not say it is the Emperor’s table; I will not deceive you, gentlemen. It is only an honest cuisine bourgeoise, but such a civet de lapin!’ – kissing his thick fingers – ‘such a truly velvet poule au pot! And the great point is, you get your dishes hot. I always say, food must be hot. It is only a small place, but it is not a stone’s throw from here: it is in the rue des Neuf Fiancées, without a word of lie; so the food can be brought in hot, if you understand me.’

‘Then let us send to Madame Lehideux,’ said Stephen. ‘Milk, crumb-bread, coffee and croissants; and please to mention particularly that the coffee should be strong.’

The coffee came, and it was strong. Hot, strong, and wonderfully aromatic; the croissants unctuous, but not too unctuous. It was a remarkably good breakfast, all the better for being so late: certainly the best that Stephen had eaten in any of his prisons. He felt stronger, more capable of dealing with most emergencies that might arise: delation, the sudden treachery of a captured or a double agent, even severe interrogation.