The problem is that there is wine. There is copious amounts of wine and Athos has precisely zero reasons to stay sober and ignore it. He cannot stop living that fire, through that memory of Anne hanging, and as ever, he is stuck and clings to the alcohol like a lifeline. His vision has gone hazy and he believes that he cannot focus on any precise thing because of it, stumbling through the party and spilling wine haphazardly as he goes.

He does manage to mumble several apologies, knowing that he can be quite a brusque drunk when it comes down to it. "More," he says to a passing waiter, and when the poor man dares to ask of what, Athos regards him with a curt look and holds up his near-empty glass.

It's enough. The waiter goes skittering off for more red wine.