bidon

— I was awakened by a noise of eating. My protectors, knife in hand, were consuming their meat and bread, occasionally tilting their bidons on high and absorbing the thin streams which spurted therefrom. […] The older [man] appeared pleased with my appetite; his face softened still more, as he remarked: "Bread without wine doesn't taste good," and proffered his bidon. I drank as much as I dared, and thanked him: "Ça va mieux."

— ["]Take a draught of my burgundy; bright as rubies. I never sell bad wines;—not I!—I know better than to drink them myself." He started and rose; and before he took the bidon [footnote †: “Little wooden drinking-cup.”], bowed to her, raising his cap with a grave courteous obeisance; a bow that had used to be noted in throne-rooms for its perfection of grace.

— I saw that she had picked up an empty oil bidon that had been lying in the corner. I had bought it weeks before, for an oil lamp I had before I sold my things. […] They always make you pay a deposit on the bidon, and you get it back when the bidon is returned. But I'd forgotten all about it. […] She grabbed the bidon and went clattering down the stairs like a herd of elephants, and in three minutes she was back with two pounds of bread under one arm and a half-litre bottle of wine under the other.