As the bells chimed midnight and the wolves howled under the full moon, three men each emerged from the dark of the trees into a small clearing in a deserted forest somewhere not far from vineyards of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. They mumbled a few words to each other and then, as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared. But, moments later, the stillness of the evening was broken once again by the sound of rolling barrels. The three men, visible only by the reflection of the moon on their moustaches, this time returned each pushing a barrel in front of him. They stopped and mumbled some more and then, after much Gallic arm-waving, they upended each barrel, one by one, into a big vat that rested upon an old cart. They shook hands and melted away back into the dark of the forest. No sooner had they gone, two other men appeared on horseback in the clearing. They dismounted and took ropes from their saddlebags, attaching one end to the cart and the other to the saddles of the horses. They looked around furtively, patted each other on the back and then remounted, before riding off in to the night, pulling the cart behind them.