The unknown fixed on the young man one of those looks which penetrate
into the depth of the heart and thoughts. "And why revenge?" he asked.

"Because," replied Franz, "you seem to me like a man who, persecuted by
society, has a fearful account to settle with it."

"Ah," responded Sinbad, laughing with his singular laugh which displayed
his white and sharp teeth. "You have not guessed rightly. Such as you
see me I am, a sort of philosopher, and one day perhaps I shall go to
Paris to rival Monsieur Appert, and the little man in the blue cloak."

"And will that be the first time you ever took that journey?"

"Yes; it will. I must seem to you by no means curious, but I assure you
that it is not my fault I have delayed it so long--it will happen one
day or the other."

"And do you propose to make this journey very shortly?"

"I do not know; it depends on circumstances which depend on certain
arrangements."

"I should like to be there at the time you come, and I will endeavor
to repay you, as far as lies in my power, for your liberal hospitality
displayed to me at Monte Cristo."

"I should avail myself of your offer with pleasure," replied the host,
"but, unfortunately, if I go there, it will be, in all probability,
incognito."

The supper appeared to have been supplied solely for Franz, for the
unknown scarcely touched one or two dishes of the splendid banquet to
which his guest did ample justice. Then Ali brought on the dessert, or
rather took the baskets from the hands of the statues and placed them on
the table. Between the two baskets he placed a small silver cup with
a silver cover. The care with which Ali placed this cup on the table
roused Franz's curiosity. He raised the cover and saw a kind of greenish
paste, something like preserved angelica, but which was perfectly
unknown to him. He replaced the lid, as ignorant of what the cup
contained as he was before he had looked at it, and then casting his
eyes towards his host he saw him smile at his disappointment. "You
cannot guess," said he, "what there is in that small vase, can you?"

"No, I really cannot."

"Well, then, that green preserve is nothing less than the ambrosia which
Hebe served at the table of Jupiter."

"But," replied Franz, "this ambrosia, no doubt, in passing through
mortal hands has lost its heavenly appellation and assumed a human name;
in vulgar phrase, what may you term this composition, for which, to tell
the truth, I do not feel