The Count of Monte Cristo

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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 any particular desire?"

"Ah, thus it is that our material origin is revealed," cried Sinbad; "we