“Just so. Now, M. Danglars, ask these gentlemen where they are caught.”
“Sterlets,” said Château-Renaud, “are only found in the Volga.”
“And,” said Cavalcanti, “I know that Lake Fusaro alone supplies lampreys of that size.”
“Exactly; one comes from the Volga, and the other from Lake Fusaro.”
“Impossible!” cried all the guests simultaneously.
“Well, this is just what amuses me,” said Monte Cristo. “I am like Nero—cupitor impossibilium; and that is what is amusing you at this moment. This fish, which seems so exquisite to you, is very likely no better than perch or salmon; but it seemed impossible to procure it, and here it is.”
“But how could you have these fish brought to France?”
“Oh, nothing more easy. Each fish was brought over in a cask—one filled with river herbs and weeds, the other with rushes and lake plants; they were placed in a wagon built on purpose, and thus the sterlet lived twelve days, the lamprey eight, and both were alive when my cook seized them, killing one with milk and the other with wine. You do not believe me, M. Danglars!”
“I cannot help doubting,” answered Danglars with his stupid smile.
“Baptistin,” said the count, “have the other fish brought in—the sterlet and the lamprey which came in the other casks, and which are yet alive.”
Danglars opened his bewildered eyes; the company clapped their hands. Four servants carried in two casks covered with aquatic plants, and in each of which was breathing a fish similar to those on the table.