“The senior in age, here, however,” said M. de Favras, “is the wine Count Haga is now drinking.”
“You are right, M. de Favras; this wine is a hundred and twenty years old; to the wine, then, belongs the honor——”
“One moment, gentlemen,” said Cagliostro, raising his eyes, beaming with intelligence and vivacity; “I claim the precedence.”
“You claim precedence over the tokay!” exclaimed all the guests in chorus.
“Assuredly,” returned Cagliostro, calmly; “since it was I who bottled it.”
“You?”
“Yes, I; on the day of the victory won by Montecucully over the Turks in 1664.”
A burst of laughter followed these words, which Cagliostro had pronounced with perfect gravity.
“By this calculation, you would be something like one hundred and thirty years old,” said Madame Dubarry; “for you must have been at least ten years old when you bottled the wine.”
“I was more than ten when I performed that operation, madame, as on the following day I had the honor of being deputed by his majesty the Emperor of Austria to congratulate Montecucully, who by the victory of St. Gothard had avenged the day at Especk, in Sclavonia, in which the infidels treated the imperialists so roughly, who were my friends and companions in arms in 1536.”