"Yes, yes—there are no fish pastures like those of our Bosphorus."
"How do you call this kind?"
"Mullets—red mullets. The old Romans used to fatten them in tanks."
"I thought I had seen their like on our Italian coasts. How do you prepare them for the table?"
"We fry them, Count, in olive oil—pure oil."
All this time Corti was studying the fisherman.
"What meal, pray, will fashion allow them to me dished?" he went on.
"For breakfast especially; though when you come to dine with His Majesty do not be surprised to see them early in course."
"Pardon the detention, my Lord—I will make trial of these in the morning." Then to the fisherman the Count said, carelessly: "Keep thy place until I return."
Corti saw the Dean out of the eastern gate of the enclosure, and returned.