"A capital dish, your reverence, really capital."
"Very good for poor folks like we are, I admit. I know you don't have fare like this in Hungary."
"I suppose we don't know how to prepare it properly," said Gerzson.
And then the priest explained how hot the water must be when maize meal or sweet-broom meal has to be mixed with it, how the whole mess must be stirred with a spoon, how a little finely grated cheese has to be added to it, and how it had then all to be tied up in a cloth like a plum-pudding and have milk poured over it. And Squire Gerzson listened to him as attentively as if he had come all the way from Arad to Hidvár on purpose to learn the art of cooking maize pottage. And after that they pledged each other's health in long draughts from the mead jug.
"And now," said the priest when they had well supped, "I know that your honour spent all last night upon the road. You must be tired and instead of boring yourself by listening to my uninteresting gossip, it would be better, methinks, if we both went to bed."
"I shouldn't mind lying down at all, but alas! I have an appointment here with some one."
"May I ask with whom?"
"I have written the baron a letter and I await a reply."
"He will not send one: he is too much taken up with his pleasures just now."
"My letter contains things which a man durst not ignore."