Within a ten-mile radius of the abbey less than a hundredweight of butter was churned in the whole year. Not an ounce was made by José. As for the olive oil, Antonio distrusted its fineness. Accordingly the trout had been simply steamed. They were served with a sauce made from the yolks of eggs, cream, and the juice of lemons. The host saw with pride that this dish was a success; but Sir Percy cleared his plate without seeming to know whether he was eating a mountain trout or a red herring. At last, when José was taking away the plates, he swung round towards Antonio like a weathercock on a rusty pivot, and said abruptly: "Senhor Rocha, I hear you know all about alujezos." "Azulejos," interrupted Mr. Crowberry, correcting him. "Ajulezos," snapped Sir Percy, without turning his head. "It's a hard word to pronounce," said Antonio; "and a strange word altogether. As azulejos are little blue-and-white tiles, one would naturally think that it is derived from azul, our Portuguese word for 'blue,' and _ej_, one of our diminutives--a bluelet, a blueling, a little thing of blue. But that's a pure coincidence. The word comes straight from the Arabic." Sir Percy stared. Antonio thought he was incredulous. "I mean the word, not the thing," he explained. "The azulejos up at the abbey are not Moorish, of course. They are of the seventeenth century, produced under Dutch influence, but far finer, I think, than any Delft. All the same, we have genuine Moorish azulejos in Portugal; for example, in the Palace at Cintra." Sir Percy stared harder than ever. "We'll talk about it later on. Not now. After dinner," said Mr. Crowberry hastily. "Sir Percy, you've not tasted your wine." The wine-merchant himself had already tasted three glasses. The wine was a white wine, somewhat resembling a very dry sherry, but as refreshing as young Moselle. The two Crowberrys praised its clearness, Isabel admired its color, Mrs. Baxter said it was a little sour, and Sir Percy, having drained his glass at a single gulp, kindly said he would have some more. The lifting of the great casserole's lid filled the room with fragrant vapors. With this dish José served a salad of bitter oranges and three bottles of the farm's best red wine. Mrs. Baxter said that this wine would be improved by the addition of a little hot water, nutmeg, and honey. Unhappily the Crowberrys, whose hearts were with the ports and fruity Burgundies, also failed to note its subtler beauties. Nevertheless, the older Crowberry drank a whole bottle by himself, and then loudly insisted on trying the new champagne. "We demand it, dead or alive," said young Crowberry.