CHAPTER VIII.
"Carneades! who was he?" said Don Abbondio to himself, seated in his large chair, with a book open before him. "Carneades! this name I have either heard or read of; he must have been a man of study, a scholar of antiquity; but who the devil was he?" Now, it should be known, that it was Don Abbondio's custom to read a little every day, and that a curate, his neighbour, who had a small library, furnished him with books, one after the other, as they came to hand. That with which he was at this moment engaged, was a panegyric on St. Carlos, delivered many years before in the cathedral of Milan. The saint was there compared for his love of study to Archimedes; which comparison the poor curate well understood, inasmuch as this did not require, from the various anecdotes related of him, an erudition very extensive. But the author went on to liken him also to Carneades, and here the poor reader was at fault. At this moment, Perpetua announced the visit of Tony.
"At such an hour?" said Don Abbondio.
"What do you expect? They have no discretion. But if you do not shoot the bird flying"
"Who knows if I shall ever be able to do it?" continued he. "Let him come in. But are you very sure that it is Tony?"
"The devil!" said Perpetua, as she descended, and, opening the door, demanded, "Where are you?"
Tony appeared, in company with Agnes, who accosted Perpetua by name.
"Good evening, Agnes," said she; "whence come you at this hour?"
"I come from ," naming a neighbouring village. "And do you know," she continued, "that I have been delayed on your account?"
"On my account!" exclaimed she; and turning to the two brothers, said, "Go in, and I will follow you."
