chair, wrapped in a morning-gown, with an old cap on his head, in the fashion of a tiara, which formed a sort of cornice around his face, and shaded it from the dim light of a little lamp. Two thick curls which escaped from beneath the cap, two thick eyebrows, two thick mustachios, a dense tuft along his chin, all quite grey, and studding his sun-burnt and wrinkled visage, might be compared to snowy bushes projecting from a rock by moonlight.
"Ah! ah!" was his salutation, as he took off his spectacles and placed them on his book.
"Does the curate think I have come at too late an hour?" said Tony, bowing: Jervase awkwardly followed his example.
"Certainly, it is late; late on all accounts. Do you know that I am ill?"
"Oh! I am sorry."
"Did you not hear that I was sick, and could not be seen? But why is this boy with you?"
"For company, Signor Curate."
"Well; let us see."
"Here are twenty-five new pieces, with the image of St. Ambrose on horseback," said Tony, drawing forth a little bundle from his pocket.
"Give here," said Don Abbondio; and taking the bundle, he opened it, counted the money, and found it correct.
"Now, sir, you will give me the necklace of my Teela."
"Certainly," replied Don Abbondio; and going to an old press, he drew forth the pledge, and carefully returned it.
"Now, said Tony, "you will please to put it in black and white?"
"Eh!" said Don Abbondio, "how suspicious the world has become! Do you not trust me?"
"How! Sir. If I trust you! you do me wrong. But since my name is on your book on the side of debtor"
"Well, well," interrupted Don Abbondio; and seating himself at the table, he began to write, repeating, with a loud voice, the words as they came from his pen. In the meanwhile, Tony, and, at a sign from him, Jervase,
