We fell presently into two parties--Dicky, Mrs. Portheris, and I holding
to the skirts of Brother Demetrius. Brother Demetrius knew a great deal
about the Latin inscriptions and the history of Pope Damasus and the
chapel of the Bishops, and how they found the body of St. Cecilia,
after eight hundred years, fresh and perfect, and dressed in rich
vestments embroidered in gold; but his way of imparting it seriously
interfered with the value of his information, and we looked regretfully
after the other party.
"Here we have de tomb of Anterus and Fabianus----"
"I think we should keep up with the rest," interrupted Mrs. Portheris.
"Oh, I too, I know all dese Catacomb--I will take you everywheres--and
here, too, we have buried Entychianus."
"Where is Brother Eusebius taking the others?" asked Dicky.
"Now I tell you: he mith all de valuable ting, he is too fat and lazy;
only joke, joke, joke. And here we has buried Epis--martyr. Epis he wath
_martyr_."
The others, with their lights and voices, came into full view where four
passages met in a cubicle.
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