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Don Abbondio kept silence, but no longer from vexation, and an

unwillingness to be persuaded; he kept silence from having more

things to think of than to say. The words which he heard were

unexpected conclusions, a new application of familiar doctrine.

The evil done to his neighbour, which apprehension on his own

account had hitherto prevented him from beholding in its true

light, now made a novel and striking impression on his mind. If

he did not feel all the remorse which the cardinal's

remonstrances were calculated to produce, he experienced at least

secret dissatisfaction with himself and pity for others; a

blending of tenderness and shame; as, if we may be permitted to

use the comparison, a humid and crushed taper at first hisses and

smokes, but by degrees receives warmth, and imparts light, from

the flame of a great torch to which it is presented.