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Towards evening, on the 7th day of November, 1628, Don Abbondio,

curate of one of the villages before alluded to (but of the name

of which, nor of the house and lineage of its curate, we are not

informed), was returning slowly towards his home, by one of these

pathways. He was repeating quietly his office; in the pauses of

which he held his closed breviary in his hand behind his back;

and as he went, with his foot he cast listlessly against the wall

the stones that happened to impede his path; at the same time

giving admittance to the idle thoughts that tempted the spirit,

while the lips of the worthy man were mechanically performing

their function; then raising his head and gazing idly around him,

he fixed his eyes upon a mountain summit, where the rays of the

setting sun, breaking through the openings of an opposite ridge,

illumined its projecting masses, which appeared like large and

variously shaped spots of purple light.