He read the psalm old Father Pimon had told him warded off temptation.
He easily raised his light and emaciated body on his strong sinewy legs and tried to continue saying his prayers, but instead of doing so he involuntarily strained his hearing.
He wished to hear more.
All was quiet.
From the corner of the roof regular drops continued to fall into the tub below.
Outside was a mist and fog eating into the snow that lay on the ground.
It was still, very still.
And suddenly there was a rustling at the window and a voice—that same tender, timid voice, which could only belong to an attractive woman—said:
'Let me in, for Christ's sake!'
It seemed as though his blood had all rushed to his heart and settled there.
He could hardly breathe.
'Let God arise and let his enemies be scattered...'
'But I am not a devil!' It was obvious that the lips that uttered this were smiling.
'I am not a devil, but only a sinful woman who has lost her way, not figuratively but literally!' She laughed. 'I am frozen and beg for shelter.'
He pressed his face to the window, but the little icon-lamp was reflected by it and shone on the whole pane.
He put his hands to both sides of his face and peered between them.
Fog, mist, a tree, and—just opposite him—she herself.
Yes, there, a few inches from him, was the sweet, kindly frightened face of a woman in a cap and a coat of long white fur, leaning towards him.
Their eyes met with instant recognition: not that they had ever known one another, they had never met before, but by the look they exchanged they—and he particularly—felt that they knew and understood one another.
After that glance to imagine her to be a devil and not a simple, kindly, sweet, timid woman, was impossible.
'Who are you?
Why have you come?' he asked.
'Do please open the door!' she replied, with capricious authority.
'I am frozen.
I tell you I have lost my way.'
'But I am a monk—a hermit.'
'Oh, do please open the door—or do you wish me to freeze under your window while you say your prayers?'
'But how have you...'
'I shan't eat you.
For God's sake let me in!
I am quite frozen.'
She really did feel afraid, and said this in an almost tearful voice.
He stepped back from the window and looked at an icon of the Saviour in His crown of thorns.
'Lord, help me! Lord, help me!' he exclaimed, crossing himself and bowing low. Then he went to the door, and opening it into the tiny porch, felt for the hook that fastened the outer door and began to lift it.
He heard steps outside.
She was coming from the window to the door.
'Ah!' she suddenly exclaimed, and he understood that she had stepped into the puddle that the dripping from the roof had formed at the threshold.
His hands trembled, and he could not raise the hook of the tightly closed door.
'Oh, what are you doing? Let me in!
I am all wet.
I am frozen!
You are thinking about saving your soul and are letting me freeze to death...'
He jerked the door towards him, raised the hook, and without considering what he was doing, pushed it open with such force that it struck her.
'Oh—PARDON!' he suddenly exclaimed, reverting completely to his old manner with ladies.
She smiled on hearing that PARDON.
'He is not quite so terrible, after all,' she thought.
'It's all right.
It is you who must pardon me,' she said, stepping past him.
'I should never have ventured, but such an extraordinary circumstance...'
'If you please!' he uttered, and stood aside to let her pass him.