"Brother Paphnutius, that is, in truth, an abomination which we do well
to deplore. There are many women amongst the Gentiles who lead lives of
that kind. Have you thought of any remedy for this great evil?"

"Brother Palemon, I will go to Alexandria and find this woman, and, with
God's help, I will convert her; that is my intention; do you approve of
it, brother?"

"Brother Paphnutius, I am but a miserable sinner, but our father Anthony
used to say, 'In whatsoever place thou art, hasten not to leave it to go
elsewhere.'"

"Brother Palemon, do you disapprove of my project?"

"Dear Paphnutius, God forbid that I should suspect my brother of bad
intentions. But our father Anthony also said, 'Fishes die on dry land,
and so is it with those monks who leave their cells and mingle with the
men of this world, amongst whom no good thing is to be found.'"

Having thus spoken, the old man pressed his foot on the spade, and began
to dig energetically round a fig tree laden with fruit. As he was thus
engaged, there was a rustling in the bushes, and an antelope leaped
over the hedge which surrounded the garden; it stopped, surprised and
frightened, its delicate legs trembling, then ran up to the old man, and
laid its pretty head on the breast of its friend.

"God be praised in the gazelle of the desert," said Palemon.

He went to his hut, the light-footed little animal trotting after him,
and brought out some black bread, which the antelope ate out of his