know whether he was dreaming or awake, but a knock at the door aroused
him. He sat up, distrusting his senses, but the knock was repeated. Yes,
it was a knock close at hand, at his door, and with it the sound of a
woman's voice.

'My God! Can it be true, as I have read in the Lives of the Saints, that
the devil takes on the form of a woman? Yes--it is a woman's voice.
And a tender, timid, pleasant voice. Phui!' And he spat to exorcise the
devil. 'No, it was only my imagination,' he assured himself, and he
went to the corner where his lectern stood, falling on his knees in the
regular and habitual manner which of itself gave him consolation and
satisfaction. He sank down, his hair hanging over his face, and pressed
his head, already going bald in front, to the cold damp strip of drugget
on the draughty floor. 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 . . .'