'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.'