hair and in the woven kerchief she was wearing under it. She had not
got at all wet when standing under the window, and had said so only as
a pretext to get him to let her in. But she really had stepped into the
puddle at the door, and her left foot was wet up to the ankle and her
overshoe full of water. She sat down on his bed--a bench only covered by
a bit of carpet--and began to take off her boots. The little cell seemed
to her charming. The narrow little room, some seven feet by nine, was as
clean as glass. There was nothing in it but the bench on which she
was sitting, the book-shelf above it, and a lectern in the corner.
A sheepskin coat and a cassock hung on nails by the door. Above the
lectern was the little lamp and an icon of Christ in His crown of
thorns. The room smelt strangely of perspiration and of earth. It all
pleased her--even that smell. Her wet feet, especially one of them, were
uncomfortable, and she quickly began to take off her boots and stockings
without ceasing to smile, pleased not so much at having achieved her
object as because she perceived that she had abashed that charming,
strange, striking, and attractive man. 'He did not respond, but what of
that?' she said to herself.

'Father Sergius! Father Sergius! Or how does one call you?'

'What do you want?' replied a quiet voice.

'Please forgive me for disturbing your solitude, but really I could not
help it. I should simply have fallen ill. And I don't know that I shan't
now. I am all wet and my feet are like ice.'

'Pardon me,' replied the quiet voice. 'I cannot be of any assistance to
you.'