And taking down the little lamp, he lit a candle, and bowing low to her went into the small cell beyond the partition, and she heard him begin to move something about there. ‘Probably he is barricading himself in from me!’ she thought with a smile, and throwing off her white dogskin cloak she tried to take off her cap, which had become entangled in her 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.’
‘I would not have disturbed you if I could have helped it. I am only here till daybreak.’
He did not reply and she heard him muttering something, probably his prayers.
‘You will not be coming in here?’ she asked, smiling. ‘For I must undress to dry myself.’
He did not reply, but continued to read his prayers.
‘Yes, that is a man!’ thought she, getting her dripping boot off with difficulty. She tugged at it, but could not get it off. The absurdity of it struck her and she began to laugh almost inaudibly. But knowing that he would hear her laughter and would be moved by it just as she wished him to be, she laughed louder, and her laughter – gay, natural, and kindly – really acted on him just in the way she wished.
‘Yes, I could love a man like that – such eyes and such a simple noble face, and passionate too despite all the prayers he mutters!’ thought she. ‘You can’t deceive a woman in these things. As soon as he put his face to the window and saw me, he understood and knew. The glimmer of it was in his eyes and remained there. He began to love me and desired me. Yes – desired!’ said she, getting her overshoe and her boot off at last and starting to take off her stockings. To remove those long stockings fastened with elastic it was necessary to raise her skirts. She felt embarrassed and said:
‘Don’t come in!’
But there was no reply from the other side of the wall. The steady muttering continued and also a sound of moving.
‘He is prostrating himself to the ground, no doubt,’ thought she. ‘But he won’t bow himself out of it. He is thinking of me just as I am thinking of him. He is thinking of these feet of mine with the same feeling that I have!’ And she pulled off her wet stockings and put her feet up on the bench, pressing them under her. She sat a while like that with her arms round her knees and looking pensively before her. ‘But it is a desert, here in this silence. No one would ever know.…’
She rose, took her stockings over to the stove, and hung them on the damper. It was a queer damper, and she turned it about, and then, stepping lightly on her bare feet, returned to the bench and sat down there again with her feet up.
There was complete silence on the other side of the partition. She looked at the tiny watch that hung round her neck. It was two o’clock. ‘Our party should return about three!’ She had not more than an hour before her. ‘Well, am I to sit like this all alone? What nonsense! I don’t want to. I will call him at once.’
‘Father Sergius, Father Sergius! Sergéy Dmítrich! Prince Kasátsky!’
Beyond the partition all was silent.
‘Listen! This is cruel. I would not call you if it were not necessary. I am ill. I don’t know what is the matter with me!’ she exclaimed in a tone of suffering. ‘Oh! Oh!’ she groaned, falling back on the bench. And strange to say she really felt that her strength was failing, that she was becoming faint, that everything in her ached, and that she was shivering with fever.
