Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

She really did feel afraid, and said this in an almost tearful voice.

He stepped back from the window and looked at an icon of the Saviour in His crown of thorns. “Lord, help me! Lord, help me!” he exclaimed, crossing himself and bowing low. Then he went to the door, and opening it into the tiny porch, felt for the hook that fastened the outer door and began to lift it. He heard steps outside. She was coming from the window to the door. “Ah!” she suddenly exclaimed, and he understood that she had stepped into the puddle that the dripping from the roof had formed at the threshold. His hands trembled, and he could not raise the hook of the tightly closed door.

“Oh, what are you doing? Let me in! I am all wet. I am frozen! You are thinking about saving your soul and are letting me freeze to death⁠ ⁠…”

He jerked the door towards him, raised the hook, and without considering what he was doing, pushed it open with such force that it struck her.

“Oh⁠—pardon!” he suddenly exclaimed, reverting completely to his old manner with ladies.

She smiled on hearing that pardon. “He is not quite so terrible, after all,” she thought. “It’s all right. It is you who must pardon me,” she said, stepping past him. “I should never have ventured, but such an extraordinary circumstance⁠ ⁠…”

“If you please!” he uttered, and stood aside to let her pass him. A strong smell of fine scent, which he had long not encountered, struck him. She went through the little porch into the cell where he lived. He closed the outer door without fastening the hook, and stepped in after her.

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner! Lord, have mercy on me a sinner!” he prayed unceasingly, not merely to himself but involuntarily moving his lips. “If you please!” he said to her again. She stood in the middle of the room, moisture dripping from her to the floor as she looked him over. Her eyes were laughing.

“Forgive me for having disturbed your solitude. But you see what a position I am in. It all came about from our starting from town for a sledge-drive, and my making a bet that I would walk back by myself from the Vorobëvka to the town. But then I lost my way, and if I had not happened to come upon your cell⁠ ⁠…” She began lying, but his face confused her so that she could not continue, but became silent. She had not expected him to be at all such as he was. He was not as handsome as she had imagined, but was nevertheless beautiful in her eyes: his greyish hair and beard, slightly curling, his fine, regular nose, and his eyes like glowing coal when he looked at her, made a strong impression on her.

He saw that she was lying.

“Yes⁠ ⁠… so,” said he, looking at her and again lowering his eyes. “I will go in there, and this place is at your disposal.”

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 bookshelf 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