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?”