'Do please open the door!' she replied, with capricious authority. 'I am frozen. I tell you I have lost my way.'
'Oh, do please open the door--or do you wish me to freeze under your window while you say your prayers?'
'I shan't eat you. For God's sake let me in! I am quite frozen.'
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.