will speak at the gate
of Paradise; he will not be afraid to strike you on the forehead with
his key and to say, 'Be off, blue-stocking, to the eternal fire; go and
talk French to the devils.' No, there is something seriously wrong with
these young ones. The Evil One hovers about them trying to entangle
them. Certainly it was better under Mother Anempodista; in her time the
blue-stockings would not have given themselves airs over the others."

Still hobbling as she went, the old woman closed the church and went in
the darkness to the clock tower where she had lived for about forty
years. From the time of her first arrival at the convent and entrance on
her novitiate, she had been entrusted with the duty of the portress and
remained in that post. There under the bells, in a tiny cell like a
niche in a wall, Sister Seraphine grew old and suffered, became bent and
looked forward to die the death of the righteous. She lived
half-forgotten there, the little old woman, but content. Above her
boomed the great bells of the convent, close by her ear tinkled the bell
of the main entrance when a visitor called. Sometimes, when gusts of
wind roared in the bell-tower, Sister Seraphine would cross herself,
murmuring, "Holy saints have mercy! How excited the Evil One is! Whose
soul is he coming to seek? Can it be Sister Elizabeth's? To-day a fine
aroma of coffee came from her cell. What a temptation!"

Sister Seraphine's cell was occupied almost entirely by a bed of rough
planks; a mattress, a white pillow, a sheepskin coverlet constituted all
her luxuries. On the narrow sill of the little window--almost a
loop-hole--were placed a piece of bread, some black radishes, salt and
kvass; high up in a corner a lamp burned before the icon.

On entering she made the sign of the cross and lay down on her pallet,
but suddenly the gate-bell rang wildly. In a moment she was on her feet.

"I am coming! I hear! I hear! The lunatics to ring like that!" she
grumbled, taking down the great key from the wall; "here is fine music."

She descended, shivering, and opened with difficulty the large gate
which grated on its hinges.

"Well, what makes you ring like that? We are not deaf," she said to a
huge footman wrapped in his fur-lined livery. "Where have you come from
and from whom?" she asked, seeing a closed carriage standing a little
way off.

"Let me pass first, little old woman; I shall find my way quite well."

"Answer first; to whom are yo