His wife’s logic touched Savely.  He stood with his bare feet wide apart, bent his head, and pondered.  He was not firmly convinced yet of the truth of his suspicions, and his wife’s genuine and unconcerned tone quite disconcerted him.  Yet after a moment’s thought he wagged his head and said: 

“It’s not as though they were old men or bandy-legged cripples; it’s always young men who want to come for the night....  Why is that?  And if they only wanted to warm themselves——­But they are up to mischief.  No, woman; there’s no creature in this world as cunning as your female sort!  Of real brains you’ve not an ounce, less than a starling, but for devilish slyness—­oo-oo-oo!  The Queen of Heaven protect us!  There is the postman’s bell!  When the storm was only beginning I knew all that was in your mind.  That’s your witchery, you spider!”

“Why do you keep on at me, you heathen?” His wife lost her patience at last.  “Why do you keep sticking to it like pitch?”

“I stick to it because if anything—­God forbid—­happens to-night... do you hear?... if anything happens to-night, I’ll go straight off to-morrow morning to Father Nikodim and tell him all about it.  ’Father Nikodim,’ I shall say, ‘graciously excuse me, but she is a witch.’  ’Why so?’ ‘H’m! do you want to know why?’ ‘Certainly....’  And I shall tell him.  And woe to you, woman!  Not only at the dread Seat of Judgment, but in your earthly life you’ll be punished, too!  It’s not for nothing there are prayers in the breviary against your kind!”

Suddenly there was a knock at the window, so loud and unusual that Savely turned pale and almost dropped backwards with fright.  His wife jumped up, and she, too, turned pale.

“For God’s sake, let us come in and get warm!” they heard in a trembling deep bass.  “Who lives here?  For mercy’s sake!  We’ve lost our way.”

“Who are you?” asked Raissa, afraid to look at the window.

“The post,” answered a second voice.

“You’ve succeeded with your devil’s tricks,” said Savely with a wave of his hand.  “No mistake; I am right!  Well, you’d better look out!”

The sexton jumped on to the bed in two skips, stretched himself on the feather mattress, and sniffing angrily, turned with his face to the wall.  Soon he felt a draught of cold air on his back.  The door creaked and the tall figure of a man, plastered over with snow from head to foot, appeared in the doorway.  Behind him could be seen a second figure as white.

“Am I to bring in the bags?” asked the second in a hoarse bass voice.

“You can’t leave them there.”  Saying this, the first figure began untying his hood, but gave it up, and pulling it off impatiently with his cap, angrily flung it near the stove.  Then taking off his greatcoat, he threw that down beside it, and, without saying good-evening, began pacing up and down the hut.