The youth’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, and Paulus asked, not without interest, “Indeed?”

“You know Alexandria better than I,” answered Hermas evasively.  “You were born there, and they say you had been a rich young man.”

“Do they say so?” said Paulus.  “Perhaps they are right; but you must know that I am glad that nothing any longer belongs to me of all the vanities that I possessed, and I thank my Saviour that I can now turn my back on the turmoil of men.  What was it that seemed to you so particularly tempting in all that whirl?”

Hermas hesitated.  He feared to speak, and yet something urged and drove him to say out all that was stirring his soul.  If any one of all those grave men who despised the world and among whom he had grown up, could ever understand him, he knew well that it would be Paulus; Paulus whose rough beard he had pulled when he was little, on whose shoulders he had often sat, and who had proved to him a thousand times how truly he loved him.  It is true the Alexandrian was the severest of them all, but he was harsh only to himself.  Hermas must once for all unburden his heart, and with sudden decision he asked the anchorite: 

“Did you often visit the baths?”

“Often?  I only wonder that I did not melt away and fall to pieces in the warm water like a wheaten loaf.”

“Why do you laugh at that which makes men beautiful?” cried Hermas hastily.  “Why may Christians even visit the baths in Alexandria, while we up here, you and my father and all anchorites, only use water to quench our thirst?  You compel me to live like one of you, and I do not like being a dirty beast.”

“None can see us but the Most High,” answered Paulus, “and for him we cleanse and beautify our souls.”

“But the Lord gave us our body too,” interrupted Hermas.  “It is written that man is the image of God.  And we!  I appeared to myself as repulsive as a hideous ape when at the great baths by the Gate of the Sun I saw the youths and men with beautifully arranged and scented hair and smooth limbs that shone with cleanliness and purification.  And as they went past, and I looked at my mangy sheepfell, and thought of my wild mane and my arms and feet, which are no worse formed or weaker than theirs were, I turned hot and cold, and I felt as if some bitter drink were choking me.  I should have liked to howl out with shame and envy and vexation.  I will not be like a monster!”

Hermas ground his teeth as he spoke the last words, and Paulus looked uneasily at him as he went on:  “My body is God’s as much as my soul is, and what is allowed to the Christians in the city—­”

“That we nevertheless may not do,” Paulus interrupted gravely.  “He who has once devoted himself to Heaven must detach himself wholly from the charm of life, and break one tie after another that binds him to the dust.  I too once upon a time have anointed this body, and smoothed this rough hair, and rejoiced sincerely over my mirror; but I say to you, Hermas—­and, by my dear Saviour, I say it only because I feel it, deep in my heart I feel it—­to pray is better than to bathe, and I, a poor wretch, have been favored with hours in which my spirit has struggled free, and has been permitted to share as an honored guest in the festal joys of Heaven!”