vens, a crust of bread, which my host will willingly invite me
to share with him."

Whilst he was thus speaking to himself, he walked round the hut to see
if he could find any one. He had not walked a hundred paces when he saw
a man seated, with his legs crossed, by the side of the river. The man
was naked; his hair and beard were quite white, and his body redder than
brick. Paphnutius felt sure this must be the hermit. He saluted him with
the words the monks are accustomed to use when they meet each other.

"Peace be with you, brother! May you some day taste the sweet joys of
paradise."

The man did not reply. He remained motionless, and appeared not to have
heard. Paphnutius supposed this was due to one of those rhapsodies to
which the saints are accustomed. He knelt down, with his hands joined,
by the side of the unknown, and remained thus in prayer till sunset.
Then, seeing that his companion had not moved, he said to him--

"Father, if you are now out of the ecstasy in which you were lost, give
me your blessing in our Lord Jesus Christ."

The other replied without turning his head--

"Stranger, I understand you not, and I know not the Lord Jesus Christ."

"What!" cried Paphnutius. "The prophets have announced Him; legions of
martyrs have confessed His name; Caesar himself has worshipped Him, and,
but just now, I made the sphinx of Silsile proclaim His glory. Is it
possible that you do not know Him?"

"Friend," replied the other, "it is possible. It would even be certain,
if anything in this world were certain."

Paphnutius was surprised and saddened by the incredible ignorance of the
man.

"If you know not Jesus Christ," he said, "all your works serve no
purpose, and you will never rise to life immortal."

The old man replied--

"It is useless to act, or to abstain from acting. It matters not whether
we live or die."

"Eh, what?" asked Paphnutius. "Do you not desire to live through all
eternity? But, tell me, do you not live in a hut in the desert as the
hermits do?"

"It seems so."

"Do I not see you naked, and lacking all things?"

"It seems so."

"Do you not feed on roots, and live in chastity?"

"It seems so."

"Have you not renounced all the vanities of this world?"

"I have truly renounced all those vain things for which men commonly
care."

"Then you are like me, poor, chaste, and solitary. And you are
not so--as I am--for the love of God, and with a hope of celestial
happiness!