At last, almost ready to expire with hunger, thirst, and fatigue, and not knowing if God was still far from him, he came to a silent city which extended from right to left, and stretched away till it was lost in the blue horizon.  The buildings, which were widely separated and like each other, resembled pyramids cut off at half their height.  They were tombs.  The doors were broken, and in the shadow of the chambers could be seen the gleaming eyes of hyaenas and wolves who brought forth their young there, whilst the dead bodies lay on the threshold, despoiled by robbers, and gnawed by the wild beasts.  Having passed through this funeral city, Paphnutius fell exhausted before a tomb which stood near a spring surrounded by palm trees.  This tomb was much ornamented, and, as there was no door to it, he saw inside it a painted chamber, in which serpents bred.

“Here,” he sighed, “is the abode I have chosen; the tabernacle of my repentance and penitence.”

He dragged himself to it, drove out the reptiles with his feet, and remained prostrate on the stone floor for eighteen hours, at the end of which time he went to the spring, and drank out of his hand.  Then he plucked some dates and some stalks of lotus, the seeds of which he ate.  Thinking this kind of life was good, he made it the rule of his existence.  From morning to night he never lifted his forehead from the stone.

One day, whilst he was thus prostrated, he heard a voice which said—­

“Look at these images, that thou mayest learn.”

Then, raising his head, he saw, on the walls of the chamber, paintings which represented lively and domestic scenes.  They were of very old work, and marvellously lifelike.  There were cooks who blew the fire, with their cheeks all puffed out; others plucked geese, or cooked quarters of sheep in stew-pans.  A little farther, a hunter carried on his shoulders a gazelle pierced with arrows.  In one place, peasants were sowing, reaping, or gathering.  In another, women danced to the sounds of viols, flutes, and harp.  A young girl played the theorbo.  The lotus flower shone in her hair, which was neatly braided.  Her transparent dress let the pure forms of her body be seen.  Her bosom and mouth were perfect.  The face was turned in profile, and the beautiful eye looked straight before her.  The whole figure was exquisite.  Paphnutius having examined it, lowered his eyes, and replied to the voice—­

“Why dost thou command me to look at these images?  No doubt they represent the terrestrial life of the idolater whose body rests here, under my feet, at the bottom of a well, in a coffin of black basalt.  They recall the life of a dead man, and are, despite their bright colours, the shadows of a shadow.  The life of a dead man!  O vanity!”

“He is dead, but he lived,” replied the voice; “and thou wilt die, and wilt not have lived.”

From that day, Paphnutius had not a moment’s rest.  The voice spoke to him incessantly.  The girl with the theorbo looked fixedly at him from underneath the long lashes of her eye.  At last she also spoke—­