This he thought, and he wanted to go to sleep, but he was loath to tear himself away from the book. And he began to read the seventh chapter. He read about the centurion, about the widow's son, about the answer to John's disciples, and he reached the passage where the rich Pharisee invited the Lord to be his guest, and where the sinning woman anointed His feet and washed them with her tears, and he justified her. And he reached the 44th verse, and read: "And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment." When he had read these verses, he thought: "He gave no water for His feet; he gave no kiss; he did not anoint His head with oil." And again Avdyéich took off his glasses and placed them on the book, and fell to musing. "Evidently he was just such a Pharisee as I am. He, no doubt, thought only of himself: how to drink tea, and be warm, and in comfort, but he did not think of the guest. About himself he thought, but no care did he have for the guest. And who was the guest?--The Lord Himself. Would I have done so, if He had come to me?" And Avdyéich leaned his head on both his arms and did not notice how he fell asleep. "Martýn!" suddenly something seemed to breathe over his very ear. Martýn shuddered in his sleep: "Who is that?" He turned around and looked at the door, but there was nobody there. He bent down again, to go to sleep. Suddenly he heard distinctly: "Martýn, oh, Martýn, remember, to-morrow I will come to the street." Martýn awoke, rose from his chair, and began to rub his eyes. He did not know himself whether he had heard these words in his dream or in waking. He put out the light and went to sleep. Avdyéich got up in the morning before daybreak, said his prayers, made a fire, put the beet soup and porridge on the stove, started the samovár, tied on his apron, and sat down at the window to work. And, as he sat there at work, he kept thinking of what had happened the night before. His thoughts were divided: now he thought that it had only seemed so to him, and now again he thought he had actually heard the voice. "Well," he thought, "such things happen."