“Yes, we are very much in arrears before the Lord!” remarked one of the peasants, heaving a deep sigh.
“We must pray,” whispered the peasant who lay on the bench, in a scarcely audible voice.
“Can you scrape your sinful wretchedness off your soul with words of prayer?” exclaimed someone loudly, almost with despair in his voice.
No one of those that formed the group around the pilgrim turned at this voice, only their heads sank lower on their breasts, and for a long time these people sat motionless and speechless:
The pilgrim measured his audience with a serious and meditative glance of his blue eyes, and said softly:
“Ephraim the Syrian said: ‘Make thy soul the central point of thy thoughts and strengthen thyself with thy desire to be free from sin.’”
And again he lowered his head, slowly fingering the beads of the rosary.
“That means we must think,” said one of the peasants; “but when has a man time to think during his life on earth?”
“Confusion is all around us.”
“We must flee to the desert,” said the peasant who lay on the bench.