I was examining a portrait of Christ, when suddenly--Christ, you understand, Christ--great eyes, dark, terrible suffering, sorrow, grief, love--well, in a word--Christ.

Suddenly I was struck with something; suddenly it seemed to me that it was the face of the greatest wrongdoer, tormented by the greatest unheard-of woes of repentance--Old man, why do you look at me so! Old man!" Nearing my eyes to the very face of the artist, I asked him in a cautious whisper, as the occasion required, dividing each word from the other: "Don't you think that when the devil tempted Him in the desert He did not renounce him, as He said later, but consented, sold Himself--that He did not renounce the devil, but sold Himself.

Do you understand?
Does not that passage in the Gospels seem doubtful to you ?" Extreme fright was expressed on the face of my young friend.

Forcing the palms of his hands against my chest, as if to push me away, he ejaculated in a voice so low that I could hardly hear his indistinct words: "What?
You say Jesus sold Himself?
What for ?" I explained softly: "That the people, my child, that the people should believe Him." "Well ?" I smiled.

K.'s eyes became round, as if a noose was strangling him.
Suddenly, with that lack of respect for old age which was one of his characteristics, he threw me down on the bed with a sharp thrust and jumped away into a corner.