The boy awoke with somewhat of a start.  The wolf, having probably an appetite, gave him a morning yawn, showing two rows of very white teeth.  He stopped when he had got halfway up the steps, and placed both forepaws within the caravan, leaning on the threshold, like a preacher with his elbows on the edge of the pulpit.  He sniffed the chest from afar, not being in the habit of finding it occupied as it then was.  His wolfine form, framed by the doorway, was designed in black against the light of morning.  He made up his mind, and entered.  The boy, seeing the wolf in the caravan, got out of the bear-skin, and, standing up, placed himself in front of the little infant, who was sleeping more soundly than ever.

Ursus had just hung the lantern up on a nail in the ceiling.  Silently, and with mechanical deliberation, he unbuckled the belt in which was his case, and replaced it on the shelf.  He looked at nothing, and seemed to see nothing.  His eyes were glassy.  Something was moving him deeply in his mind.  His thoughts at length found breath, as usual, in a rapid outflow of words.  He exclaimed,—­

“Happy, doubtless!  Dead! stone dead!”

He bent down, and put a shovelful of turf mould into the stove; and as he poked the peat he growled out,—­

“I had a deal of trouble to find her.  The mischief of the unknown had buried her under two feet of snow.  Had it not been for Homo, who sees as clearly with his nose as Christopher Columbus did with his mind, I should be still there, scratching at the avalanche, and playing hide and seek with Death.  Diogenes took his lantern and sought for a man; I took my lantern and sought for a woman.  He found a sarcasm, and I found mourning.  How cold she was!  I touched her hand—­a stone!  What silence in her eyes!  How can any one be such a fool as to die and leave a child behind?  It will not be convenient to pack three into this box.  A pretty family I have now!  A boy and a girl!”

Whilst Ursus was speaking, Homo sidled up close to the stove.  The hand of the sleeping infant was hanging down between the stove and the chest.  The wolf set to licking it.  He licked it so softly that he did not awake the little infant.

Ursus turned round.

“Well done, Homo.  I shall be father, and you shall be uncle.”

Then he betook himself again to arranging the fire with philosophical care, without interrupting his aside.

“Adoption!  It is settled; Homo is willing.”

He drew himself up.

“I should like to know who is responsible for that woman’s death?  Is it man? or....”

He raised his eyes, but looked beyond the ceiling, and his lips murmured,—­

“Is it Thou?”

Then his brow dropped, as if under a burden, and he continued,—­

“The night took the trouble to kill the woman.”

Raising his eyes, they met those of the boy, just awakened, who was listening.  Ursus addressed him abruptly,—­