It was not long before Paul came.  He was quite alone, and suddenly appeared at the far end of the clearing, in very truth a mighty hunter, standing nearly seven feet on his snow-shoes.  One rifle he carried in his hand, another slung across his back.  It was like a silent scene on a stage.  The snow-white clearing, with long-drawn tracks across it where the snow-shoes had passed, the still trees, the brilliant sun, and the blue depths of the forest behind; while Paul, like the hero of some grim Arctic saga, a huge fur-clad Northern giant, stood alone in the desolation.

From his attitude it was apparent that he was listening.  It was probable that the cries of the birds and the distant howl of a wolf told his practised ears how near the beaters were.  He presently moved across to where De Chauxville was hidden, spoke some words of advice or warning to him, and pointed with his gloved hand in the direction whence the game might be expected to come.

It subsequently transpired that Paul was asking De Chauxville the whereabouts of Steinmetz, who had gained his place of concealment unobserved by either.  De Chauxville could give him no information, and Paul went away to his post dissatisfied.  Karl Steinmetz must have seen them; he must have divined the subject of their conversation; but he remained hidden and gave no sign.

Paul’s post was behind a fallen tree, and the watchers in the hut could see him, while he was completely hidden from any animal that might enter the open clearing from the far end.  He turned and looked hard at the hut; but the larch branch across the window effectually prevented him from discovering whether any one was behind it or not.

Thus they all waited in suspense.  A blackcock skimmed across the open space and disappeared unmolested.  A wolf—­gray, gaunt, sneaking, and lurching in his gait—­trotted into the clearing and stood listening with evil lips drawn back.  The two girls watched him breathlessly.  When he trotted on unmolested, they drew a deep breath as if they had been under water.  Paul, with his two rifles laid before him, watched the wolf depart with a smile.  The girls could see the smile, and from it learnt somewhat of the man.  The keeper beside them gave a little laugh and looked to the hammers of his rifle.

And still there was no sound.  It was still, unreal, and like a scene on the stage.  The birds, skimming over the tops of the trees from time to time, threw in as it were a note of fear and suspense.  There was breathlessness in the air.  A couple of hares, like white shadows in their spotless winter coats, shot from covert to covert across the open ground.

Then suddenly the keeper gave a little grunt and held up his hand, listening with parted lips and eager eyes.  There was a distinct sound of breaking branches and crackling underwood.