Into a dimly lighted hall he followed Jean, who paused a moment later before another door, which he opened.  Philip waited while he struck a match and lighted a lamp.  He knew at a glance that this was to be his sleeping apartment, and as he took in its ample comfort, the broad low bed behind its old-fashioned curtains, the easy chairs, the small table covered with books and magazines, and the richly furred rugs on the floor, he experienced a new and strange feeling of restfulness and pleasure which for the moment overshadowed his more excited sensations.  Jean was already on his knees before a fireplace touching a match to a pile of birch, and as the inflammable bark spurted into flame and the small logs began to crackle he rose to his feet and faced Philip.  Both were soaked to the skin.  Jean’s hair hung lank and wet about his face, and his hollow cheeks were cadaverous.  In spite of the hour and the place, Philip could not restrain a laugh.

“I’m glad Josephine was thoughtful enough to come in ahead of us, Jean,” he chuckled.  “We look like a couple of drowned water-rats!”

“I will bring up your sack, M’sieur,” responded Jean.  “If you haven’t dry clothes of your own you will find garments behind the curtains.  I think some of them will fit you.  After we are warmed and dried we will have supper.”

A few moments after Jean left him an Indian woman brought him a pail of hot water.  He was half stripped and enjoying a steaming sponge bath when Croisset returned with his dunnage sack.  The Arctic had not left him much to choose from, but behind the curtains which Jean had pointed out to him he found a good-sized wardrobe.  He glowed with warmth and comfort when he had finished dressing.  The chill was gone from his blood.  He no longer felt the ache in his arms and back.  He lighted his pipe, and for a few moments stood with his back to the crackling fire, listening and waiting.  Through the thick walls no sound came to him.  Once he thought that he heard the closing of a distant door.  Even the night was strangely silent, and he walked to the one large window in his room and stared out into the darkness.  On this side the edge of the forest was not far away, for he could hear the soughing of the wind in the treetops.

For an hour he waited with growing impatience for Jean’s return or some word from Josephine.  At last there came another knock at the door.  He opened it eagerly.  To his disappointment neither Jean nor the girl stood there, but the Indian woman who had brought him the hot water, carrying in her hands a metal server covered with steaming dishes.  She moved silently past him, placed the server on the table, and was turning to go when he spoke to her.

“Tan’se a itumuche hooyun?” he asked in Cree.