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.

They could see Paul cautiously rise from his knees to a crouching
attitude. They followed the direction of his gaze, and before them the
monarch of these forests stood in clumsy might. A bear had shambled to
the edge of the clearing and was standing upright, growling and
grumbling to himself, his great paws waving from side to side, his
shaggy head thrust forward with a recurring jerk singularly suggestive
of a dandy with an uncomfortable collar. These bears of Northern Russia
have not the reputation of being very fierce unless they are aroused
from their winter quarters, when their wrath knows no bounds and their
courage recognizes no danger. An angry bear is afraid of no living man