nd too tired to drag himself along any further, he dug a hole in
the snow and crouched in it with his dog under a blanket which he had
brought with him. And the man and the dog lay side by side, trying to
keep warm, but frozen to the marrow nevertheless. Ulrich scarcely slept,
his mind haunted by visions and his limbs shaking with cold.

Day was breaking when he got up. His legs were as stiff as iron bars
and his spirits so low that he was ready to cry with anguish, while his
heart was beating so that he almost fell over with agitation, when he
thought he heard a noise.

Suddenly he imagined that he also was going to die of cold in the
midst of this vast solitude, and the terror of such a death roused his
energies and gave him renewed vigor. He was descending toward the inn,
falling down and getting up again, and followed at a distance by Sam,
who was limping on three legs, and they did not reach Schwarenbach until
four o'clock in the afternoon. The house was empty and the young man
made a fire, had something to eat and went to sleep, so worn out that he
did not think of anything more.

He slept for a long time, for a very long time, an irresistible sleep.
But suddenly a voice, a cry, a name, "Ulrich!" aroused him from his
profound torpor and made him sit up in bed. Had he been dreaming? Was it
one of those strange appeals which cross the dreams of disquieted minds?
No, he heard it still, that reverberating cry-which had entered his ears
and remained in his flesh-to the tips of his sinewy fingers. Certainly
somebody had cried out and called "Ulrich!" There was somebody there
near the house, there could be no doubt of that, and he opened the door
and shouted, "Is it you, Gaspard?" with all the strength of his lungs.
But there was no reply, no murmur, no groan, nothing. It was quite dark
and the snow looked wan.

The wind had risen, that icy wind that cracks the rocks and leaves
nothing alive on those deserted heights, and it came in sudden gusts,
which were more parching and more deadly than the burning wind of the
desert, and again Ulrich shouted: "Gaspard! Gaspard! Gaspard." And then
he waited again. Everything was silent on the mountain.

Then he shook with terror and with a bound he was inside the inn, when
he shut and bolted the door, and then he fell into a chair trembling all
over, for he felt certain that his comrade had called him at the moment
he was expiring.

He was sure of that, as sure as one is of be