rint of a foot. The print was cut out
clearly in the whiteness of the snow, which rendered it distinctly
visible. He examined it. It was a naked foot; too small for that of a
man, too large for that of a child.

It was probably the foot of a woman. Beyond that mark was another, then
another, then another. The footprints followed each other at the
distance of a step, and struck across the plain to the right. They were
still fresh, and slightly covered with little snow. A woman had just
passed that way.

This woman was walking in the direction in which the child had seen the
smoke. With his eyes fixed on the footprints, he set himself to follow
them.

CHAPTER II.

THE EFFECT OF SNOW.

He journeyed some time along this course. Unfortunately the footprints
were becoming less and less distinct. Dense and fearful was the falling
of the snow. It was the time when the hooker was so distressed by the
snow-storm at sea.

The child, in distress like the vessel, but after another fashion, had,
in the inextricable intersection of shadows which rose up before him, no
resource but the footsteps in the snow, and he held to it as the thread
of a labyrinth.

Suddenly, whether the snow had filled them up or for some other reason,
the footsteps ceased. All became even, level, smooth, without a stain,
without a detail. There was now nothing but a white cloth drawn over the
earth and a black one over the sky. It seemed as if the foot-passenger
had flown away. The child, in despair, bent down and searched; but in
vain.

As he arose he had a sensation of hearing some indistinct sound, but he
could not be sure of it. It resembled a voice, a breath, a shadow. It
was more human than animal; more sepulchral than living. It was a sound,
but the sound of a dream.

He looked, but saw nothing.

Solitude, wide, naked and livid, was before him. He listened. That which
he had thought he heard had faded away. Perhaps it had been but fancy.
He still listened. All was silent.

There was illusion in the mist.

He went on his way again. He walked forward at random, with nothing
henceforth to guide him.

As he moved away the noise began again. This time he could doubt it no
longer. It was a groan, almost a sob.

He turned. He searched the darkness of space with his eyes. He saw
nothing. The sound arose once more. If limbo could cry out, it would cry
in such a tone.

Nothing so penetrating, so piercing, so feeble as the voice--for