all through that night, and the following days and nights, the old wolf lay immovable in his lair. at last, with drooping head, he rose from his resting-place, stretched himself mournfully, first on his fore-paws, then on his hind-legs, arched his back, gnashed his fangs and licked the snow with his clotted tongue. the sky was still shrouded in a dense, velvety darkness: the snow was hard, and glittered like a million points of white light. the moon—a dark red orb—was blotted over with ragged masses of inky clouds and was fast disappearing on the right of the horizon; on the left, a crimson dawn full of menace was slowly breaking. the snow-wind blew and whistled overhead. around the wolf, under a bleak sky, were fallen pines and little fir trees cloaked with snow.
he moved up to a lone, naked waste above the valley, emerged from the wood, and stood with lowered head by its border, listening and sniffing. here the wind blew more strongly, the trees cracked and groaned, and from the wide dark expanse of open country came a sense of dreary emptiness and bitter cold.
the old wolf raised his head, pointed his nose, and uttered a prolonged howl. there was no answer. then he sped to the watering place and to the river, to the place where his mate had perished.
he loped along swiftly, noiselessly, crouching on the earth, unnoticeable but for his glistening eyes, which made him terrible to encounter suddenly.
from a hill by the riverside a village could be descried, its mole- like windows already alight, and not far distant loomed the dark silhouette of a lonely farm.
the wolf prowled aimlessly through the quiet, snow-covered fields. although it was a still, dark night, the blue lights of the approaching dawn proclaimed that march had already come. the gale blew fiercely and bitingly, driving the snow in swirls and spirals before it.
all was smooth at the place where the trap had been set; there was not a trace of the recent death, even the snow round the trap had been flattened out. the very scent of the she-wolf had been almost entirely blown away. the wolf again raised his head and uttered a deep, mournful howl; the moonlight was reflected in his expressionless eyes, which were filled with little tears, then he lowered his head to the earth and was silent.
a light twinkled in the farm-house windows. the wolf went towards it, his eyes gleaming with vicious green sparks. the dogs scented him and began a loud, terrified barking. the wolf lay in the snow and howled back loudly. the red moon was swimming towards the horizon, and swift murky clouds glided over it. here by the river-side, and down at the watering-place, in the great primeval woods and in the valleys, this wolf had lived for thirteen years. now his mate lay in the yard of yonder farm-house. he howled again. a man came out into the yard and shouted savagely, thinking a pack of wolves were approaching.
the night passed, but the wolf still wandered aimlessly, his broad head drooping, his ferocious eyes glaring. the moon sank, slanting and immense, behind the horizon, the dawn-light increased, a universal murmuring filled the air, shadowy vistas of pine-trees, firs and frowning ravines began to open up in all directions. the morning glow deepened into rivers and floods of delicate, interchanging colour. under the protean play the snow changed its dress to lilac. the wolf withdrew to its lair.
by the fallen pine trees where grew delicate green firs, fat, clumsy little cubs, born earlier in the spring, played among the cones and the belt of young spruces that guarded the entrance to their lair.
