respectfully. But these same people, when immediately afterward they
encountered the other, who had known them for years, and whom they of
course knew, showed the greatest perturbation; one, a woman, even signs
of terror. They gave him no greeting, shrank from him as he passed,
and stared after him, as if bemused, when he was gone by. Their behavior
was almost incredible. But he was so set on what was before him that he
stopped to ask no questions.

The village was a long one. Always one behind the other, walking at an
even pace, the two men traversed it, approaching at last the outskirts,
where, separated from the other habitations, and surrounded by a garden
in which the trees were laden with snow, stood the house of the man who
now watched and followed, with a growing wonder and curiosity, combined
with an ever-growing repugnance, him who made the footprints, who had
been saluted by the villagers, whose figure and general aspect seemed in
somewise familiar to him, and yet whom he could not recognize. Where
could this person be going? The man asked himself, and came to a resolve
not to follow on into the darkness of the open country, not to proceed
beyond his own home, of which now he saw the lights, but to make an
effort to see the face of the other before the garden gate was reached.

In this attempt, however, he was destined to be frustrated. For as he
determinedly quickened his steps, so did the other, who gained the gate
of the garden, unlatched it, turned in, and walked on among the trees
going toward the principal door.

A visitor, then! The man paused by his garden gate, whence he could see
his house front, with the light from the window of his own sitting-room
streaming over the porch. The stranger stood before it, made a movement
as if searching in his pocket, drew out his hand, lifted it. The door