A man was standing on the steps of a little house with small windows and a flat roof; his head was bare, his hands were thrust deep into his pockets. He was gazing fixedly towards the south, where the first dawn was to break upon the long darkness. At times he fancied that he could already see it there, for something seemed to quiver in the infinite darkness; but then the changing mist merely swayed to and fro, and the stars trembled on the horizon. His weary eyes therefore turned towards the little town; his house stood on the outskirts of it. Lights were twinkling in the windows there, and the dogs in the various backyards were yelping and howling loudly in chorus. "Oh, how deadly this is!" he thought--"enough to drive anyone mad. And in a frost like this it's certain no one will come." He was just turning to go indoors, when he caught the sound of snow creaking under quick footsteps. He began to listen; the footsteps turned into the path leading up to his house. "Is that you, Józef?" "Yes; how are you?" a voice, hoarse with the frost, cried from a distance; and presently a man of middle height, dressed in fur from head to foot, emerged from the darkness. "What are you doing, you silly fellow, standing out here in a blouse in cold like this? You are certain to catch pneumonia." "And why not?... A year sooner or later----" "All very fine! But I confess to you, Stefan, I shouldn't like to die here. One can't even decay like a human being; one would have to lie here for centuries like an ice statue, while the dogs would howl and howl----" "Well, they are howling unbearably now; it's as if they scented something. They are worse than ever to-day." "They are certain to smell something; in the town they say that the Chukchee are encamping here, and I have just come to tell you of it. But let us go indoors; it's terribly cold, worse than it has yet been this year." They went in. Stefan lighted the fire and busied himself with getting tea ready; Józef threw off his furs and paced up and down the room with long strides. "I say! This news is not quite without importance for us." "What?" "That they have come." "The Chukchee?" "Why, yes!" Stefan burst out laughing. "It's imperative for us to make friends with them; they are said to trade with America." "Then with whom are we to make friends? With the Yankees?" "No, with the Chukchee. Do be serious. You must do it, and it will be easy enough for you with your workshop,--all kinds of people constantly come to you. I will persuade Buza, the Cossack, to bring them; you will have a first-rate interpreter." "By all means persuade Buza----" "Oh, stop that! You always pretend to be indifferent to everything. If I had your health and strength, and were as clever----" "Then you would be as homesick as I am, and pretend to care as little----" "Do you think that I am not homesick?"