Madge opened the door to let Maigan out. The air was full of feathery masses of snow blown from treetops. Sheltered as she was from the wind, the cold was no longer so penetrating. In the east the gray was tinted through the agency of long rifts in which dull shades of red broke through and were reflected even upon the white at her feet. It was not a cheery world just then, since the sun did not shine and the great fronds of evergreens loomed very dark, but the vastness of the wooded valley sloping down beneath her and stretching beyond the limits of her vision impressed her with a sense of greatness and of power. It was a tremendously big, strong and inexorable world, in which was being fought the unending and apparently unjust battle of the mighty against the weak, of the wolves and lynxes against the deer and hares, of a myriad furred and sharp-fanged things against the feebler and defenseless things of the forest. But also it was a world capable of bringing forth majestic things; able and willing to reward toil; in which, despite all of nature's unceasing cruelty, there could reign happiness and the accomplishment of a heart's desire. All this was not clearly shaped in Madge's mind. She was merely undergoing a vague and potent influence that penetrated her very soul. She closed the door again very softly, and when she sat again it was with a strange feeling of contentment, or at any rate a surcease of bitter thoughts, which affected her gently, like the heat of the little stove. Maigan soon scratched at the door again, and through the frosted glass Madge saw Mrs. Papineau approaching. She was looking rather tired and dismal. It was evident, from her panting, that she had hurried, but now she was coming very slowly, as if afraid to hear bad news. But when she finally came in and looked at Hugo, her fat face took on some of its wonted cheerfulness. "Heem no look so bad now," she asserted. "Who know? Mebbe get all right again, eh? What Docteur Starr heem say before he go?" Madge was compelled to give her a long account of how the night had passed and to describe every move and relate every word of the doctor. "Dat's good," approved Mrs. Papineau. "Now you go to our 'ouse an' get to bed an' 'ave sleep. If de children make noise tell 'em I slap 'em plenty ven I get back, sure. You need bad for to sleep--h'eyes look tired an' red." She explained that Papineau had been obliged to go off after some traps that were not very far away, and would return by midday. She insisted upon the need of Madge to impress the children with the virtues of silence. They had already been informed that if they did not keep still when the lady returned they would be given to the _loup-garou_ and other mythical and traditional terrors of _habitant_ childhood. "Me stay 'ere all day. Den you come back an' stay de night, if you lak'. You tell me vat I do."