He knew the landlord, who was well accustomed to his nocturnal habits, asked for a bottle, complaining bitterly of his poor luck, and asked permission to wait for his son, who was in the woods on the other side, and who, he hoped, had been more successful in tracking the game.

It goes without saying that this permission was readily accorded.

Michel opened the window-shutters, in order to look out on the road.
It was not long before some one knocked on the glass.

It was Jacques.
His father called him.
Jacques had been as unfortunate as his father.

No game; and he was frozen.