His face had turned very white, and he stood listening with his forefinger up and his head slanted.

It was a long, thin, delicate hand, and it was quivering like a leaf in the wind.
'I heard something,' he whispered.
'And I,' said the older man.
'What was it ?' 'Silence.

Listen!' For a minute or more we all stayed with straining ears while the wind still whimpered in the chimney or rattled the crazy window.
'It was nothing,' said Lesage at last, with a nervous laugh.
'The storm makes curious sounds sometimes.' 'I heard nothing,' said Toussac.
'Hush!' cried the other.

'There it is again!' A clear rising cry floated high above the wailing of the storm; a wild, musical cry, beginning on a low note, and thrilling swiftly up to a keen, sharp-edged howl.
'A hound!' 'They are following us!' Lesage dashed to the fireplace, and I saw him thrust his papers into the blaze and grind them down with his heel.
Toussac seized the wood-axe which leaned against the wall.

The thin man dragged the pile of decayed netting from the corner, and opened a small wooden screen, which shut off a low recess.
'In here,' he whispered, 'quick!' And then, as I scrambled into my refuge, I heard him say to the others that I would be safe there, and that they could lay their hands upon me when they wished..