There was more laughter, and a tearing sound. On the wind, pieces of paper, leaves of books, came whirling among the snow through the dark window. Then a white thing, soaring like a crazy bird, rose up on the wind as if it had wings, and lodged on a black tree outside, struggling. It was the altar cloth.
There came a bit of gay, trilling music. The wind was running over the organ pipes like Pan pipes, quickly up and down. Snatches of wild, gay, trilling music, and bursts of the naked, low laughter.
“Really!” said the girl. “This is most extraordinary. Do you hear the music and the people laughing?”
“Yes, I hear somebody on the organ!” said the policeman.
“And do you get the puff of warm wind? Smelling of spring. Almond blossom, that’s what it is! A most marvelous scent of almond blossom. Isn’t it an extraordinary thing!”
She went on triumphantly past the church, and came to the row of little old houses. She entered her own gate in the little railed entrance.
“Here I am!” she said finally. “I’m home now. Thank you very much for coming with me.”
She looked at the young policeman. His whole body was white as a wall with snow, and in the vague light of the arc lamp from the street his face was humble and frightened.
“Can I come in and warm myself a bit?” he asked humbly. She knew it was fear rather than cold that froze him. He was in mortal fear.
“Well!” she said. “Stay down in the sitting room if you like. But don’t come upstairs, because I am alone in the house. You can make up the fire in the sitting room, and you can go when you are warm.”