"God be thanked," said little Bettina, and on she trudged, her poor feet so cold she could not feel them moving.
On they went for a time in silence. Then the old man, with a short laugh, said:
"God be praised we have left the French behind us."
Before Bettina could answer, or Hans himself say more, the Baltic sent a breath sharp with icy edge. It cut the falling snow, it dashed the flakes in their faces, it beat against their bodies; and, gathering strength, it drove them apart, tossing and twisting Bettina.
There was no speaking.
The wind howled in icy salutation; the snow struck their eyes, drove itself into their mouths, lodged in the necks of their garments, whitened their hair and froze on their gloves and chilled them to almost fainting.
Then suddenly the wind gave a shriek like a terrified spirit. The snow began to whirl, and upward went leaves, sticks, and even lumps of the earth itself.
Hans caught Bettina in his arms. He drew her to the edge of the road.
"Down! down!" he cried, and pulled her into a gully. Harmless, the whirlwind passed above their heads, the ridge of earth protecting their bodies.
"Lie close, lie close, my Bettina," cried Hans, and he drew her within the folds of his great cape with fur lining.