It was past midnight. The air, which had been so still, was growing
restless and beginning to whirl the snow into eddies and drive it
about in an angry kind of way, whistling around sharp corners and
rattling every loose sign and shutter upon which it could lay its
invisible hands.
In front of an elegant residence stood half a dozen carriages. The
glare of light from hall and windows and the sound of music and
dancing told of a festival within. The door opened, and a group of
young girls, wrapped in shawls and waterproofs, came out and ran,
merrily laughing, across the snow-covered pavement, and crowding
into one of the carriages, were driven off at a rapid speed.
Following them came a young man on whose lip and cheeks the downy
beard had scarcely thrown a shadow. The strong light of the
vestibule lamp fell upon a handsome face, but it wore an unnatural
flush.
There was an unsteadiness about his movements as he descended the
marble steps, and he grasped the iron railing like one in danger of
falling. A waiter who had followed him to the door stood looking at
him with a half-pitying, half-amused expression on his face as he
went off, staggering through the blinding drift.
The storm was one of the fiercest of the season, and the air since
midnight had become intensely cold. The snow fell no longer in soft
and filmy flakes, but in small hard pellets that cut like sand and
sifted in through every crack and crevice against which the wild
winds drove it.
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