She felt her way by touching the trees.

As she advanced the gas-lamps shone out amidst the whiteness like torches.

Then, suddenly, whenever she crossed an open space, these lights failed her; she was enveloped in the whirling snow, unable to distinguish anything to guide her.

Below stretched the ground, vaguely white; grey walls surrounded her, and when she paused, hesitating and turning her head, she divined that behind this icy veil extended the immense avenue with interminable vistas of gas-lamps--the black and deserted Infinite of Paris asleep.
She was standing where the outer Boulevard meets the Boulevards Magenta and Ornano, thinking of lying down on the ground, when suddenly she heard a footfall.

She began to run, but the snow blinded her, and the footsteps went off without her being able to tell whether it was to the right or to the left.