GR translation: Out of the fire’s pale

[Mike Jing]

V282.26-38, P286.41-287.12
       “Why don’t you come in to the fire?”
       “Hurts my eyes.” Winding again. Nothing moves. But a music box
begins to play. The tune is minor and precise. “Dance with me.”
       “I can’t see you.”
       “Here.” Out of the fire’s pale, a tiny frost-flower. He reaches
and just manages to find her hand, to grasp her little waist. They
begin their stately dance. He can’t even tell if he’s leading. He
never saw her face. She felt like voile and organdy.
       “Nice dress.”
       “I wore it for my first communion.” The fire died presently,
leaving starlight and a faint glow over some town to the east, through
windows whose panes were all gone. The music box still played, beyond
the running time, it seemed, of an ordinary spring.

What is "the fire’s pale" exactly?
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Pynchon-l / http://www.waste.org/mail/?list=pynchon-l