“Do you know how long it is since we have seen each other?” he asked. “Since Sunday.” “Yes, and that wasn’t good for much.” “Why not? You were in our house.” “Yes--in your house. That’s just it. This can’t go on. I shall not enter your house again.... What’s the matter?” “A carriage passed us.” “Dear girl, the people who are driving in the Prater at such an hour, and in such weather, aren’t noticing much what other people are doing.” “Yes--that’s so. But some one might look in here, by chance.” “We couldn’t be recognized. It’s too dark.” “Yes--but can’t we drive somewhere else?” “Just as you like.” He called to the driver, who did not seem to hear. Franz leaned forward and touched the man. “Turn around again. What are you whipping your horses like that for? We’re in no hurry, I tell you. Drive--let me see--yes--drive down the avenue that leads to the Reichs Bridge.” “The Reichs-strasse?” “Yes. But don’t hurry so, there’s no need of it.” “All right, sir. But it’s the wind that makes the horses so crazy.” Franz sat back again as the carriage turned in the other direction. “Why didn’t I see you yesterday?” “How could I?”... “You were invited to my sister’s.” “Oh--yes.” “Why weren’t you there?” “Because I can’t be with you--like that--with others around. No, I just can’t.” She shivered. “Where are we now?” she asked, after a moment. They were passing under the railroad bridge at the entrance to the Reichs-strasse. “On the way to the Danube,” replied Franz. “We’re driving toward the Reichs Bridge. We’ll certainly not meet any of our friends here,” he added, with a touch of mockery. “The carriage jolts dreadfully.” “We’re on cobblestones again.” “But he drives so crooked.” “Oh, you only think so.” He had begun to notice himself that the vehicle was swaying to and fro more than was necessary, even on the rough pavement. But he said nothing, not wishing to alarm her. “There’s a great deal I want to say to you to-day, Emma.” “You had better begin then; I must be home at nine o’clock.” “A few words may decide everything.” “Oh, goodness, what was that!” she screamed. The wheels had caught in a car-track, and the carriage turned partly over as the driver attempted to free it. Franz caught at the man’s coat. “Stop that!” he cried. “Why, you’re drunk, man!” The driver halted his horses with some difficulty. “Oh, no--sir--” “Let’s get out here, Emma, and walk.” “Where are we?” “Here’s the bridge already. And the wind is not nearly as strong as it was. It will be nicer to walk a little. It’s so hard to talk in the carriage.” Emma drew down her veil and followed him. “Don’t you call this windy?” she exclaimed as she struggled against the gust that met her at the corner. He took her arm, and called to the driver to follow them.