Franz entered the carriage. His companion sat back in a corner, crouching fearsomely under the shadow of the cover. He took both her hands in his. She sat silent. “Won’t you say good evening to me?” “Give me a moment to rest, dear. I’m still out of breath.” He leaned back in his corner. Neither spoke for some minutes. The carriage turned into the Prater Street, passed the Tegethoff Monument, and a few minutes later was rolling swiftly through the broad, dark Prater Avenue. Emma turned suddenly and flung both arms around her lover’s neck. He lifted the veil that still hung about her face, and kissed her. “I have you again--at last!” she exclaimed. “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 Reichsstrasse?” “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 Reichsstrasse. “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 today, 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!”