“You are walking?” he asked.     

       “I dismissed the cab in front of the theatre. I think I’ve had that driver before.”      

       A man passed them, turning to look at the lady. Her companion glared at him, and the other passed on hurriedly. The lady looked after him. “Who was it?” she asked, anxiously.     

       “Don’t know him. We’ll see no one we know here, don’t worry. But come now, let’s get into the cab.”      

       “Is that your carriage?”      

       “Yes.”      

       “An open one?”      

       “It was warm and pleasant when I engaged it an hour ago.”      

       They walked to the carriage; the lady stepped in.     

       “Driver!” called the man.     

       “Why, where is he?” asked the lady.     

       Franz looked around. “Well, did you ever? I don’t see him anywhere.”      

       “Oh—” her tone was low and timid.     

       “Wait a moment, child, he must be around here somewhere.”      

       The young man opened the door of a little saloon, and discovered his driver at a table with several others. The man rose hastily. “In a minute, sir,” he explained, swallowing his glass of wine.     

       “What do you mean by this?”      

       “All right, sir... Be there in a minute.” His step was a little unsteady as he hastened to his horses. “Where’ll you go, sir?”      

       “Prater—Summer-house.”      

       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?”      

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