“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.”