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?”
“Give me a moment to rest, dear. I’m still out of breath.”