“Absolutely.”
“There, now you see, it is you who always spoil the few hours we have together?—not I.”
“Yes, you’re right,” said Franz. “Let’s drive back to town.”
She held his arm closer. “No,” she insisted, tenderly, “I don’t want to go back. I won’t be sent away from you.”
She drew his head down to hers, and kissed him tenderly. “Where would we get to if we drove on down there?” she asked.
“That’s the road to Prague, dear.”
“We won’t go quite that far,” she smiled, “but I’d like to drive on a little, down there.” She pointed into the darkness.
Franz called to the driver. There was no answer; the carriage rumbled on, slowly. Franz ran after it, and saw that the driver was fast asleep. Franz roused him roughly. “We want to drive on down that street. Do you hear me?”
“All right, sir.”
Emma entered the carriage first, then Franz. The driver whipped his horses, and they galloped madly over the moist earth of the road-bed. The couple inside the cab held each other closely as they swayed with the motion of the vehicle.