“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.