A minute later the train started.
"Now for freedom, Minna. A few hours more and we shall be across the French frontier!" I exclaimed.
"Did you hear Major Gessler say that we had been three hours in the garden this morning, Karl?" asked Minna, blushing and smiling. "Can it really have been so long?"
"The time did not fly on the same wings for him as for us," I answered; "and if the next half-dozen or so will only speed at the same pace, I shall breathe all the more freely."
"And will they, do you think?" she asked demurely as she crossed from her seat to that next mine.
They did, although I had many moments of anxiety.
The journey itself was as uneventful for some hours as a tourist's trip. We had the compartment to ourselves for the greater part of the time, though occasionally an unwelcome passenger came in for a few miles, and so broke the thread of our long, delicious talk. But my anxiety began to increase when, as the hot afternoon passed and the cool evening air refreshed us, we began to approach the frontier. I could not put my fears into words, nor could I see any probable reason to fear interruption. But whenever we stopped I looked out with an ever-increasing apprehension I could not entirely allay, and scanned curiously the people standing about on the platforms.
As we ran into the frontier station this feeling quickened up into excitement. A few minutes would see Minna safe, if only there were no interruption.
The officials came to examine tickets, then others to see the baggage, and still all was going well. We had no baggage, of course, and sat watching the different effects which that most irritating process of examination produced upon the tempers of our fellow-travellers.
As the time slipped away I fast grew easier in mind, and I joined with Minna in laughing at one or two comical incidents. But my laughter died away as I saw a couple of officials walking slowly along the train, scrutinizing closely all who were in the carriages.