"Two minutes more," answered the same voice.
I flew back to the hotel, seized another egg, and ran again to the diligence with the question, "Are you off?"
"In a minute."
Back again to the inn, and a third egg, and then to the diligence: "Are we going?"
"In half a minute."
This time I heaved a mighty sigh, ran to the inn, swallowed a fourth egg and a glass of wine, and rushed toward the diligence. But before I had taken ten steps my breath gave out, and I stopped with the egg halfway down my throat. At this point the whip cracked.—"Wait!" I cried in a hoarse voice, waving my hands like a drowning man.
"Que hay?" (What's the matter?) demanded the driver.
I could not reply.
"He has an egg stuck in his throat," some stranger answered for me.
All the travellers burst into a laugh, the egg went down; I laughed too, overtook the diligence, which had already started, and, regaining my breath, gave my companions an account of my troubles, and they were much interested, and pitied me even more than I had dared to hope after that cruel laugh at my suffocation.