“Yes, I do. Have a cigar.”
His calm insolent coolness made me long to smash his head in; in a fury I took his cigar and puffed violently. Still the water rose and the desperate driver turned, and at the risk of spilling us all in the river, climbed up the bank and took us straight-way—into a lake. This time I thought must be the end of all and I called out to the soldier:
“Captain, have you another cigar?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me have it quick, for it’s all up with us now!”
But it was not, for an honest country man passing by (where the devil could he have been going in such weather at such a time of night?) extricated us and gave our unhappy Phæton directions whereby we made our way to Pesth. At least it was a big town of which I asked my captain the name.
“Buda,” said he.
“What? In my map the town opposite Pesth is called Ofen. Look.”
“Oh yes, that’s Buda. Ofen is the German name for it.”
“H’m, I see. German maps are as cleverly arranged as French ones; but I think they might give us both names anyway.”