The Dead Are Silent | Page 2

to the driver, who did not seem to hear. Franz leaned forward and touched the man.
"Turn around again. What are you whipping your horses like that for? We're in no hurry, I tell you. Drive--let me see--yes--drive down the avenue that leads to the Reichs Bridge."
"The Reichsstrasse?"
"Yes. But don't hurry so, there's no need of it."
"All right, sir. But it's the wind that makes the horses so crazy."
Franz sat back again as the carriage turned in the other direction.
"Why didn't I see you yesterday?"
"How could I?"...
"You were invited to my sister's."
"Oh--yes."
"Why weren't you there?"
"Because I can't be with you--like that--with others around. No, I just can't." She shivered. "Where are we now?" she asked, after a moment.
They were passing under the railroad bridge at the entrance to the Reichsstrasse.
"On the way to the Danube," replied Franz. "We're driving toward the Reichs Bridge. We'll certainly not meet any of our friends here," he added, with a touch of mockery.
"The carriage jolts dreadfully."
"We're on cobblestones again."
"But he drives so crooked."
"Oh, you only think so."
He had begun to notice himself that the vehicle was swaying to and fro more than was necessary, even on the rough pavement. But he said nothing, not wishing to alarm her.
"There's a great deal I want to say to you today, Emma."
"You had better begin then; I must be home at nine o'clock."
"A few words may decide everything."
"Oh, goodness, what was that!" she screamed. The wheels had caught in a car-track, and the carriage turned partly over as the driver attempted to free it. Franz caught at the man's coat. "Stop that!" he cried. "Why, you're drunk, man!"
The driver halted his horses with some difficulty. "Oh, no--sir--"
"Let's get out here, Emma, and walk."
"Where are we?"
"Here's the bridge already. And the wind is not nearly as strong as it was. It will be nicer to walk a little. It's so hard to talk in the carriage."
Emma drew down her veil and followed him. "Don't you call this windy?" she exclaimed as she struggled against the gust that met her at the corner.
He took her arm, and called to the driver to follow them.
They walked on slowly. Neither spoke as they mounted the ascent of the bridge; and they halted where they could hear the flow of the water below them. Heavy darkness surrounded them. The broad stream stretched itself out in gray, indefinite outlines; red lights in the distance, floating above the water, awoke answering gleams from its surface. Trembling stripes of light reached down from the shore they had just left; on the other side of the bridge the river lost itself in the blackness of open fields. Thunder rumbled in the distance; they looked over to where the red lights soared. A train with lighted windows rolled between iron arches that seemed to spring up out of the night for an instant, to sink back into darkness again. The thunder grew fainter and more distant; silence fell again; only the wind moved, in sudden gusts.
Franz spoke at last, after a long silence. "We must go away."
"Of course," Emma answered, softly.
"We must go away," he continued, with more animation. "Go away altogether, I mean--"
"Oh, we can't!"
"Only because we are cowards, Emma."
"And my child?"
"He will let you have the boy, I know."
"But how shall we go?" Her voice was very low. "You mean--to run away--"
"Not at all. You have only to be honest with him; to tell him that you cannot live with him any longer; that you belong to me."
"Franz--are you mad?"
"I will spare you that trial, if you wish. I will tell him myself."
"No, Franz, you will do nothing of the kind."
He endeavored to read her face. But the darkness showed him only that her head was turned toward him.
He was silent a few moments more. Then he spoke quietly: "You need not fear; I shall not do it."
They walked toward the farther shore. "Don't you hear a noise?" she asked. "What is it?"
"Something is coming from the other side," he said.
A slow rumbling came out of the darkness. A little red light gleamed out at them. They could see that it hung from the axle of a clumsy country cart, but they could not see whether the cart was laden or not and whether there were human beings on it. Two other carts followed the first. They could just see the outlines of a man in peasant garb on the last cart, and could see that he was lighting his pipe. The carts passed them slowly. Soon there was nothing to be heard but the low rolling of the wheels as their own carriage followed them. The bridge dropped gently to the farther shore. They saw the street disappear into blackness between rows of trees. Open fields lay before them to the right and to the