We will go wherever it is most likely." After long, _long_ hours of dark rushing, Dresden at last.

We drive in an open carriage through an unknown town, moonlit, silent, and asleep.
German towns go to bed early.

We cross the Elbe, in which a second moon, big and clear as the one in heaven, lies quivering, waving with the water's wave; then through dim, ghostly streets, and at last--at last--we pull up at the door of the Hotel de Saxe, and the sleepy porter comes out disheveled.
"There is no doubt," say I, aloud, when I find myself alone in my bedroom, Sir Roger not having yet come up, and the maid having gone to bed--addressing the remark to the hot water in which I have been bathing my face, stiff with dirt, and haggard with fatigue.

"There is no use denying it, I _hate_ being married!".