So they set out at ten o'clock that night in a light sleigh on high
runners, such as may be seen on any winter day in Poland down to the
present time. The horses were as good as any in Dantzig at this
date, when a horse was more costly than his master. The moon,
sailing high overhead through fleecy clouds, found it no hard task
to light a world all snow and ice. The streets of Dantzig were
astir with life and the rumble of waggons. At first there were
difficulties, and Barlasch explained airily that he was not so
accomplished a whip in the streets as in the open country.
"But never fear," he added. "We shall get there, soon enough."
At the city gates there was, as Barlasch had predicted, no objection
made to the departure of a young girl and an old man. Others were
quitting Dantzig by the same gate, on foot, in sleighs and carts;
but all turned westward at the cross-roads and joined the stream of
refugees hurrying forward to Germany. Barlasch and Desiree were
alone on the wide road that runs southward across the plain towards
Dirschau. The air was very cold and still. On the snow, hard and
dry like white dust, the runners of the sleigh sang a song on one
note, only varied from time to time by a drop of several octaves as
they passed over a culvert or some hollow in the road, after which
the high note, like the sound of escaping steam, again held sway.
The horses fell into a long steady trot, their feet beating the
ground with a regular, sleep-inducing thud.
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