I will not be so
foolish as to fly; life opens to me new and flowery paths, greets me
with laughing hopes." [Footnote: "Frederick Trenck's Memoirs."]
Wholly occupied with these thoughts, Trenck leaned back in the
carriage and gave himself up to bright dreams of the future. Slowly
the horses moved through the deep, white sand, which made the roll
of the wheels noiseless, and effaced instantaneously the footprints
of men. The officer still slept, the coachman had dropped the reins,
and nodded here and there as if intoxicated. The wood was drear and
empty; no human dwelling, no human face was seen. Had Trenck wished
to escape, one spring from the low, open carriage; a hundred hasty
steps would have brought him to a thicket where discovery was
impossible; the carriage would have rolled on quietly, and when the
sleepers aroused themselves, they would have had no idea of the
direction Trenck had taken. The loose and rolling sand would not
have retained his footprints, and the whispering trees would not
have betrayed him.
Trenck would not fly; he was full of romance, faith, and hope; his
sanguine temper painted his future in enchanting colors.
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