Borgert rose from his chair and flung the letter aside in a rage. Then he stepped to the window and looked down into the street.

Neither of the two spoke a word; but as their glances met, Leimann remarked:

"Well, what do you say to this?"

"A piece of insolence, a vulgar bit of presumption it is on his part!" Borgert broke out. "How the devil does this fellow dare, anyway, to concern himself with our private affairs? It would have been merely an unfriendly act and would have shown a deficient spirit of comradeship to send us a reply refusing our request, but to do so in this offensive manner! We cannot quietly submit to this."

"But what are you going to do about it?" retorted Leimann with a shrug. "If you openly take a stand against him, he has us by the throat if he merely states that we did not keep our pledged word, and we could not dispute that, for he can show it in black and white. Therefore it will be best for us to pocket his rudeness and to cut the fellow; he will not fail to notice that."

"Apparently he has entirely forgotten that it would be an easy matter for us to break his neck. Did he not say himself at the time that he was going to take the amount in question from the squadron fund? I think we could make it very unpleasant for him if we were to use this fact against him."

"True," said Leimann, "but you could not in decency bring up the matter, since his touching those funds was done in our interest."

"I don't care. If he at present takes the liberty to throw impudent remarks in our faces, I will certainly show him that I'm in a condition to pay him back in the same coin."

"But you cannot possibly sign a formal accusation stating that Koenig had lent you money obtained from the squadron fund. Do you not see that that would throw a curious light upon yourself?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be so clumsy as to do that. There are other ways in which the trick could be done, and I shall manage to let nobody suspect me as the author of the tale. But he will have to pay for this, you can take my word for that. D—— the ugly face of him, anyway!"

Both became silent once more, and a few minutes later Leimann took his leave, since he had to attend to several minor engagements in town before the dinner hour.

Nor did Borgert remain much longer at home. He went to the Casino and drowned his bad humor in a bottle of Heidsieck.

When Borgert awoke, a couple of days later, from a night's troubled sleep, he noticed with concern that he had overslept himself and missed his earlier duties. He rang the bell for his servant, but Roese did not appear, not even on a second summons.

Borgert dressed and went to Roese's room. He found it unoccupied. The bed was untouched, and on top of it lay the uniform and the cap of the man.

With astonishment the officer looked about him; the sticky, unventilated atmosphere of the little chamber, and a strong odor of soiled linen and worn-out clothes, was all that he noticed. Where could Roese have gone so early in the day, and that, too, without leave, even without a word to him? Had he been summoned to some unexpected duty? But no, that was impossible, for here lay his regimentals.

Borgert had already crossed over to the threshold to leave the room again when his eye lighted on a much-stained slip of paper on the table. He picked it up and his face paled while he read, for in the man's scrawling handwriting there were the words:

"Farewell! And go to the devil!"

As if petrified, Borgert stared at the paper. The fellow, then, had deserted!

About his reasons for the step Borgert was not in doubt a minute, and a sudden feeling of shame and disquiet seized him at the thought that the man might be apprehended. In that case everything would come to light: the bad usage to which he had been subjected, the maltreatment which he had met at his hands, and, worst of all, all those big or little secrets of which he had become aware during his service with his master.

Too unpleasant! Borgert stepped again over to his room and sat down on the edge of the bed. His face was not pleasant to look at, and a nervous twitching of his features showed how much he dreaded an unlucky turn of affairs in case the fugitive should be caught and then blab out all he knew.

It seemed to him as if of late there was a perfect conspiracy against him. Anxiety, ill luck, and disappointment on every side, with not a single silver lining to the cloud, which, black and ominous, had suddenly begun to crowd his horizon.

For the first time the awful certainty flashed through his mind that he stood at the brink of a catastrophe against which there was no remedy unless a miracle intervened. But where under the sun should such a miracle come from? All faith, all hope, dissolved before his view in these few moments when the whole crushing weight of his guilt, the whole labyrinth of his failure in life, came clearly to his consciousness. An unreasoning terror, a fear of himself and a feeling of helplessness conquered the man, who at other times had never surrendered to untoward conditions, who had never hesitated to stamp down all obstacles in his path. Borgert was not capable of deep feeling or of noble sentiment; he had so far trodden the path of life with cold egotism, coupled with a superficial view of his surroundings and a lack of clearer insight into the motives impelling him and others.

For some time he sat there, pallid, motionless, gazing into the vast blank space of the unknown future; only the convulsive workings of his face betrayed the intense agitation of his mind. It was the psychological crisis in the life of a man who too late becomes aware of having destroyed his better self, of having annihilated all those hopes which on entering life had floated before his vision in roseate hue. And there was nothing to which he could cling, not even a straw for this man battling with the waves that threatened to engulf him, no human soul that could or would help him. Despair clutched his throat, and his breath came thick and short like that of one drowning.

Borgert had struck a balance with himself. He had taken stock, and now felt clearly that his life was one not only marred but destroyed by his own fault. He made up his mind to bear the consequences since escape there was none.

Mechanically he completed his toilet and then went to the barracks to report himself to the captain for having missed the morning service. He kept silence about Roese's flight, saying to himself that if the deserter had the start of pursuit by a sufficiency of time, say forty-eight hours, he would be a bigger fool indeed than Borgert took him to be if he had not reached a safe retreat across the frontier. And that, of course, would spare Borgert himself the unpleasant predicament of facing a court-martial because of systematic maltreatment of a subordinate.

When he returned home at noon, Borgert found a letter. It was the reply of the financial man in Berlin to whom, in his quandary, he had turned. The letter told the recipient in curt terms that his application had been rejected. No loan could be made to him, it said, since inquiries about Borgert and his co-called bondsmen, and the endorsement of Leimann, had "demonstrated a financial status highly unfavorable."

Borgert received this news almost with indifference, for since this morning he had abandoned all hope of a favorable turn, and hence felt no disappointment.

He knew he could obtain no money anywhere after this. In fact, now that he clearly envisaged things, it seemed astonishing that the bubble had not burst long ere this. It had been solely due, as he now felt, to Leimann's extraordinary skill in hiding his own pecuniary embarrassments that Borgert himself had been able to run up large accounts without any tangible security whatever. For Leimann, he remembered, had backed him up throughout.

Dazed and spent, Borgert lay down on his divan.

He did not wish to go to the Casino, for he felt no appetite, and he was not in the mood to play his accustomed pranks and capers for the delectation of his comrades. He did not want to see or hear of anybody. He wanted to be all by himself and indulge in his morose reflections. His eye wandered around the elegant appointments of his dwelling. These fine paintings on his walls; this handsome and costly furniture, most of it carved in solid oak; the soft Oriental rugs underfoot which deadened every sound and made his bachelor home so comfortable and cosy; those heavy, discreet hangings of finest velvet which shut out the intrusive light and kept his apartments in that epicurean chiaroscuro which his sybarite taste demanded—what a pity, what an infernal shame, to have to surrender into the hands of these vermin of usurers all these trappings of his bachelor freedom! Of course, they would struggle and fight for it all, and each one of them would scramble to be the first to assert and enforce his rights. Rather amusing it would be, he thought, but alas! he himself would not be able to view the scene.

There was no help for it. Within a few days the crash must come; he could see no escape.

But what was to become of himself? He had never seriously thought of that before. Should he allow himself to be simply thrown into the street? Perhaps, after all, they would even put him in quod? Time pressed, and a decision must be reached quickly—at once.

Really, on sober reflection, he could not very well see why he should remain any longer in this vale of tears after all his glory and his pleasures would be gone. To learn anew, after losing all caste, after dismissal from the army in disgrace and dishonor, to learn a bread-winning calling and to have to work like everybody in that despised throng of perspiring, vulgar toilers—surely, that was not at all to his taste. From infancy up he had been reared in disdain of labor—had acquired, one by one, tastes and habits of thought that seemed irreconcilable with a life of sober, plain living and thinking, with a life where his part would be that of a subordinate. It seemed an impossible thing to him. Dimly he felt that to do so would require energy, self-denial, and diligence, and of all these he possessed not a trace. Should he then make an end of it, put a bullet in his brain?

But no, that was absurd, and, besides, that required courage. And courage, in its best sense, he had never had. He had only shown courage, or the semblance of it—a certain dash—the kind which in the army is known as "Schneid."

But here, when facing the final realities of life, his courage entirely deserted him. And was it not possible, after all, that luck would come to his aid in this dire extremity? He had only the one life, and once thrown away the loss was irremediable. Suicide therefore would be rash and stupid—folly never to be redeemed. Life might smile on him again, and should he then with his own hand cut it off? No, on no account.

But no rescuing thought would occur to him, cudgel his brain as he might. And torturing, self-abasing reflections crowded again into his brain.

The thought of his servant, of poor Roese, curiously enough, was uppermost. Had not Roese, dolt that he was, cunningly managed to disappear from a scene which was, in a certain sense, as unbearable as his master's at this juncture? And Roese by now was perhaps seated comfortably in a quiet corner where nobody was looking for him, and where it was possible to live without interference.

Could he himself, then, not do the same thing?

And this shadowy thought began to take solid form the more Borgert dwelt on it. It seemed to him the only egress from the situation.

In new surroundings, in another country, amongst people who did not know him, he might begin life afresh, and soon grass would grow over the short-lived sensation which his disappearance would create in this world-forgotten little hole of a town! Within a twelvemonth his very name perhaps would be no longer on anybody's lips in this place. And even if in times to come this or that one of his comrades should mention his name, it would be with the thought that such a man had existed at some time or other, and that nobody to-day cared about him any more.

He was so lost in his dreary thoughts that he did not observe the door opening and giving admittance to Frau Leimann.

She looked pale and serious. Her face, so pleasant in its youthful, placid beauty at other times, now appeared aged, and her eyes wore an anxious expression.

Borgert did not rise, but contented himself with nodding to her, saying never a word. His glance enveloped this woman, an intrigue with whom had seemed to him but a short while ago an ambition worthy of his talents.

But to-day she appeared to him no longer so desirable; her motions seemed to him without grace or distinction, and her charms mediocre.

Her hair was arranged in negligent fashion, and the soft folds of her morning gown to-day seemed to enwrap another woman and not the one whose beauty had intoxicated him.

Two impressions stood out clearly in his mind: the woman as she now faced him, and as she had appeared to him on a memorable evening.

But Frau Leimann was so preoccupied herself that the unflattering and searching look of Borgert escaped her. She sat down on the divan beside him and took his hand in hers. Her eyes gazed with diffidence at the face of the man.

"You are ill, George?" asked she with anxiety.

He contented himself for all answer with a shake of his head.

"But tell me, speak to me. What ails you?"

"Why, it is nothing and it is everything," Borgert answered with indifference.

"What do you mean by that, George? Talk sensibly, please."

"What am I to say? I am done with the whole business. That is all."

"Done! Done with what? How am I to understand you?"

"Done with everything,—with life and with myself."

"You talk like a sphinx, George. Why not tell me frankly what has happened to you?"

"My money is gone. I'll have to run away, or else there will be the deuce to pay."

Borgert felt a tremor run through her body. She did not reply, but turned her face slowly away from him and stared at the window.

In his heart Borgert was thankful to her for receiving his communication with such composure, and not with the screams and hysterical sobbings which women habitually employ on occasions of the kind.

And as he regarded attentively her pale profile, clear-cut against the light, and saw a tear glistening in her eye, a passionate emotion, largely pity for this suffering creature by his side, so pathetic in her dumb resignation, took hold of him, and he drew her into his arms.

Then she murmured:

"Take me along, George!"

In amazement Borgert stared at her.

"For heaven's sake, how did you get such thoughts? How can I do that?"

"Oh, George, you do not know. I cannot bear my life here any longer. Let me go with you, I beseech you."

"But that is not to be dreamt of. Will there not be scandal enough when I disappear? And then take you along? Impossible."

"In that case I shall go alone. I must leave here—I must."

"But why all this so suddenly? What has come to you?"

Frau Leimann gave vent to her suppressed feelings by a violent fit of sobbing. "My husband has beaten me with his clenched fist—see, here are the marks!—because the bailiff had called on me. His treatment of me has become worse and worse of late, and now my hatred, my dislike of him has reached a point where I can no longer see him around me, breathe the same air he breathes; and then,—another thing," and here she broke into weeping again, "I have no money—there is nothing with which I can pay my debts; something—some great misfortune will come—I'm sure of it, George, if I do not leave him peaceably."

Borgert had great pains to quiet the excited woman.

He reflected. After all, her idea was not such a bad one. If she really had made up her mind fully to leave her husband, she might as well go with him; for in that case he would at least have somebody by his side to whom he could speak, to whom he could open his heart,—somebody who would be in the same situation as himself. And when Frau Leimann once more implored him with a tearful voice, he whispered:

"Then come with me. We shall leave to-morrow night."

They began to make plans, and he said:

"Let us talk this matter over sensibly. First, how will you get away from here without being observed by your husband?"

"He is leaving for Berlin to-morrow morning. He has official matters to attend to there. Has he not yet told you about it?"

"No; but this is excellent. And now, have you some money?"

"Yes; I received this morning three hundred marks from my mother, and I have not touched the money because I had resolved on this step."

"Then you are better off than I am, at least for the moment; but I shall raise some money. And third, how will you get your luggage to the station? for, of course, I cannot expect you to run away without some clothes."

"Very simply, George; just ask my husband to lend you his big trunk, and tell him you are obliged to go home on a short leave. I will pack all my things into that, and the orderly will bring it down to you here. The trunk is big enough to hold enough for us both."

"There it is again," laughingly said Borgert. "Women are best for all underhanded work."

"And by which train shall we leave?"

"You will go by the afternoon train, for we will not leave together; that would attract too much attention. I shall follow you on the evening train. I think it will be best to meet in Frankfort. We will meet in the waiting-room of the main station, and there we can talk over everything in quiet. I shall take a three days' leave, so that they will not follow me at once."

"Then we are agreed so far. I will come down here to-morrow forenoon, as soon as my husband has left, and then we can talk this matter over a little more in detail. Just now I'll have to leave you."

Frau Leimann turned towards the door. When she sent a parting nod from the threshold, she seemed once more enticing in his eyes. The heated face was animated, and the glowing eyes radiated life. Truly, she was charming. Borgert lost himself in pleasant speculations about the honeyed existence which they two were to lead hereafter, once that inconvenient husband was out of the way, and all scruples which still clung to them, as the last vestiges of respectability, had been thrown overboard.

Borgert had regained all his good humor; he felt almost buoyant, and as if he could dare undertake anything. There was another consideration with him. His flight, his desertion, his leaving his creditors unsatisfied, and a record of somewhat crooked financial transactions behind him,—all that would now be regarded by people in a wholly different light. The romantic element would predominate in the minds of all the gossips. They would say that these two had fled, because of an overmastering passion,—to become united, when unfortunate circumstances did not permit them to belong to each other in their present plight. There would, of course, be enough scandal even now, but the whole story was going to be lifted by this elopement into a higher sphere; it would take on, so to speak, an appearance vastly more interesting, less vulgar, nay, even aristocratic and excusable,—an entirely different matter from the bald statement that he, Borgert, had deserted for no other reason except a lot of bad debts and unclean financial machinations.

For a moment, it is true, his better conscience spoke, reproaching him with the intention of adding a new crime to his list of old ones; but this warning resounded so weakly within him that it had not the slightest effect. The principal thing, after all, was that he must not let such an advantage escape him simply to save the feelings of others. Such minor considerations could not be allowed to interfere with his plans.

Borgert therefore briskly walked to town, and at the post-office, where the telegraph bureau was located, he wired to a large second-hand dealer in the neighboring city, telling him to pay him a visit the following morning.

Then he returned home and stepped up to Leimann's.

He found his friend busy packing.

"Well, I hear you are to start to-morrow. I only learned it this noon," said Borgert, shaking hands with him.

"Yes; I am not at all charmed with the prospect of this trip, for I had made no arrangements for it; but you know how it is. It is always only at the last moment we receive orders of that kind, often barely leaving us time enough to reach the train."

"Nevertheless, I envy you your trip. As for me, there is a less agreeable one awaiting me."

"What, you are also planning a journey?"

"It is not a matter of choice with me; I simply have to."

"And where are you going?"

"Home, starting to-morrow afternoon."

"Ah, I see. Well, I wish you luck."

"Thanks. By the way, could you lend me a trunk? I should like to take a number of things with me home, and my own trunk is too small."

"Why, certainly; my servant will bring you down the large trunk. I suppose that will answer your purpose?"

"Oh, of course; it will do very nicely. Thanks again."

Borgert could not help perceiving that his visit did not come quite opportunely. Leimann was in an ugly humor and did not let himself be interrupted in his occupation. He was so much engrossed with his own thoughts that the import of Borgert's questions scarcely reached him, and the latter deemed it therefore wise to remain no longer. He made the promise, however, to join the Leimanns at their evening meal.

Reaching his own room again, Borgert felt himself free of a great burden. In his heart he rejoiced at the sudden turn his affairs had taken. The bother and vexation of uncertainty no longer weighed on his mind. "The die is cast!" he mumbled to himself. He would have liked to dance and scream for joy. Another day only, and he would be rid of the whole sorry outfit, and there would be no further occasion to worry. And with that, such a pretty travelling companion! He really wondered at himself now that this idea had not come to him sooner.

Suddenly it crossed his mind that he had not yet begun to pack. At least he should at once proceed to preliminaries,—arranging and putting aside things, and making ready for packing the more important objects which he meant to take along.

But what was worth while taking? That was the question. He began to pick out things. From over the sofa he took the large silver goblet—the farewell gift from his former regiment—and placed it in an adjoining room on the table.

Rapidly, then, he made his selections: an album of family portraits; sundry packages of letters; a couple of riding-whips and crops possessing an intrinsic value,—that is, a metallic one; two of the smaller and more valuable oil paintings; and a large bundle of letters,—these, besides some indispensable clothes, were all he intended to take with him.

When he entered the door at Leimann's at seven, he found them already at table.

Leimann's face wore a black look, and he hardly lifted his eyes to his guest as Borgert entered.

His wife sat opposite to him, her eyes red and swollen with recent weeping. She did not touch the food before her, but every little while cast a searching and anxious look at her husband.

Throughout the evening harmony was not restored; not even a bottle of Eckel succeeded in bringing gaiety back into this small circle. Leimann remained in an ugly mood, and whenever that seized him nothing could be done with him. Therefore the parting took place at an early hour, and it was cooler than it had been on similar occasions.

* * * * *

Next morning Borgert had just risen when the second-hand dealer arrived.

The officer saluted him pleasantly and bade him enter. Then he completed his toilet and began negotiations with the Hebrew merchant.

"Will you, please, take the trouble to examine the furniture and all the other equipments in these apartments?" said he. "I mean to sell all of it, just as it stands, since I have been transferred to another garrison. But as to this point—I mean my transference—I must beg to preserve silence for the moment, as it is not yet generally known. How much could you offer me?"

The Jew pensively let his keen eyes wander all about the dwelling, mentally going through a rapid process of addition, subtraction, and silence. Then he proceeded to a more minute examination. He handled every single piece, using his knuckles to ascertain its exact condition; he subjected hangings, rugs, and carpets, as well as the expensive carving of the book-cases and stands, to a similar process. Then he drew forth a small note-book, greasy and worn, and squinted at each single object as he noted down its price. Finally he turned to Borgert and said, with an obsequious smile:

"Fifteen hundred marks, Herr First Lieutenant, counting it out in gold on this table."

"What! fifteen hundred marks?" and Borgert gave a snort of disapproval. "Why, man, you must be dreaming. I have paid almost ten thousand marks for the things."

"Sorry, Herr First Lieutenant," the Jew said, shrugging his shoulders in deprecation of such high figures. "Old things are not new things, and you won't get any more from anybody."

"That is not enough; that would be giving the things away."

"Well, I will pay you two thousand marks, then, but not a penny more."

Borgert sat down at his desk. He began to see that there was no time to lose, and that the man had him at a great disadvantage. Meanwhile the dealer had his eyes fastened on the officer's face, and wore the same expectant and obsequious smile.

"All right, give me the money; you can have the whole stuff," said Borgert, briefly.

With a smile that now broke over his face until it illuminated every nook and corner of the parchment-like wrinkles, the Jew drew a formal document, a bill of sale, from his breast pocket, stepped up to the desk, and wrote a few words on it. Then he requested Borgert to sign it.

After the dealer had left and Borgert had securely stowed away the purchase price, he felt that the last hindrance to his flight had now been removed, for a certain amount of cash was an indispensable requisite. Then he stepped into his bed-chamber, where he took from the clothes-press an elegant travelling suit. The remainder of his civilian clothes he packed carefully and compactly in the large trunk which Leimann meanwhile had sent down. He placed them next to Frau Leimann's finery in the huge trunk, and on top of them the few other trifles above enumerated. Then he had the trunk taken to the station.

Leimann meanwhile was on his way to Berlin. His wife, however, was still very busy,—burning up packages of letters which she did not wish either her husband or her companion to read, and then put into a handbag a few objects of the kind which only women cherish, and the sole value of which lies in the recollections clinging to them. It is astonishing what resplendent images a woman can conjure before her inner vision when in the possession of such faded flowers, bits of ribbon, and the like.

Lastly came the leave-taking from Bubi, her little two-year-old son, and this she had fancied the day before a much harder achievement than it now turned out. She felt some qualms of conscience as she now, with a light heart, without a tear, left behind her her only child,—left it motherless, exposed to a future probably troubled and cheerless.

It was strange, she thought. From the first moment on she had experienced something like aversion for this child with the broad nose, the large mouth, and the small, shifting eyes. When but a couple of weeks old, the baby had shown a striking resemblance to his father, and the more the estrangement grew between his parents, the more dwindled the small remnant of her mother love. She regarded this tiny human being, ugly and eternally crying, as solely his child. It was in this way that the poor little fellow had spent nearly the whole of his short existence,—either in the kitchen or with the servants, fondled, scolded, and educated by hirelings. The mother herself frequently had not seen her child even for a minute a day.

She had the conviction that her husband had deserved no better treatment at her hands, and because of that she scarcely gave him a thought during these last hours spent at her home. When she boarded, at three o'clock in the afternoon, a first-class compartment of the express train for Frankfort, she did so with a spirit light and almost gay.

And the same was true of Borgert. He likewise cast to the winds any slight sentiments of regret at leaving the garrison, and as the train, some hours after Frau Leimann's departure, went shrieking and thundering out of the little station, he felt that he was being carried on to a brighter future. That was enough for him.

When he and Frau Leimann met, late the same evening, in the dining-room of an elegant hotel, all their life seemed to lie before them draped in rosy hue, and no shadows of coming evils troubled them. After they had ladled their soup in comfort, and with the appearance of a fine game pie, for which this hotel is famous among gourmets, the ex-officer motioned to the black-frocked waiter with the immaculate shirt front, and said, curtly:

"A bottle of Mumm, sec!"

Thus these two celebrated the event of their flight.



CHAPTER VIII

CHANGES IN THE GARRISON

The flight of First Lieutenant Borgert could not long remain a secret.

When he did not return at the expiration of his short leave, and a telegraphic query brought the answer from his father that he had not seen him, the assumption began to take shape that he had tried to escape the consequences of his misdoings by deserting.

It is true that no one aside from Leimann had known precisely his bad financial status. But when the Jewish dealer came to claim the furniture sold him, and at the same time the bailiff arrived with the intention of seizing the very same objects on the strength of a new process of attachment begun in court, the catastrophe could no longer be hidden from the world. Everybody then began to see, detail after detail, the whole system of fraud erected by Borgert, with the passive connivance of his friend Leimann.

The court ordered that the entire property of the deserter be placed in legal custody. A term was fixed when the horde of creditors whom he had so shamefully deceived were to be adjudged pro-rata shares of the whole. Advertisements were inserted in the papers, calling upon all those having claims against the estate of the defaulter to come forward. Hundreds of bills came by mail from all the cities and towns, and even from the villages surrounding the little garrison, and the amounts in their totality figured up to a considerable sum.

Borgert's father, too,—a worthy old gentleman, broken-hearted at the downfall of his only son,—had to appear in court and depose as to his son's past and present misdoings, as far as he was aware of them. Even that portion of the estate which, according to the father's intentions, was to fall to his son's share at his father's death, was sequestrated by a mandate of the court and added to the assets left behind by Borgert. In addition, the state's attorney issued a "Steckbrief"[20] against the ex-officer, in which he was charged with a whole list of offences.

[20] "Steckbrief," a term in German law meaning a circular demand on all domestic or foreign authorities to arrest and hold in custody for extradition an escaped criminal.—TR.

The dwelling itself had the court seals attached to it, and even the poor horses in the stable had fastened to their manes small, leaden seals tied on with string, to denote that the state had taken possession of them.

It stands to reason that all these interesting events travelled through the little town on the wings of gossip, and no village or city within a radius of ten miles failed to regard the matter as a delicious bit of local scandal. The small penny sheets printed in a number of these places were in clover. Nothing like such a genuine sensation had come to their hands for some time.

Colonel von Kronau, the pompous and infallible, was very much cast down. There were some smart gentlemen in the regiment who now claimed to have suspected the facts for a long time, and to have seen such a catastrophe approaching. But there are always such people, and as a matter-of-fact neither these wiseacres nor their less astute comrades had ever expected Borgert to turn out badly. For his case, although somewhat worse, was substantially the epitome of their own cases, and it is a truism that we never see ourselves as others see us.

The colonel remarked to Captain Koenig, shaking his head with a melancholy smile, that this new turn of affairs was the "last nail in his coffin," and henceforth he was seen going about with a face gloomy and expectant of the worst. For gradually he came to the conclusion that to keep in good order a garrison and its corps of officers, some other methods must be employed than those to which he had clung, at the advice of Frau Stark, for years. It dawned on him that his type of discipline had wrought a train of evils which had grown avalanche-like, and which now at last was likely to bury his official head under a load of opprobrium.

The fact that Frau Leimann had followed the First Lieutenant became known a few days later. This was when her husband returned from Berlin and found a letter from her, in which she implored his forgiveness, and assured him she had acted under an impulse too strong to resist. Of their unhappy married life she said nothing.

Thus Leimann was punished doubly. He had been made ridiculous before the world, and was laughed at behind his back by all those who belonged to his extensive circle of acquaintances. And Borgert's flight had precipitated Leimann's own financial downfall. His creditors and those of Borgert obtained orders in court which forced him to sell the larger part of his small private fortune, consisting of sound investments, to satisfy their claims. A goodly proportion of his enforced payments was for those sums guaranteed by him in Borgert's behalf. When all his affairs had been unravelled, he had but a very small sum remaining to him.

Meanwhile no trace of Frau Leimann and of her companion was found, although detectives of various countries were several times on their tracks. Nobody knew where they had found a refuge.

* * * * *

A fortnight after his desertion poor Roese was discovered and arrested. He had been seized at the Belgian frontier. A court-martial was quickly summoned, and during the trial it became apparent that the motive which alone had driven him to desertion had been the brutal maltreatment to which his master, Borgert, had subjected him. The court regarded that, however, as a mitigating circumstance of such slight value that it reduced the measure of the punishment meted out to him in only a small degree. The poor fellow was universally commiserated by high and low, and even among the officers a voice was raised now and then in exculpation. Many of their subordinates expressed privately the opinion that a poor soldier, even if only the son of an humble peasant, like Roese, ought to have some rights, and that he ought to be treated humanely by his superiors. But these were but private opinions, stated in a barely audible voice, and in the seclusion of the men's own quarters. As such, naturally, they had not the slightest value in changing the fortunes of poor Roese, who was sentenced to undergo a term of many years of hard labor in a military penitentiary.

* * * * *

At the divorce trial, which took place at Leimann's instance, a great many unpalatable facts were brought to light.

The two servant-maids in his house, as well as the orderly, gave testimony of such a character that the few remaining hairs on Leimann's pear-shaped skull rose in affright. He could not understand how he had been so blind as not to have perceived the treachery of his friend and the faithlessness of his wife. A decree of divorce was pronounced by the court, and Leimann shortly after handed in his resignation. He was forced to that step by several considerations. On the one hand he was compelled to turn to a more profitable calling than that of serving his country in the army, since he had now but very slender means at his command; on the other hand, all the events in which he had been a conspicuous figure had damaged his reputation so greatly as to make his further stay in the corps of officers almost impossible.

He accepted a position for which he was eminently qualified by natural taste and long experience,—that of drummer for a wholesale wine firm. His little boy he intrusted to the care of some humble relatives, and his pension as First Lieutenant was just sufficient to pay for the little fellow's board.

Almost simultaneously, with the acceptance of Leimann's resignation, formal sentence was pronounced against Borgert. He was condemned to a jail term of five years, to deprivation of all civic honors for ten years, and to expulsion from the army, brought about by a series of frauds, by desertion and by maltreatment of subordinates in ten cases.

The newspapers published this sentence, and with it came to a close the career of this miscreant, as far as the army was concerned.

* * * * *

Meanwhile there sat in the bureau of a large factory ex-Sergeant Schmitz, busy at his desk with a row of figures.

The other employees had already risen from their places and were taking their overcoats from a rack in the corner, for the large factory bell announcing the close of the day's labor had rung out ten minutes since.

But Schmitz did not allow himself to be disturbed by the loud conversation going on about him. He continued writing as if he were in the midst of silence. The large office-room had almost emptied itself of its inmates when Master Worker Maurer entered.

Maurer was a squat-built man, and his pale, oval face was strangely illuminated by piercing eyes of a forbidding expression. His moustache hung straggling about the corners of his mouth, and there was something indicative of cruelty and meanness about his whole face.

"I suppose you can't tear yourself away from your work again? Aren't you coming soon?" he called over to Schmitz. But the latter did not even look up from his work, and briefly answered:

"In a moment; sit down!"

The two men were good friends.

Only a few weeks before Schmitz had stood amidst the mechanics at the lathe, pushing mechanically one cube of wood after the other into the sharp teeth of the rotating steel. This sort of activity had permitted him to indulge in his own thoughts, for it did not require him to expend his intellect as well as his brawn.

But in a short while qualities had been detected in the quiet, diligent workingman which brought him advancement. His military training and the self-sufficing determination which he had acquired in dealing with raw recruits had given him a knack of controlling his fellow-workers. Thus it came about that Schmitz was promoted to the position of overseer in the machine hall, the same in which he had so far toiled with the rest. His fellow-workers, of course, looked with envy upon this parvenu, who had only recently appeared among them and who now played the part of commander. There was no dearth of scornful remarks at his expense, but the old soldier understood very well how to baffle such behavior.

In the morning, after he had seen his men busily at work at their various tasks, he frequently paid a visit to Maurer, who was employed as an engineer.

And during these matutinal chats Maurer discovered in Schmitz a man whom it would be easy to gain for his cause,—the cause of Socialism. Maurer himself was one of the most notorious local leaders of the Socialist hosts, and he felt sure that this new man would become a valuable addition to the ranks of the forces acting under his supervision.

In this assumption, indeed, Maurer was not mistaken. Schmitz was still harboring the hatred against militarism and the government, which had been engendered in him by his own experience in the army. A deep-seated, grim feeling fermented in his soul because of the bitter injustice done him. He could not forget that the best years of his life had been frittered away in a service which in the end proved of no avail to him. Thus, he had become a recruit for the Socialist cause, and it had scarcely needed the persuasions of his new comrade, Maurer, to induce him to forswear all allegiance to the ancient cause of king and fatherland, and to vow service with body and soul to the red flag. The loyal soldier had become a strong pillar of the Socialist Party. On the morrow Schmitz was to make a speech before a large circle of men holding similar views, and it was for that Maurer was now waiting for him. He meant to inculcate another lesson or two in his friend's mind, and to talk over with him a few important points in the programme of the evening.

When Schmitz had laid aside his work and locked up his sheets in the desk,—sheets on which the list of names of the men under him and the respective amounts of work done by each were marked down,—he joined Maurer. Both then walked on in silence through the narrow lanes towards Maurer's dwelling.

At a nearby dramshop they jointly purchased a jugful of beer; then took it home, lit the lamp, and began their conversation.

It turned particularly on a new tax bill, which would add another serious burden to those under which the working classes were groaning. The aim was to gain as many opponents to it as possible, so that at the last reading in the Reichstag an overwhelming majority could be secured against the measure, sufficient to bring about its defeat.

The two friends were engaged in eager discussion until after midnight. When they parted they had reached perfect agreement.

On the day following Schmitz was in a state of feverish agitation. It seemed strange to him, after all. But a short while ago he was wearing the "king's coat." A short twelvemonth previously he had been a soldier of the Kaiser's,—a man sworn to defend the fatherland and to aid and further its interests,—and to-day?—to-day he was one of those who are accused of shaking the foundations of the state edifice, those who are aiming to erect a new commonwealth more in consonance with their own ideas and interests.

But when he on the same evening ascended the speaker's stand, carrying himself erect as a freeman, and when a crowd of many hundreds welcomed the new comrade with enthusiastic shouts, he felt differently. Even before he had said a word to his new friends they saluted him joyously as one of themselves,—as one to bring about the new millennium,—and his confidence in himself grew apace, and a mighty longing to achieve fame in this new army clutched his soul. It was his full intention to please this heterogeneous mass of men; he meant to force them into the circle of his own conceptions and beliefs, so that all of them should follow him, without a will of their own, as sheep follow a shepherd.

And he began his address. He first described the provisions of this new bill, and then laid bare the consequences to the laboring multitude that the adoption of such a measure would have.

A new tax, he explained, meant a further step in the pauperization of the masses. He showed that this new tax was a superfluity, provided the attempt was abandoned by the government to increase still further the strength of the army.

"Gigantic sums of money are annually wasted by the government for the military," said he, in a ringing voice. "Scarcely have millions upon millions been voted for the introduction of new rifles and new guns; scarcely have new regiments been formed and the conformation of existing ones altered, when all these measures are found to be worse than useless. Errors of calculation are discovered when it is too late to retrieve them, and new sums of enormous size are demanded in order to overcome innovations conceived in haste and executed without judgment.

"Germany's reputation and her power in the world have been won by the army, and it is her army which neighbors begrudge us. But have we not arrived on the summit of military power? Must we extend militarism to the point where it smothers and throttles all other organs of the state machine?

"If we but devoted to other institutions of the empire a modest portion of the untold money that is swallowed up every year by the army, there would be no necessity for laying tax upon tax upon the citizens until what remains to them of the fruits of their labor hardly suffices for bare needs. If we did that, we should be a wealthy country; the citizen would acquire material wellbeing. Industry would revive and yield to the people all its blessings. But if it is not intended to cease favoring the army to such an unreasonable extent, let them take the money needed from the pockets of those who are spending their days in sloth and wilful luxury. As it is, the wealthy are not burdened any more than the poor laborer, while the latter really has to surrender a portion of the scant bread he has earned for himself and his family to maintain a state of things in which capital enjoys all those advantages which are denied to him.

"Then I ask of what blessing is the army to the citizen, to the people as a whole? It takes away his children; it uses up the best years in their lives,—those years in which the youth ripens into a man, and in which his character matures. It is during those years that our sons are often treated with injustice and brutality, and, as a natural consequence, they return from the army into work-a-day life, as the bitter enemies of a government which dismisses many of them as helpless cripples or as physical wrecks without ever thinking of making suitable award. Then, still more frequently, our sons, after spending the best strength they have in the service of the state, in hard toil, and in exposing themselves to all rigors of a changeable climate, are sent back into the world, dismissed from the army, just because of some trivial offence,—kicked out into the cold as one might a dog, compelling him to hunt for food and to seek a new master. Therefore, I say, let us compel the government to spend hereafter the money so uselessly wasted for the enlargement of an army that has already overgrown its proper size, rather for more useful purposes, so that the people, the masses, will know what they have sacrificed themselves for."

The words of the speaker, drawn so largely from his own bitter experiences, were frequently interrupted by a loud acclaim; but as Schmitz now stepped down from his eminence to mingle with his auditors, the large crowd that filled the hall to suffocation began to rend the air with frantic cheers. They threw up their caps and shouted approval; scores of them cried: "Bravo, Schmitz!"; while others crowded up to him to shake him by the hand. It was an ovation as enthusiastic as Schmitz had never aspired to in his boldest moments, and his natural vanity felt intensely gratified. As to these people, he had indeed gained them over to his way of thinking.

His words had sounded so convincing, they had struck the popular chord so accurately, that many a one in this dense throng who had merely come that night as a spectator, drawn by idle curiosity, had been convinced of the justice of the Socialist cause, and resolved to join the party which espoused the claims of the poor.

And so Schmitz had that night become not only an adherent but a leader of the "red" party,—a party which in this large manufacturing town was becoming more and more formidable.



CHAPTER IX

RESIGNATIONS ARE IN ORDER

Sergeant-Major Krohn, the regimental chief clerk, was leaning against the iron railing which shut off from the vulgar civilian world the edifice holding the offices and administrative bureaux.

He was smoking his morning cigar with considerable zest and reading the Deutsche Zeitung, which the letter-carrier had just left for the colonel. He was at leisure just then, for the colonel had gone on horseback to view the regimental drill on the parade grounds, quite a distance from town; and on such days it was the habit of the adjutant to recompense himself by a sound matutinal slumber for the nightly sleep he had missed in attending this banquet or that carousal.

Krohn was deep in the study of the advertisements he had found in the paper when his "colleague," Sergeant-Major Schoenemann, stepped up to him, dragging his clanking sabre at his heels, and with a cigarette between his lips.

"Morning, morning, Herr Commander!" he addressed Krohn in a jocular spirit. "What is the news?"

The minor dignitary thus addressed smiled pleasantly, and sent a small cloud of fragrant smoke into the air before answering.

"Great things are going on, noble brother-in-arms. I had almost forgotten about that."

"You don't say! Has H. M. at last sent me a decoration?"

"Not precisely, but something almost as unlikely,—Koenig has been placed under arrest."

"What? Koenig? Thunder and lightning! What the dickens has he been doing?"

"Why, they say he has been putting his fingers into the squadron fund, and that some of the gold has stuck to them. Really, it's a disgrace; a fellow like him, too, quite wealthy, and all that."

"The devil! I should never have supposed that of him; no, not of him! And how did they find it out?"

"Haven't the faintest idea. I presume the colonel must have heard something about it. Yesterday afternoon he had him up in his room and charged him with the thing to his face. I peeped through the key-hole, and saw the poor fellow becoming pale under the accusation. He wanted to fetch his books at once; but the colonel wouldn't listen to him, and ordered him forthwith under arrest."

"But these two used to get along so well together!"

"Of course! And I presume there must be some truth to the story, else the colonel would probably have managed the thing otherwise, especially as he himself is in disfavor with the powers that be. This new affair will break his neck."

"Well, as for me," said Schoenemann, "I don't believe in the story until I see it in print. Koenig is not at all that sort of fellow. And the colonel always flies off the handle and seems to be glad when he has a chance of showing his authority. He thinks that is smart!"

"Oh, I don't know, and what's more, I don't care."

* * * * *

The explanation of all this conversation is a very simple one. We remember that First Lieutenant Borgert, before seeking fresh fields for his energy, had made up his mind to get even with Captain Koenig for that curt letter in which the captain had refused to accede to Leimann's request for another large loan.

Misled by the captain's own words on a previous occasion of similar kind, he had taken it for granted that Koenig had really been guilty of diverting some of the moneys under his care to oblige a needy comrade,—Borgert himself. In his vindictiveness he had spared no pains in the course of his conversations with fellow-officers at the Casino to spread rumors as to this alleged fact, magnifying the matter or distorting its details, as it suited his purpose; and even after Borgert's flight these rumors had been scattered broadcast by the idle tongue of gossip. Finally, they had filtered down and become the theme of general conversation. The colonel, too, had heard of the matter, and, in his present condition of extreme nervousness regarding the reputation of the regiment, that worthy had deemed it his duty to go to the root of it.

Koenig himself had had no occasion to clear himself of all this gathering suspicion, for in his presence the wagging tongues became mute. Borgert had maliciously misrepresented Koenig so much in his talks with the junior officers as to create quite a strong feeling against him. He had stated that Koenig, although abundantly able to help some momentarily embarrassed comrades out of their troubles, had not only refused point-blank, but had added insult to injury. Such supposed behavior, since Borgert's tales had found credence, had cost Koenig the sympathy of the majority of the officers, and now that trouble had overtaken him, many of them rejoiced at the fact. Lieutenant Bleibtreu would have informed his squadron chief of the unpleasant rumors circulating, but ill luck would have it that that faithful junior happened to be off on leave of absence. He did not correspond with any of his fellow-officers during his leave, and knew nothing of the matter until after Koenig's arrest.

It was only by furnishing an extravagantly high amount of bail that Koenig temporarily regained his liberty, having spent some ten days in jail meanwhile. By the colonel's order he was then suspended from active duty and compelled to await the outcome of the accusation in his own home. At first Koenig was stunned by the blow. After fifteen years of active service, during which he had never been charged with anything contrary to good morals or manners, he was now accused of a vulgar crime! And what was worse, the accusation against him was entirely based on the irresponsible remarks of a man who was a moral wreck at the time he made them, and who had since been legally condemned as a convicted criminal. It was nothing less than an outrage, it seemed to him.

Where was the confidence, the good comradeship, with which he had formerly met on all sides? Was it not the duty of his superior, the colonel, first closely to investigate the circumstances surrounding an alleged fact which on its face seemed highly improbable, before formulating such an accusation likely to ruin his reputation in the whole regiment and in the entire army?

And, indeed, the good captain had sufficient reason for complaining of the treatment he now met with. The ground had been well prepared by the mischievous gossip that had preceded his arrest, and now he was shunned as would have been a convicted criminal, an outcast, and the very children in the street pointed the finger of scorn at him and his family. Bleibtreu was the only exception. Firmly convinced of the innocence of his friend, he did valiant service in trying to restore the former universal confidence in Koenig's integrity.

He proved his unshaken belief in the captain by paying him daily visits, and by spending every evening with him and his family. He became the companion of Koenig's solitary walks; and he even persisted in this after he had been warned of the consequences by the colonel, and when his comrades punished him for his unselfish friendship by likewise ostracising and assuming a hostile attitude towards him.

But all these machinations did not hinder the young man from doing what he regarded as his duty. He would have deemed himself a poltroon if he had abandoned his friend now that misfortune had overtaken him.

The entire body of non-commissioned officers of the regiment and the whole rank and file of it felt deeply indignant at the manner in which this popular officer was made a scapegoat by the colonel, and this universal sentiment found its expression by numerous unofficial calls which many of the captain's subordinates made on him during his time of tribulation.

The same was true of the civilian circles, both in the garrison and in the neighboring city: they all were filled with disgust and aversion at the conditions created by the stupidity and stubbornness of Colonel von Kronau. They testified their sympathy for Koenig on various occasions. It was owing to all these mitigating facts that Koenig gradually came to view the future with brighter spectacles, and he consoled himself with the thought that justice must triumph in the end; but his patience was sorely tried in the meanwhile, for the investigation of his case dragged on a long while. If it had been a case creating sensational interest,—a case of manslaughter or of cruel abuse of subordinates, perhaps,—there would have been more promptness, in order to quiet public opinion; but his was a case which seemed to call for no such speedy action. What difference did it make if he had to wait for months,—a prey to misgivings and doubts, and exposed hourly to malignant talk of busybodies?

Six weeks had elapsed before his first preliminary hearing took place. Koenig, of course, took occasion to explain the whole matter, and to prove, by means of his ledgers and by oral testimony, how entirely unjust was the accusation against him.

He was soon undeceived, however, in the hope that the end of the proceedings against him had now come; for the court was by no means satisfied with his ex-parte showing. They demanded an expert examination of his ledgers for the last three years, and this task required fully three months.

At the trial his innocence of the charge was, of course, fully established, and an acquittal was the result.

It had been proven that there had been no diversion of funds, but that the captain's equivocal statement to that effect made to Borgert and admitted by the captain himself had been a mere pretext. The motive for this had also been shown to be that, as may be remembered, of preventing further requests for loans from so bad a debtor as Borgert. A bald statement of these facts was contained in the finding of the court-martial.

Koenig had expected no other finding; but in the officers' circle the acquittal called forth nothing but disappointment.

Some four months later H. M.'s confirmation of the court's finding reached the little garrison. And that was the signal for another procedure, for now it became the duty of the Council of Honor to undertake a new investigation of the same facts, but from a different point of view,—namely, whether Koenig had failed in any one point against the professional honor of an officer, and hence merited reprimand or punishment at the hands of his second judges.

The captain accepted this new ordeal with the long-suffering patience which had become habitual to him by this time. The final issue was still involved in slight doubt, but he felt himself safe in the firm conviction of his own innocence.

During this whole period of anxiety his domestic hearth had been almost his sole source of comfort. His family life had always been one of unalloyed happiness, and his wife, though young and pretty, had never been fond of that ceaseless round of noisy dissipation which had been such a feature of the little garrison for years past. So she did not miss the social pleasures which she now perforce had to deny herself; for, along with her husband, the ladies of the garrison now made it their business to cut her whenever she met any of them in the streets. Nevertheless, Frau Clara had felt this whole time of trial quite severely. A loving wife is jealous of her husband's reputation and of the honor due him, and, as for herself, she had been degraded from being the most popular woman in the regiment to the level of a social outcast; but her proud soul refused to submit to this ostracism, and it was no small gratification to her that the wives of the leading civilians made it a point to visit her at frequent intervals, and with some ostentation. Meanwhile Lieutenant Bleibtreu, the ever-faithful, was no less zealous in his attendance.

One evening he again called, but his face was clouded. It was known to the Koenigs that the unpleasant position into which their steadfast young friend had fallen by championing his captain's cause weighed considerably on him, and that he had made efforts for some time to be transferred somewhere else.

As to the cause of his depressed mood, the lieutenant answered that his petition for transference had been rejected.

"And what do you mean to do now?" said his late chief, after a while.

"I have handed in my resignation."

For a moment his hosts looked at him in some consternation, but then Koenig reached out his hand and said to him:

"You have done well. I must confess I pity you from my heart that you have to leave so fine a profession, and to inure yourself to prosaic civilian life, with its eternal questions of losses and gains; but I understand the motives which have induced you to take this step. You, as a young officer, have seen events in this place which even I, so much older and more experienced than you, cannot but deplore with all my heart, and I can well understand it if you have lost that joyousness in the fulfilment of your duties which alone often makes these duties bearable.

"I could have wished to have you become a valued member of another garrison, and to see other conditions, better than those prevailing here. That would have proven to you that there are still many of the officers in our army who differ radically from some of those with whom we are acquainted here; but since they deny you that boon, it is perhaps best for you to turn your back on the army entirely.

"I myself would have counselled you in this sense if I had not felt a delicacy in urging you to a decision which you might perhaps later regret; and to show you that I speak with deep conviction, I will tell you that I myself am seriously considering my resignation."

This time it was Bleibtreu who opened his eyes in astonishment.

"But why so?" he stammered. "I understand your request for transference has been granted."

"True; but it is with me as with you: my respect is gone for the profession to which I have belonged with honor for fifteen years. The conditions I have found in the corps of officers here have shown me that I do not belong here by rights. And who can tell me that I shall not find similar conditions in my next garrison?"

"You are seeing things too black, Herr Captain," said Bleibtreu.

"I think not," continued Koenig. "For nine years I have been vegetating in this miserable hole. During that time I have lost the natural gaiety of my disposition. I have lost, or almost lost, the manners of good society. If I ever get into better society again, I shall hardly know how to behave myself. I have become a boor, and the comrades in Berlin or Hanover would treat me with perfect disdain if I should venture to approach them on a footing of equality. The tone prevalent in our Casino is enough to demoralize almost anybody in the long run."

"You are quite right, Herr Captain," interjected Bleibtreu. "That is the worst of these little garrisons, especially those located near the frontier. After living in one of them for a number of years, one becomes impossible in decent society. This continual gossip, these ceaseless bickerings, are enough to destroy the temper and, to some extent, the reputation of an angel. Add to this the fact that all sorts of men 'with a past' are stuck into these little garrisons, and the mischief is done. Every little while we hear the phrase: 'Punished by transference to Moerchingen, Lyck,' and a whole number of similar holes."

"Quite true," Koenig replied. "For the most part, officers who are sent to these frontier garrisons are relegated there to get rid of them. But H. M. does not consider the fact that to place such doubtful elements in large numbers into that sort of garrison renders them even more harmful than if they were sent to larger garrisons, where they would be subjected to the influence of respectable and well-bred comrades. That is how so many scandalous affairs happen amongst the officers near the frontier. If only the officers had at least an opportunity of cultivating respectable society and of following a refined taste, permitting them regular attendance at good theatres, concerts, and the like! But unfortunately that is not the case; their whole social intercourse and their sole diversion consist in frequenting the Casino. And what can you expect, then?"

"There is much truth in what you say," put in Bleibtreu. "By rights the transference to a frontier regiment ought to be a distinction, because there they are closest to the enemy, and would have the first chance to exercise their profession and to show the stuff that's in them at the outbreak of a real war. But to-day that is a mere illusion. Every day the prospect of a war becomes less, and therefore the chances of marching against the enemy exist only on paper."

When these two shook hands on parting that night, it was in a sad state of mind. A couple of weeks later Bleibtreu's resignation had been accepted, and he doffed his uniform and stepped out into the life of a plain citizen.

The Council of Honor decided, after many delays, that Captain Koenig deserved censure because of "endangering his professional honor." The explanation was added that no officer must put himself in such a position as to expose himself to the unfavorable opinion of the world; and since in the present case this had been done, it was necessary to point out to Captain Koenig that his proceeding at the time in question had been incorrect and injurious to his honor as an officer.

Koenig read this official communication calmly, while a scornful smile played around his lips; and on that same night his resignation had been filed at the regimental headquarters.

The colonel himself was not able to see in his official capacity this outcome of his foolish measures. A few weeks previous to the occurrence just described, he himself had received a letter; but that came from "above," and it was enclosed in the fatal "blue envelope."

He had been told in it, in the well-known diplomatic language employed for such occasions, that H. M. fully valued his faithful services, but was unable to avail himself of them any longer.

One fine day a huge furniture van stopped in front of the fine house at the end of the town, where the colonel had made his stately home for so many years, and into its capacious maw brawny men packed, shoved, and kicked everything of his household goods that was worth while transporting to the far-away district near the borders of Russia, to which the deposed military autocrat was returning, with the intention of spending the remainder of his days amid the peaceful calm of his carrot fields and haylofts.

When the colonel and his wife took final leave of the little garrison, there was nobody at the station to bid him a tearful farewell. His orderly alone stood on the platform, loaded down with a dozen handbags and bandboxes the contents of which the Frau Colonel required on her long journey eastward. When the colonel, his wife, and his extensive family of younger children had bestowed themselves in the interior of a vast compartment, he leaned out of the window and handed the orderly a small coin of the realm. The man looked at it and then spat in disgust.

Of all those who in the opening chapter of this veracious tale had assembled around the hospitable board of the Koenigs, barely a handful remained in "the little garrison." The weeding-out machine had been set in motion by H. M.'s private military cabinet, and lo! this was the result.



CHAPTER X

UNTO THIS LAST

It is past eight o'clock of an evening in December. A hurrying crowd is streaming on its way homeward through the arteries of a large and busy city. All the shop doors everywhere are being closed with a thundering noise, and the ear is assailed by the rattling of the iron shutters by which thievish hands are to be kept out during the night hours. The brilliant gas jets and the incandescent lights in the show-windows are turned off in increasing numbers.

On the asphalt pavement dense throngs of people weary from their day's labor, or else eager for the pleasures and excitement which the evening has still in store for them, are pressing forward at an even trot—an endless procession of men and women occupying every grade in the social scale,—elegantly attired women and girls, men dressed in stylish fashion, others clad poorly and with the dust of their hard toil still clinging to their garments, and, mingled with them all, half-grown children,—boys and girls, who had been busy at counter or workshop throughout the day.

It was like a miniature reflection of life itself,—life in a large city, with all its toil and its wealth, its misery and its luxury.

On the pavement cabs and busses rattled past in endless succession; and elegant carriages, drawn swiftly by spirited horses and carrying the princes of trade and of birth, and veiled ladies, who might be actresses or countesses, for all one could tell, rolled smoothly along.

Scurrying to and fro in zigzag line, and emitting those peculiar doleful notes invented for them, automobiles were mixed up in apparently inextricable confusion with all this hurly-burly of vehicles, while the trams clanged their bells, and passengers stood waiting on the edge of the sidewalks, desirous of boarding them, yet afraid to risk their lives in the turmoil and bustle of the intervening space. All this excitement of metropolitan life, this feverish haste, and this pitiless crush, bore the stamp of intense work performed in a human ant-hill, where every one of the countless inmates has to fulfil his duty unremittingly, so that combined toil will produce a harmonious whole.

An elegantly attired pair turned the corner into a poorly lighted side street, and then took their way along the middle of the road, picking their steps among all the scraps of paper and the refuse of every kind that covered it. They came to a halt before a house the exterior of which showed it to be inhabited by persons in straitened circumstances, and then they ascended the well-worn front steps leading to its main entrance. The doorkeeper peered out of his little lodge and merely nodded slightly to the two. They had come here only a few days before, after leaving the stylish and expensive Grand Hotel, and that fact had furnished the man with food for reflection. They were former First Lieutenant Borgert and Frau Leimann. They had turned their steps to the French capital, in the hope to be there secured against any possible police persecution, expecting to be able to earn a living in this city of millions, which furnishes daily bread to so many.

Their funds had rapidly been exhausted; for he who has not learned to husband his resources in the days of plenty will not be able to do so in the days of dire need.

And so Borgert had been obliged to look about him for some remunerative occupation. Hunger is a hard taskmaster, and hard as it seemed to this man who had been reared and had lived till then virtually in idleness, he had now to turn his hands to useful work; but the employment he had been able to secure had not lasted long. Without a word of warning, he had been dismissed as incapable of the work demanded, and he was just now returning from a last vain effort to obtain another place. They mounted the steep stairs and entered their little room, furnished without regard to even moderate ideas of comfort, and filled with an air which in the days gone by Borgert had never been able to endure.

He threw himself on the narrow sofa with a cry of despair and covered his face with his hands, while Frau Leimann cowered before the grate on a small stool.

With eyes hollow from much weeping and many sleepless nights, she gazed into the dying fire. This was all the warmth which they could expect that night, for their means were entirely exhausted.

Both of them kept silence for a while, and then Borgert spoke. The woman trembled at the sound of his voice, as if she were awaking from a fearful dream.

"And what is to become of us now?" said he, very low.

She did not answer him, but continued to gaze into the faintly glowing coals, and a tear slowly coursed down her pale, emaciated face.

"To-morrow we shall have to leave this house, for we are unable to pay, and then no other refuge is left us but the streets."

"You must work, George," replied the woman in a tear-choked voice, although she tried to infuse some energy into her tones.

"Have I not tried?" replied he, with a shrug. "But haven't they dismissed me every time without warning? And besides, there is no use for my trying again. How can I work? I've never learned it."

"But something must be done; we must find a way out of this," Frau Leimann cried out, and her voice sounded shrill. "If you intend to leave me to misery, you ought not to have enticed me away from home."

"Enticed?" Borgert mimicked her. "Who has enticed you? Was it not you who implored me to let you come with me because you were unable to endure any longer the life you were leading with your noble husband?"

"If I did so, you, as a man, ought to have had enough common-sense to talk me out of my intention."

"I should like to know what man is able to talk an idea out of the head of a woman."

"Do not speak this way, George; it is worse than frivolous. Summon all your courage and energy and let us see what can be done. There must be a remedy."

"There is!" retorted Borgert, throwing a loaded revolver on the crazy table.

A tremor shot through the woman, and for a moment she leaned against the wall as if ready to swoon, while her wide-opened eyes stared with fear at the little instrument, the glittering steel of which reflected the glowing embers in the grate.

"By all that is sacred," her voice came hysterically, "are you out of your senses!"

"On the contrary," replied Borgert, coolly; "it is the only way out of all our difficulties, and it is not the first time I have had the thought. Is it not better to put an end to this dog's life than to die by inches in penury and distress?"

Frau Leimann stepped musingly towards the grate, as if its warmth were needed to drive the thought of approaching death out of her head and to pour new life into her trembling limbs. Her gaze hung fixedly on a faded engraving which was over the mantel, and which represented a banquet held by one of the ancient English kings. With glassy eyes she stared at this picture representing the joys of living. She did not notice that Borgert had followed her with his feline step.

The report of his pistol was heard, quick and sharp, and with a dying moan the woman sank to her knees. Her left hand felt for the warming flame, as if searching for its aid, and the tiny bluish tongues of fire wavered in their reflection on the surface of this white, plump hand from which a rill of life-blood was slowly running, drop by drop, into the ashes of the grate. For a moment only her slayer gazed terror-stricken at the lifeless body; then he pointed the weapon at himself, and a second shot put an end to his existence. Death squared with his mighty hand all the guilt and all the debts he had contracted during his riotous life.

When the two corpses, four days later, were carted to the cemetery of Bagneux, the Potter's Field of Paris, and there consigned to the common grave of the destitute, nobody knew and nobody cared who these two unknown strangers had been. Nobody suspected the drama of their lives or the sin which had hurried them to death.

THE END.