Thus, when Guentz had gone, Reimers was in danger of becoming somewhat shy of his fellow-creatures. He had honestly to put constraint on himself to fulfil the claims of comradeship with a good grace, and more especially his social obligations. He was most at home in outdoor recreations; he played tennis with enthusiasm, and had nothing against excursions on foot or bicycle with a picnic thrown in, or the regimental races, or hunting. These all meant healthy exercise, and afforded a wholesome change from the confined life of the garrison. But winter, with its obligatory dinners and balls, was a torment to him.

On one occasion, standing in the doorway of a ballroom, he had closed his ears so as to exclude all sound of the music, and then had seriously doubted the sanity of the men and women he saw madly jumping about. He felt almost ashamed afterwards when he had to ask the no longer youthful Frau Lischke for a dance; but the fat lady hung smiling on his arm, and did not spare him a single round. Reimers thought sadly of his honest friend Guentz, and the rude things he had been wont to say about such follies as these.

But chance threw in his way a gift which to some extent compensated him for the loss of his friend. He and Colonel von Falkenhein were brought together; and, by the irony of fate, at one of these same odious balls.

After working through his duty dances, Reimers had allowed himself to omit a polka, and was leaning out of a window in the end room of the suite, when Colonel Falkenhein tapped him on the shoulder.

The colonel was bored; for those of the older men who were not occupied with the ladies had set themselves down to cards, and he—a widower, whose only daughter was still at school—could not bear cards, and liked dancing still less. This Lieutenant Reimers, standing alone gazing out into the night, seemed a kindred spirit.

The young officer had already excited his interest; his behaviour as a soldier was loudly praised by his superiors; and then unprofessionally he was distinguished from the average type of young lieutenant by a certain attractive maturity of bearing, without, however, impressing one as a prig. Priggishness was even less endurable to Falkenhein than play and dancing.

The colonel had the gift of making people open their hearts to him by means of a few judicious questions, and could very well distinguish between genuine and spurious sentiment.

Reimers answered with a candour which astonished himself most of all, and Falkenhein listened with a pleased attention. Here was a man after his own heart, possessed by a manly seriousness, and with a deliberate lofty aim in life; not merely dreaming of substituting a general's epaulettes for the simple shoulder-knots of a lieutenant. Here, too, was a fine enthusiasm, which touched the veteran of fifty and warmed his heart. It recalled the old warlike days and the cry: "Only put us to the proof! and rather to-day than to-morrow!" Ah! since those days he had learnt to judge such things rather differently; but nevertheless it was the right way for youth to regard them. Such enthusiasm was a little exaggerated, at any rate as things stood at present, and also a trifle shortsighted. It was now no longer as in the days of 1870 and after, when the watch on the Rhine had to be kept for fear of vengeance. He could not join as heartily as he might then have done in the proud joy of the young officer.

He felt inclined to take himself to task for this, and on no account would he pour cold water on this fine flame of enthusiasm. It was the very thing in which the present time was most lacking: patriotism as a genuine conviction rooted firmly and deep in the breast, not venting itself in mere cheering and hurrahs; and accompanied by a steady comprehension of the soldier's profession as simply a constant readiness for war.

From the time of this conversation, Reimers began to feel heartily enthusiastic about his colonel. He was almost ashamed to find that his good friend Guentz was thus slightly forgotten; but this was not really the case—the two might safely share in his affection without wrong to either of them. The honest, faithful fellow in Berlin remained his dear friend; the colonel he began to look on as a second father.

Falkenhein's partiality was not, of course, openly expressed; but by many little signs he let the young man see how much he thought of him. Reimers, fully aware of the fatherly sympathy, was happy in the knowledge of it. His comrades were, indeed, surprised to find how lively and almost exuberant the hitherto staid Reimers could become; and particularly was this so during the artillery practice and the autumn man[oe]uvres, when—garrison and parade drills at an end for a time—conditions were somewhat akin to those of real warfare.

Then the even course of things was broken by his illness.

When, before his enforced furlough, he took leave of the colonel, the latter's hearty liking for the first time broke through the barriers of official form. His clear eyes became dim, and his voice slightly trembled as he said: "Come back well, my dear Reimers—come back to me. Be sure and do all you can to get cured!"

Now, when at last Reimers found himself once more standing face to face with this honoured colonel, joy overpowered him, and he kissed the hand of his fatherly friend.

The colonel tolerated this altogether unmilitary excess with a good-natured smile. He would have been delighted to clasp in his arms this young man, who was as dear as a son to him; but he, an old soldier, could not allow his feelings to get the better of him as the lieutenant had done, rejoiced though he had been by the latter's outburst.

Out on the parade-ground Reimers looked about him with interest. Everything seemed to have become different and delightful; even the bare, prosaic yard of the barracks appeared no longer devoid of charm. He passed through the gate and went slowly along the high road towards the town. Then it was that the glad feeling of being in his native country asserted itself in full force. He realised that it was just the tender green of those beeches and alders edging the brook that he had longed to see when, in Cairo, the fan-like palm-leaf hung motionless at his window; just this slope of meadow land that he had remembered on the arid veldt of South Africa. It was this mild sunshine of his native land, this blue German sky that he had pined for in the glowing furnace of the Red Sea. The tiny engine which puffed along asthmatically up the valley, dragging its little carriages and ringing its bell from time to time when a browsing sheep strayed between the rails, had been ever present in his mind during his journeyings to and fro.

As he walked along, the young officer thought of his comrades whom he would now meet again.

In this glad moment he could tolerate them all. Their various defects, whether small or great, now appeared less offensive than of yore; and in any case it was kind of them and a great compliment to him that on this very day of his return they should have arranged a feast. It is true he rather dreaded this feast, which was sure to end in the usual way—general drunkenness—but it was well meant, and there was at least one advantage in it, that he would at once be made acquainted with all the details of garrison gossip; for, though altogether beneath contempt, they must be known in order to avoid giving unintentional offence.

At the door of his quarters he found waiting the gunner who had been appointed as his servant.

"Gunner Gaehler, as servant to Lieutenant Reimers," he announced himself.

Reimers took a good look at the man. The sergeant-major seemed to have done well for him in this respect. Gaehler was a smart fellow, not exactly tall, but well proportioned, and very clean. His hair smelt a little too strongly of pomade, and wax had not been spared on his fashionably-stiffened moustache.

When Reimers drew his bunch of keys out of his pocket to unlock the door, Gaehler hastened to take them from his hand, and opened the door for the lieutenant to pass in before him. He quickly laid his bundle of clothes upon a chair, and at once helped to take off Reimer's helmet, shoulder-belt, and scarf.

The officer smiled at such excessive zeal.

"How is it that you are so well up in this work?"

"I was for a time servant to Captain von Wegstetten, sir."

"Indeed? And why did you leave him?"

Gaehler hesitated a little; then he resumed glibly: "Please do not think badly of me, sir. There were difficulties; the servant-girl slandered me; you will understand, sir."

He stood there embarrassed, polishing the chin-piece of the helmet with the sleeve of his coat.

Reimers felt amused at his choice manner of expressing himself. "So you can't leave the women alone?" he asked. "Well, with me you will not be led into temptation."

Gaehler modestly demurred: "I beg your pardon, sir; but in that case it was really not at all my fault."

The lieutenant laughed. "Oh, all right!" he said; "but before that, where were you?"

The gunner drew himself up proudly, and replied with dignity: "I was groom to Count Vocking, in Dresden."

"Aha, that accounts for it!"

Reimers was no longer surprised. The aristocratic cavalry-officer was considered the richest and smartest sportsman in Germany.

First, Reimers asked for his smoking-jacket, and then told Gaehler to help him in unpacking the case of books which had just arrived from Suez.

Gaehler handed him the volumes, and could not help remarking: "You have an awful lot of books, sir!"

The lieutenant did not look offended, so he went on: "The count hadn't so many, and none at all of this sort."

He stole another glance to assure himself that he had not displeased his master, and then added: "The count only had books about horses, and a few about women, and the Regulations for cavalry-exercise."

At this Reimers could not help laughing, and his "Hold your tongue," did not sound to Gaehler particularly angry.

But if Count Vocking possessed fewer books than the lieutenant, he apparently surpassed him greatly in other respects.

As Gaehler was arranging the washhand stand, he remarked: "The count had lots of little boxes and bottles, with real silver tops."

And when he fetched Reimers some sandwiches and a glass of beer for lunch from the kitchen on the ground floor, he informed his master, "The count had his own kitchen, and used to drink Burgundy at lunch."

And here another result of his training in the Vocking household came to light. In a few moments the table was covered with a clean cloth, with knife, fork, and spoon neatly in place; and it was certainly not the rough maid down below in the simple kitchen to whom it had occurred to decorate the dish so prettily with parsley and radishes. The meal looked far more appetising than usual, and this was Gaehler's work.

"Where did you get the radishes from?" Reimers asked.

"The cook gave them to me, sir," his servant replied.

"So you are at it again, making yourself agreeable?"

This time Gaehler was not in the least confused, but replied frankly, "I beg your pardon, sir; the cook is very old and very fat, I——"

That evening, in the mess-house, the officers, both his seniors in rank and those of his own age, vied with each other in pleasant speeches. But it ended just as it had done a year before; when all had greeted him, he was left standing alone in the doorway of the reading-room.

His only friend, Guentz, was still in Berlin, and the officers chatted together in the other rooms of the mess-house, standing in groups which in almost every case denoted circles of friends. There was hardly any change in the composition of these circles, which was usually due to similar length of service, but in certain cases they were held together by some other bond. There was the Keyl-Moeller group of two senior-lieutenants and a lieutenant, who were brothers-in-law in a double sense, two Keyls having married two Fraeulein Moellers, and a Moeller a Fraeulein Keyl. There was also the trio of musical officers, one of whom sang and played the violin and also the French horn, while the second was an excellent pianist, and the third only whistled, but in a most artistic manner. Then, finally, there was the philosophic group, to which little Lieutenant Dr. von Froeben gave the tone. He had taken his doctor's degree in jurisprudence at Heidelberg, and had recently become an officer, as during his year of military service he had lost all taste for legal science. He bore his academic honours with that dignity which often accompanies the unusual; he was considered extremely up-to-date, and at times rather extravagant in his opinions. Among his friends were two officers still very young, one of whom was always reading Prevost and Maupassant; and the other blushingly acknowledged himself to be the author of an ode, printed in a daily newspaper, welcoming the troops just returned from China, among whom had been Captain Madelung of the regiment.

Everything at the mess-house seemed to be just as of old; it seemed to Reimers as if he had not been away for a day. He looked around him: all were as before, the elder men, with thick moustaches and hair growing thin in places, with the cares of a future command already on the brow; those of his own age, easy-going and assuming nonchalant airs; and the youngest of all very spick and span and extremely correct. Just as of old the three brothers-in-law stood close together (two of them had in the meantime become fathers, and the wife of Keyl II., nee Moeller, was in an interesting condition), and chatted about their various uncles and aunts. As of yore, the singing, violin and horn-playing Manitius was at the piano, turning over the leaves of a pianoforte arrangement of the "Trompeter von Saekkingen." And again, as of old, the little red-haired Dr. von Froeben held forth learnedly to every one who would listen. There were only two new men who had entered the regiment during his illness, and had just got their commissions as lieutenants. One of them, Landsberg, had introduced himself to Reimers as belonging to his battery.

Reimers was not much taken with him. This youth, with his somewhat vacant expression, hair glossy with pomade, and single eye-glass squeezed into his eye, was too artificial and dandified to suit his taste. But he seemed somehow to be an object of interest to Landsberg, though the latter was evidently shy of addressing his elder comrade.

Reimers thought he could guess what was coming. No doubt it was again some question about his experiences in the war, of the kind he had already answered twenty times this evening in a more or less evasive fashion. This curiosity did not offend him, for such questions must be in every officer's mind, and especially in that of one who was fresh to the soldier's calling.

Sure enough Landsberg came up. He began rather slowly. "Excuse me, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, I shall be most happy," answered Reimers.

"Do tell me," Landsberg proceeded hesitatingly, "I would like so much—in fact, the shape of your boots pleases me immensely; they are awfully smart, and I—in fact, you would confer a tremendous favour on me if you would give me the address of your bootmaker."

Reimers considered for a moment, then replied coldly: "I bought these boots in passing through Berlin."

"Just what I expected! They do look awfully smart, really! And do you remember the address of the shop?"

"No."

"What a pity! But, if you don't mind, I will send my servant to you to copy it off the lining. May I?"

Again Reimers was silent for a moment, then he said: "I have no objection, if you think it important."

Landsberg brought his heels together with a click, bowed, and murmured: "You are very kind; I shall certainly do so."

Then he moved away with, "Thank you so much."

Reimers turned away. He suddenly found the room too hot, and he walked up and down for a time in the cooler air of the vestibule. All the doors were open. In the mess-room the staff-officers and the captains were standing near the table, which was already laid. It was a few minutes before half-past seven. Only the colonel had not come yet.

Andreae, the senior staff-surgeon, gave Reimers a friendly nod through the doorway. Reimers was his show patient. The specialist had shrugged his shoulders, but he, Andreae, had not thrown up the sponge. The thing was in reality quite simple. It only needed, like other military affairs, initiative. The right diagnosis must be made as promptly as possible, and the right treatment must follow without delay. Then all went well, as in this case—unless, indeed, something went wrong. Yes, indeed, this patient was a triumph which should finally reduce to silence those civilian colleagues of his who considered a military surgeon competent at most to deal with venereal diseases and broken bones.

Reimers listened in an absent-minded way to his long-winded deliverances on the subject of acclimatisation, taking furtive glances the while at the other officers in the mess-room.

They also seemed in no way changed. Major Lischke and Captain von Wegstetten were still at loggerheads, Lischke blustering away in his loud voice, and Wegstetten assuming his most ironical expression. Captain Stuckardt was listening in a half-hearted way; he had quite recently been put on the list for promotion to the staff, and consequently wore a rather preoccupied look. Hitherto he had found the charge of one battery difficult enough, and now he would have to command three. Undisturbed by the dispute, the captain of the fifth battery, Mohr, had sat down to the table by himself; he was always thirsty, and had already disposed of half a bottle of champagne. Madelung, fresh from the Far East, paced up and down with short nervous steps between him and the disputing officers. In passing, he glanced at the two fighting-cocks with a kind of scornful pity, and at the silent toper with contempt. Major Schrader and Captain von Gropphusen were whispering and chuckling together in a window nook. They had one inexhaustible theme—women; while forage was the favourite topic of the two men standing beneath the chandelier—Traeger and Heuschkel, the officers commanding the first and second batteries. The third battery had the fattest horses in the regiment—"and the laziest," said the colonel; nevertheless, it must be allowed, that when the inspector from the Ministry of War paid his visit, it was an uncommonly pleasant sight to see the hind-quarters of those horses shining so round and sleek in their stalls.

"Carrots! carrots!" cried Heuschkel. "They're the thing!" And Andreae, who, as a healer of men must also have some knowledge of the inside of beasts, was called on to endorse this view as to the excellence of carrots as fodder.

Thus Reimers felt himself rather out of it all, and was just about to leave the mess-room and join his younger comrades, when Madelung came towards him.

The lieutenant waited expectantly. He was interested, for it was almost an event when Madelung spoke to any one.

This lean, black-haired man, with the thin dark face and the deep-set penetrating eyes, was undoubtedly the most unpopular officer in the regiment. He was characterised as an unscrupulous place-hunter, and gave himself not the slightest trouble to disprove the accusation. The one excuse that could be offered for him was that, his father having been ruined through no fault of his own, he was almost entirely dependent on his pay, and had been able to keep up his position as an officer only by means of the strictest economy, and with the help of an extra allowance from the royal privy-purse. It may have been this that embittered him so that he avoided all social intercourse with the other officers, and devoted himself entirely to his profession. By means of relentless industry he had now won for himself the prospect of a brilliant career; on leaving the Staff College he had been presented by the king with a sword of honour, and he could look forward to a position on the general staff. Naturally he had volunteered for the expedition to Eastern Asia, and had recently returned from China decorated with an order, thinner and more pinched-looking than ever, and still less amiable.

Reimers stood before him in a strictly correct attitude, for the captain was not to be trifled with. But Madelung put him at his ease with a nod, and said, glancing sharply at him, "So you are the other exotic prodigy who is being feted to-day!"

He laughed drily.

The lieutenant made no response, and Madelung went on rapidly: "I may tell you that I envy you!"

Reimers felt the captain take his hand and give it a quick, hearty shake; but before he could answer, Madelung had turned and walked away to the table.

At this moment the colonel appeared. He greeted each of the older officers with a couple of words, and the younger with a general nod. Reimers alone, on the day of his return, had a special greeting and a hearty handshake.

Then they sat down to table. From the colonel in the seat of honour, downwards, the officers were placed according to rank and length of service. The youngest and the last was an avantageur[A] who had joined the regiment on October 1st. He had been on stable duty from half-past four that morning, and had to pull himself together now not to fall asleep; till at last a bottle of Zeltinger was placed before him by the orderly, and then he became livelier.

[Footnote A: A one-year volunteer who elects to remain on in the army and await promotion.—Translator.]

Reimers had chosen a place near the little lieutenant of doctor's degree, who was quite an amusing fellow, and chattered away so glibly that his neighbour hardly needed to contribute to the conversation.

Of course Froeben had begun: "Well, Reimers, fire away! Give us some leaves from your military diary. We are all ears!" But Reimers soon changed the subject. What he had seen and gone through down there among the Boers was still in his own mind a dim, confused chaos of impressions, and it was repugnant to him to touch on it even superficially, so long as he was not clear about it himself.

The little doctor began to dilate on the splendid German East-African line of steamers, which conveyed one for a mere trifle from Hamburg to Naples, by way of Antwerp, Oporto, and Lisbon, and he enlarged at great length on the educational influence of long journeys in general and of sea-voyages in particular.

Reimers listened patiently, letting his eyes wander round the table. Just as of old, the various groups still kept together, and were continuing their conversations uninterruptedly. Falkenhein, in their midst, listened with amusement as the senior staff-surgeon chaffed Stuckhardt about that oldest and yet newest of nervous diseases—"majoritis." Madelung was looking rather glum, and kept twirling the little silver wheel of the knife-rest. Next to him, Mohr was staring straight before him with glassy eyes, and Schrader leant back in his chair laughing, while Gropphusen still kept on talking to him.

"He's got something to laugh about!" said Froeben to his neighbour, interrupting his discourse.

"How do you mean?" asked Reimers.

"Well, to put it delicately, Schrader has got a flirtation on with Frau von Gropphusen—a very intimate flirtation!"

"Indeed!" Reimer responded indifferently.

Here was a fine piece of gossip, and strange to say, in this, too, things were as before; it was not the first time that Major Schrader and Frau von Gropphusen had afforded material for conversation.

Dr. von Froeben continued: "But you must not think, Reimers, that in such matters I am a bigoted moralist. Ideas of morality are subject to just the same fluctuations as——"

And he dealt out what remained in his memory of a newspaper article, the writer of which had entirely misunderstood Nietsche.

After the toast of "The King," a momentary silence fell upon the company, contrasting strangely with the clatter of voices which had preceded it.

During this lull in the conversation the word "China" was spoken somewhere near the colonel, and all eyes involuntarily turned to Madelung.

He sat there stiffly with his cold face, a cynical smile on his thin lips. "Dangers!" he cried in his hard voice, which had the shrillness of a musical instrument that has lost its resonance, "Dangers! I knew nothing about them."

He laughed drily.

Captain Heuschkel, who was always worrying about his fat horses, inquired: "Well, against such an opponent, surely cover had to be considered most of all. Wasn't it so? that cover was of more importance than action? Ten thousand of those yellow fellows were not worth a single trained soldier, surely?"

"Or one of my horses," he added in his own mind. He would probably have committed suicide if he had seen one of his horses shot by a dirty Chinaman.

"Surely it was a question of good cover, wasn't it?" he insisted.

"No," answered Madelung in a loud voice. "It was a question of keeping your fingers out of your mouth."

"What on earth had that to do with it?" put in Captain von Stuckardt, rather hesitatingly.

Madelung bowed with ironical politeness.

"Infection with the typhus bacillus," he replied, "was the principal danger in China, Captain von Stuckardt."

After a little pause the shrill voice continued: "We had a senior-lieutenant in our cantonment, belonging to some Prussian grenadier regiment, a gay fellow, and, indeed, quite a useful officer besides."

Madelung paused a moment, and again his dry, mocking laugh resounded.

Then he continued: "He had a queer fad. He cultivated one of his finger-nails, that of the little finger of his left hand, with the greatest care. Just like a Chinese mandarin. At last the nail was fully a centimetre long, and made holes in all his gloves. Now, whenever a speck of dirt lodged in this nail, he was in the habit of removing it with his teeth. It wasn't exactly a nice thing to do; but, you see, he had a passion for that nail. I often said to him, 'My dear fellow, do keep your finger away from your mouth—it's just swarming with typhus bacilli.' He did try, but sometimes he forgot; and so in the end he was caught."

Every one looked inquiringly at Madelung, and he added: "He died of typhus."

He sipped his wine, and continued, rather more gently: "I firmly believe that it required greater self-control in that senior-lieutenant to refrain from putting his little finger into his mouth than to lead his men under the heaviest fire against one of those Chinese clay and mud walls."

Then he raised his voice again, as if ashamed of the rather gentler tone of his last words, and concluded, harshly and shrilly: "Besides, it really is a bad habit, putting one's fingers in one's mouth."

And again he sat silent and stiff, twirling the little silver wheel of the knife-rest.

The feast then took the usual course.

After the table had been cleared some of the officers remained in the mess-room sitting over their wine, while others went off to the reading or smoking-rooms with a schoppen of Pilsener. In the mess-room the talk became more and more noisy, while in the adjoining rooms quieter conversation was the rule. A couple of inveterate card-players started a game of skat; and in the billiard-room Captain Madelung amused himself alone, making cannon after cannon. At his first miss he put down his cue and waited impatiently for the colonel's departure, that being the signal for the official close of the festivity. Madelung left almost immediately after Falkenhein, and the majority of the married men followed his example.

At last only lieutenants remained, except Major Schrader and Captain von Gropphusen. The one other senior officer, Captain Mohr, did not count. He had not quitted his seat the whole evening, and still went on persistently drinking with the assistant-surgeon, an exceedingly stout man, with a face scarred by students' fights. The scars were glowing now as if they would burst.

The subalterns could feel quite at their ease, for Schrader and Gropphusen were no spoil-sports.

Manitius now sang his "Behueet dich Gott," rather unsteadily, accompanied by Frommelt, who was quite tipsy. The song was a great success, for the young avantageur was overcome by emotion, and began blubbering about a certain Martha whom he loved prodigiously, and whom he must now abandon, because he would never be permitted to marry a barmaid. On this Schrader suddenly tore open his uniform and offered him nourishment from his hairy breast, and the boy sank weeping into his arms.

At last the comedy grew wearisome. The avantageur was sent off to bed, and Frommelt had to play a cancan, to which Gropphusen and Landsberg danced. Gropphusen was supple and agile, and, with his pale, handsome, rather worn face, looked a perfect Montmartre type. Landsberg, on the contrary, cut a grotesque figure, kicking up his long shoes in the air, and as he did so almost choking in his unduly high collar.

The company became smaller and smaller, and at last only two groups were left.

In the card-room half-a-dozen men still sat awhile at one of the tables, and in the mess-room Captain Mohr and the junior surgeon continued drinking. They had long ago given up conversation; but occasionally one of them would say "Prosit!" and then they would both drink. When at last they left their seats they found the orderly in the ante-room half-asleep, half drunk, fallen from his chair, and lying snoring on the ground.

Growling "Damned swine!" the assistant-surgeon kicked the man till he rose, and with an effort stood upright.

When the last two officers had left the mess-house he locked the doors, drank the end of a bottle of champagne, and lay down to sleep on the sofa in the smoking-room.

The sofa-cover was a sacred relic, a present to the mess-house from an officer in the East African forces, who had formerly belonged to the regiment. It was a magnificent specimen of Oriental art. The orderly found the thick gold embroidery very uncomfortable to his cheek; but then it certainly was a fine thing to scratch his head with!

When Reimers, who had left early, reached his quarters, he was surprised to find his servant waiting up for him.

"Why on earth are you not in bed?" he inquired.

Gaehler answered respectfully, "Beg pardon, sir, on such occasions the count used sometimes to need me; he often went out again."

"Well, I don't. So remember that in future," enjoined Reimers.

Gaehler still waited, and asked, "Would you like some tea, sir?"

Reimers looked up. Not a bad idea that! He was too much excited to sleep, for he had been obliged to pledge his comrades far too often, and a cup of tea would be just the thing. After that he would read a few pages, and only then try to go to sleep.

"Yes, make me some tea," he assented, "but not too strong."

He put on a comfortable smoking-jacket. Gaehler brought his tea almost immediately, and with it a plate of anchovy sandwiches.

Reimers smiled. It certainly paid to have for one's servant the quondam groom of an elegant cavalry officer. He gave Gaehler a friendly nod, and said, "I think, Gaehler, that we shall get on capitally together."

The gunner stood at attention.

"Any other orders, sir?" he asked.

"No. Good-night."

"Good-night, sir."

Reimers ate a few mouthfuls as he walked up and down the room; then he carried the green-shaded lamp to his writing-table, and took down a volume of the official history of the great Franco-Prussian War.

He spread out the marvellously accurate maps, and began, as he had done so often before, to follow the various phases of his favourite battle, the three days' fight on the Lisaine. That was the only great defensive battle of the campaign, clearer and easier to follow than any other in its simple tactics, almost suggesting the typical example of a textbook, and yet what a living reality! Almost at the same moment when the German Empire was being proclaimed at Versailles, Bavarians were fighting shoulder to shoulder with East Prussians, regiments from Schleswig next those from Upper Silesia, soldiers from the Rhine-provinces side by side with soldiers from Saxony: a glorious demonstration of the newly achieved unity.

His admiration for the valiant defenders was no greater than his pity for the tragic fate of the attacking army, which, almost dying of starvation, had fought with the wild courage of despair, and had deserved a more honourable reward than to be driven along that terrible path of suffering to the Swiss frontier. Not less tragic was the fate of its commander; a fate, indeed, which Bourbaki shared with the other military leaders of the Republic. All those generals, Aurelle de Paladines, Chanzy, Faidherbe, Bourbaki, who at the brave but somewhat futile summons of the Committee of National Defence tried to arrest the victorious advance of the German army, were inevitably doomed to defeat; and even the inspiration of a military genius could not have got over the fundamental mistake that had been made, of considering the impossible possible.

Reimers looked up from the book with a glowing face. He had followed the French army as far as Pontarlier. That was the moment in which the German forces commanded the largest area. In the west the Rhinelanders were gazing astonished at the winter waves on the canal, while to the east, Pomeranians greeted the sentinels of the Swiss frontier.

Where in all the world could a nation be found richer in honour and in victories?

During the next few days Reimers had to make calls on the ladies of the regiment.

It was wearisome work, answering the same questions over and over again; and once more he had proof of the fact that against certain conditions time seems powerless. Some of the young married women had during his absence become mothers; but most of the ladies of the regiment presided without change over the solid domestic comfort of their house-holds. The main thing noticeable was that they had sacrificed themselves with greater or less success to fashion, which was just now in favour of slender figures.

The course of their conversation was almost literally the same as of yore, and in each case the curiosity shown was of exactly the same degree, except that Captain Heuschkel's wife, who was president of the Red Cross Society, inquired as to the care of the wounded in South Africa; while the lady who presided over the Home Missions wished to know if the Boers were really as pious as they were represented to be.

This monotony was, to a certain extent, the result of natural selection. Most of the officers had chosen their wives very carefully, and this had brought about a fine similarity in their views, a similarity which even found expression in the rather unattractive arrangement of their dwellings, in which the upholsterer's hand was but too evident.

Only two ladies, the wives of Captains von Stuckardt and von Gropphusen, differed from this type.

Frau von Stuckardt was unjustly considered haughty. She was merely unfortunate in being unable to adapt herself to the mental atmosphere of the other ladies. She had been placed for a couple of years in an institution for the daughters of the nobility, and was just preparing to enter a convent when Stuckardt, who was a distant cousin of hers, proposed to her. In her heart she regretted the worldly emotion to which she had then yielded; she believed that, by her marriage, she had defrauded the Church, and felt her conscience constantly oppressed by this grave offence. The interests of the other officers' wives puzzled her, doubly separated from them as she was by creed and by education; and when, under social compulsion, she gave a coffee-party, she sat among her guests like a being from a strange world, a pale and slender figure, always dressed in dark colours and wearing a cap of old lace upon her smoothly parted black hair; a striking contrast to the other fair, rosy, lively women in their gay gowns.

Frau von Gropphusen's parties were much more amusing. You could not be quite sure that she was not making fun of you; but you were certain to carry away on each occasion a supply of gossip which would last for weeks.

Externally, Gropphusen and his wife were exceedingly well matched. He was of medium height, with slender limbs and a pale, finely chiselled face, vivacious eyes, wavy dark hair, and a small black beard. She was one of those dainty blondes who remind one of iced champagne, with a marvellously graceful figure, a droll little nose, and steel blue eyes under dark eyebrows.

When first married they were madly in love with each other; but when the fire burnt out, Gropphusen went back to his old habits.

Truth to tell, he was a rake, who, even after marriage, thought nothing of spending dissipated nights week after week in the capital, returning by the early morning train. He seemed to have cast-iron nerves; for even the envious had to admit that his official work did not suffer. He had a clever head, and was an artist into the bargain, an excellent painter of horses; experts advised him to hang up his sword on a nail and devote himself to the brush. But he had not yet made up his mind to that.

Irregular in all other departments of life, he was regular only in his excesses. He was very rich, so that he could give the rein to almost all his whims. Indeed, reports of a rather fantastic kind, somewhat recalling Duke Charles of Brunswick, were current about him, the most extravagant being of a ballet he had had performed for him by fifty naked dancing girls. There was a certain amount of exaggeration about this, perhaps. In any case he troubled himself no longer about his young wife.

Hannah Gropphusen indemnified herself in her own way by coquetry and flirtations, and she was soon gossipped about as much as her husband. But those that whispered and chattered about her felt their consciences prick them when they carried their backbiting further; the young wife could never be accused of anything more serious.

It was noteworthy that Reimers had always felt more attracted by these exceptions among the officers' ladies than by the typical representatives of that class. He did not know why exactly, but he thought he saw a certain similarity between the position of these ladies and his own; these two and he were different from the average.

Unlike his comrades, he enjoyed visiting Frau von Stuckardt. She never talked platitudes, she would rather remain silent, and she was a little given to proselytising. Reimers liked to hear her subdued voice extolling the mysteries of the Catholic faith; he was proof against her endeavours, but a beneficent calm emanated from this unworldly woman, and he could feel with her that the spiritual renunciations of Catholicism offered a quiet resting-place to the world-weary.

The Gropphusen interested him. She was considered superficial and frivolous, but he did not think her really so. There was too much system in her frivolity and superficiality.

He had purposely left these two visits to the last. But Frau von Stuckardt was away from home; and when he handed his card to Frau von Gropphusen's servant he was told that the lady was unwell, but the man would ask if she could receive.

Reimers felt rather vexed, and was just turning away when the gunner returned and asked him to come in.

He conducted the lieutenant along the corridor. "My mistress is in her boudoir," he said.

Reimers was shown into a small room, the only window of which was darkened. Frau von Gropphusen half raised herself from a broad couch. She wore a loose tea-gown of soft silk, and had a light covering spread over her knees.

"Welcome back, Herr Reimers!" she said, and stretched out her hand to him.

Reimers bent over it respectfully, and kissed the tips of her fingers.

Then his young hostess let herself fell back again upon the couch and drew her hand across her forehead.

"I am not very well," she resumed; "but I could not refuse to see you."

"No, no, you must stay," she went on; for Reimers looked as if he meant to take leave at once. "There, sit down. Just wait a minute; I feel better already."

Reimers took a seat and glanced round the room. The couch almost filled it, the only other furniture being a dainty little writing-table in the window and a couple of chairs. Above the couch hung the only picture, a fine print of Gainsborough's Blue Boy.

In the meanwhile, Frau von Gropphusen had recovered herself. Her pretty pale face was lighted up by a somewhat melancholy smile, and she began softly: "No, really, I couldn't let you go!"

She raised herself again, drew her knees up beneath their covering, and clasped her arms round them. It was done quite simply and naturally, without any touch of coquetry. And then she stretched out her hand again to Reimers and said: "You, the champion of the Boers!" Then, supporting her chin on her knees, she continued: "But now you must tell me exactly why you fought for them?"

As Reimers was preparing to answer, she interrupted him: "No, I will question you. Wait a minute. Was it from love of adventure?"

"No. At least, that is not the right way of putting it. I wanted for once to see something of the serious side of my profession. But even that was not the chief reason."

"Well, then, was it in search of fame?"

Involuntarily Reimers deviated from his usual rule of answering evasively, and replied: "No; that was not it either. I wanted nothing for myself personally, or at most only to prove my fitness for my profession."

"But neither was that your principal motive?"

"Oh, no."

"Perhaps it was indignation against the strong who were oppressing the weak?"

Reimers was silent for a moment. Then he said: "Perhaps. But other things contributed; above all, boredom. And—I wanted a decision as to whether I was to live or not. I could not remain an invalid for ever."

"But still your chief, your final motive was the love of justice, wasn't it?"

"Well, yes."

Hannah Gropphusen sank back again languidly. For the third time she stretched out her hand to Reimers: "It rejoices me to find that such people still exist, and to know one of them!"

Reimers had held her hand for a moment in his own. It was a small hand, almost too thin, with slender fingers. As he looked at it, he was reminded of the gentle hands of his mother. He respectfully touched the beautiful fingers with his lips and rose. Frau von Gropphusen made no effort to detain him.

"It is perhaps better for me," she said wearily; and as he reached the door, she added: "But it has given me great pleasure to see you again," and she dismissed him with a friendly nod.

Reimers stood for a moment before the front door, thoughtfully buttoning his gloves.

It was certainly odd; the very woman whom every one else seemed to distrust appeared to him more worthy of esteem than any of the others. He realised this only after the visit just paid. To her alone had he answered frankly, and although they had hardly exchanged a dozen words, he felt they under-stood each other perfectly. He could not avoid the thought that their souls were akin. Each of them yearned after what was great and beautiful in life. This woman, indeed, deserved pity, for she had suffered shipwreck in the greatest and noblest end for which woman is created—in her love; but he, thank God, was a man; and his ideal, Germany, still stood out clear and definite, dwarfing mere personal aims.

In that dim room a sinister thought had seized upon him, oppressing and paralysing him; a vague foreboding that his fate would resemble that of this pale woman. But he chased the dark clouds away. His star did not vary in its light as does the shifting and drifting human mind; it was like the sun, steady, unchangeable, inspiring.



CHAPTER IV

"For oh! I had a comrade, And a better could not be." (Uhland.)

During the first days of December Corporal Wiegandt would sometimes observe, in a pause of the drill, that the recruits were beginning to look a little like soldiers; and in the bar-rack-room, after drill was over, he occasionally even went so far as to give them some praise.

When he was getting ready to go out in the evening, and, with sabre buckled on and forage-cap stuck jauntily on his head, brushed his moustache before the little looking-glass, he would say: "Boys, I am almost pleased with you to-day. I shall tell my Frieda."

Whereupon the recruits would laugh, as in duty bound. They might all hate the corporal; he would not dispense with a fraction of their drill, and did not express himself in a complimentary way during the exercises; but he made things easy for them as far as possible, changing about from difficult to less difficult movements, and giving them long intervals between those that were the most exacting. His division never had to stand for minutes together with their knees bent, like Heppner's. Moreover, despite his roughness, there was about him a certain kind-heartedness which took the form of good-natured little extra lessons to the least efficient after drill.

His Frieda was a merry industrious girl who sewed muslin in a frilling factory, and hoarded up the groschen she earned in order to save enough money to be married some day.

And Wiegandt, who, despite his martial appearance, was an ardent lover, added the pfennigs of his pay, and deprived himself of his evening beer, going for walks with his sweet-heart instead, and kissing her over and over again.

"That tastes better than beer," he would say, "and costs nothing."

As the pair had not much to talk of except their lover-like wishes, Wiegandt used to tell the girl about the recruits, so that by degrees Frieda learnt to know all their names and idiosyncrasies, and began to take a certain interest in them. Above all had the case of Frielinghausen appealed to her. The sympathetic little seamstress saw in him something of the romantic disguised prince; and it amused her to make the credulous Wiegandt a little jealous, until at last she would assure him with a hearty kiss that he was her dearest and best.

When the corporal had gone off to his rendezvous, Frielinghausen was left in supervision of Room IX. The sergeant-major had arranged it thus, in order that from the very beginning the young man might become accustomed to responsibility. And the charge was quite an easy one. By evening none of the recruits had much inclination to make a noise or to get into mischief. All the day-time, from morning till evening, was occupied in the various branches of their duty; and the hours which then remained were completely filled up with the brushing and polishing of their clothes and accoutrements. It they could have done as they liked, they would have gone to bed directly after evening stable-duty; but that was not permitted until nine o'clock.

So when their cleaning up was done and they sat on their stools round the table, most of them would stretch their arms on the top and fall asleep; occasionally some one would scribble a few lines home. When bedtime came at last, none of them tarried; but, drunken with sleep, would tramp one after the other up the stairs to the dormitory.

Some, of course, were more fatigued by the work than others. Vogt and Weise were among those who got on best. Both were strong, healthy lads, and, moreover, not stupid; so that the theoretical instruction was as easy to them as the foot-drill, gun-practice, and gymnastics. To be attentive and quick—that was the chief thing.

Among the worst were Truchsess the fat brewer, the clerk Klitzing, and Frielinghausen.

The brewer, it is true, was a strong, powerful man, but far too slow in his movements. Klitzing, on the other hand, was too weak for the demands of the drill. It was impossible for him, in the gun-practice, to raise the end of the gun-carriage as "Number 3," or as "Number 5" to direct the pole of the carriage; in gymnastics he would hang helplessly on the horizontal bar; and even in the foot-drill it was difficult for him to stand up straight.

When Vogt advised him to report himself as ill he refused. "No, I won't go into hospital. Never!"

"Why not?" asked Vogt.

"I don't wish to," replied the clerk; and as Vogt insisted, he said, "Well, Vogt, I'll tell you: I should never come out again; I should die there."

And with a strained smile he added: "It doesn't matter where I die; but I shouldn't like it to be in hospital."

Frielinghausen, though an active and agile young fellow, seemed to be constitutionally flighty and superficial. He had been one of the quickest to pick up a general idea of things; but afterwards the minute details of instruction, which sometimes appeared so unpractical and so apt to make more of the "how?" than of the "what?" would not stay in his head. What difference could it make whether one sprang forward with the right foot or with the left, or whether in pulling the lanyard the right hand had rested upon the left? Surely the essential things were that one should spring over the line and that the shot should go off!

So, despite his honest zeal, he made many mistakes, and the everlastingly warning calls of his name maddened him. In the theoretical work he was naturally far in advance of his comrades; for, despite idleness at school, this was mere child's play to his practised memory. He, who had had to learn hundreds of lines of the "Odyssey" by heart, could easily remember facts about the bores of guns!

Klitzing also distinguished himself in these instruction-lessons. The delicate clerk possessed another advantage, in his own calling almost surprising, and particularly useful to an artilleryman: that is to say, unusually sharp sight, which found the mark in a moment and took aim with absolute accuracy.

This somewhat atoned to Wiegandt for his other faults, and it was only for Lieutenant Landsberg that Klitzing remained nothing but a scapegoat.

During drill Landsberg generally stood at the end of the parade-ground, looking utterly bored and staring at his boots, which he had had made in the style of Reimers'. It was only if Wegstetten was in sight that he troubled himself about the recruits. Then he would run to Corporal Wiegandt's division, and always began to abuse Klitzing, the "careless fellow," the "lazy-bones."

He was constantly threatening the poor devil with extra drill; but he never enforced the punishment, as that would have meant that he himself must put in an appearance at the same time.

At last Reimers, who was commanding the battery during a brief absence of the captain, put an end to this little game.

"Tell me, Landsberg, have you ever consulted Corporal Wiegandt about that wretched Klitzing?"

"No, sir," answered Landsberg.

Reimers called Wiegandt to him.

"What's the matter with Klitzing?" he inquired.

The corporal replied: "Beg pardon, sir; the man means thoroughly well and takes great pains; but I think he is far too delicate."

"Very good, Wiegandt," said Reimers, and dismissed him. Then he turned seriously and officially to Landsberg. "I think, Landsberg, you had better leave the man in peace."

Landsberg murmured: "Yes, sir," and looked out for another victim.

During the week the recruits in Room IX. had got to know each other better. The band of comradeship had wound itself imperceptibly around them, and within it some closer, more cordial friendships had sprung up.

The most varied types of men found themselves thrown together.

If, in the evening, the fat brewer happened for once not to be resting his tired body in sleep after the fatigues of the day, he would squat down near Listing, who had been a wanderer and a vagabond. He would listen with many a shake of the head to the stories Listing related of his life on the roads, especially of the nights the fine ones, in which one lay on the dry grass beneath the twinkling stars, or in the forest under a beech in the branches of which the screech-owl was calling; and of the wretched, rainy, cold nights of late autumn. Then one would pull a few trusses of straw out of a stack and creep shivering into the hole, which would gradually become wet through from the dripping rain, and through the opening of which the east wind would blow in icily.

Then the brewer would clap his comrade on the knee with his broad, fat hand, and say: "Well, friend, it must feel first-class to you now when you roll into a good bed?"

But Listing replied: "Well, no. Not exactly. But perhaps I shall get used to it. I have often slept better out of doors; but worse too."

Vogt soon formed his own opinions about his comrades.

The best of them all, the one who put the whole lot into the shade, was without doubt Klitzing. The courage with which the weakly clerk performed his duties filled him with an almost reverential admiration, and the honest fellow was ready to stand by the poor, harassed lad whenever it was possible.

During the dinner hour, if Klitzing were too much fatigued to go to the dining-hall, Vogt would carry his rations to him, and if possible would add his own piece of meat to the other's portion. Then he would quickly polish up boots and buttons for him and hand him his cap when it was time for the after-noon drill to commence.

"Come, Heinrich, I have made you smart," he would say with an attempt to joke. "Now we shall be all right."

And Klitzing would go down the steps with aching limbs and fall into line.

Vogt's care for him only ceased at night and began anew every morning. It was the source both of joy and shame to the clerk; he deprecated it to his comrade, but Vogt shut him up with good-natured roughness. So Klitzing let the matter be, and thought that a mother's care for her child must be something like this. For he had never known his parents, but after their early death had grown up as the adopted child of some distant relations.

Vogt himself had also the feeling that instead of a comrade Klitzing was more like a child, or, rather, a younger brother to care for; but that suited his strength of character, and anyhow Klitzing was a very different fellow from the gay, clever, Weise, and a far better one.

Weise tried to make himself a favourite with all, but the others noticed that he kept a check upon himself and never showed himself as he really was. Moreover, even when he was alone with them, he evidently felt a certain constraint.

One morning while washing there was almost a quarrel, when Vogt caught him by the arm and tried to examine the tattoo marks on his skin. Weise angrily shook himself free; but Vogt had seen that on the right forearm the words "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" were inscribed, surrounded by a broken chain and a wreath of flame, and above them something that looked like a nightcap.

His father had never discussed politics with him, but Vogt had learnt enough by himself to recognise the significance of the tattooing; Weise was a social-democrat! Well, that was nothing so very bad. At home in the village there were numbers of social-democrats, chiefly workers in the large fire-clay factory by the river, and they were all very good sort of people. Certainly, such tendencies were strictly forbidden in the army, so Weise must take care of himself.

On the whole this meant nothing to Vogt. He had almost forgotten about the tattooed arm, and the recollection of it was only once forced upon his memory when taking the oath. Then Weise had sworn fealty to the king, raising the arm on which was inscribed the motto of revolution. His sleeve had slipped up a little, so that the word "Fraternity" could be distinctly seen.

Surely there was some inconsistency here! But then Vogt reflected: how could Weise help the hypocrisy? If he had objected to taking the oath, he would simply have been imprisoned. Weise's swearing falsely was practically on compulsion; he was in the same case with Findeisen and all the others.

At Christmas the greater number of the "old gang" went on leave. For those who remained behind there was a tree in the large Room VII., with something on it for every one; a penknife, a cigarette holder, or a wooden pipe, together with a few cigars; but Listing, who could not even yet be got to wash himself properly, received a large piece of soap with his cigars. At the same time a big barrel of lager-beer was broached.

But before the battery Christmas-tree most of the men had had a special rejoicing of their own. The orderly had had the precaution to take a small hand-cart with him to the post-office, and had brought it back full of boxes and packages. Then the men stood round the sergeant-major, and each one pricked up his ears to hear whether there was anything for him.

Klitzing had moved aside, he had nothing to expect. Suddenly his name was called. There was a small box for him, and it was not very light either when he took it in his hand. He thought it must be a mistake, but there were his name and address sure enough: "Gunner Heinrich Klitzing, 6th Battery, 80th Regiment, Eastern Division, Field Artillery." He looked at the label, the sender was Friedrich August Vogt; and on the back was written, "To my boy's best friend, for Christmas!"

The clerk went to Room IX. and showed the label to Vogt, who was already unpacking his parcel. Klitzing could say nothing; he could only press his friend's hand, while tears stood in his eyes.

But Vogt shouted cheerfully: "I say! the old man has done finely! Let's see what else there is."

And when they compared their gifts—sausages, Christmas fare, and warm woollen underclothing—it looked almost as though his father had given more presents to his friend than to himself. At the bottom he found a letter from the old man:

"My Dear Boy,—Herewith are a few trifles for you for Christmas. I think I shall have done as you would wish by sending half of what I intended for you to your friend and comrade, Klitzing, of whom you are always writing to me. You know I was an orphan myself, and I can understand his feelings. I had my dear sister; but he has nobody. So a merry Christmas to you! and keep well and hearty. "Your loving father, "FRIEDRICH AUGUST VOGT."

Frielinghausen also had a letter, which he read with streaming eyes and a glowing face. He held his mother's pardon in his hands, and the love which trembled in her words poured balm and healing on his heart, and raised his desponding spirits.

He was another man after this Christmas Eve. Duties which before had been a burden to him, which he had, besides, despised, he now performed willingly and zealously.

If now Wegstetten inquired about him, Corporal Wiegandt always answered, "He could not be doing better, sir."

The captain took an opportunity of praising him; and when he had finished, Frielinghausen, his face quite red with pride and joy, remained standing before him.

Wegstetten asked, "Well, is there anything you want to ask me?"

The tall youth choked a bit over his reply, but finally he got it out: "Pardon me, sir—I don't know whether my request is in order—but, sir, if you would have the goodness to write to my mother and tell her that you are satisfied with me?"

Wegstetten was silent with astonishment. The request did seem a little unusual and unmilitary; but he consented, and wrote to "The high and well-born Baroness von Frielinghausen" a letter over which a mother might well rejoice.

It seemed the more terrible for Frielinghausen when in February, after the examination of the recruits, he received a telegram briefly announcing his mother's death.

Work became lighter for the recruits after the examination. Certainly the battery foot-drill and gun-drill was no joke; but things went more quietly than they had done during the wild rush of the training, and between-whiles one had occasionally time to take breath.

And now the recruits were gradually allotted their respective duties. Horses to look after were given to the young drivers and to some of the gunners. Vogt, Klitzing, and Weise, however, were not among these. Corporal Wiegandt, who had been promoted to sergeant after the examination, and had been put in charge of the guns and waggons of the battery, knew them for industrious, trustworthy fellows, just such as he needed to assist him.

The recruits were also being trained in sentry-duty; though this was not made very much of. The field-artillery would never be put on sentry-duty in time of war; gunners only equipped with swords and revolvers would not be sufficiently armed for that work; for it the infantry, or in case of necessity the cavalry, must be responsible. So all that was necessary was easily learnt, and in the peaceful garrison-town it was merely a question of guarding the official buildings.

However, Vogt felt as if something very important were taking place when he was the first recruit to be put on sentry-duty.

The second-year soldiers, on the other hand, rejoiced over their lazy days. They took things easy, and laughed at the recruits, who adhered conscientiously to every detail of the instructions, and would not take off their uncomfortable swords while sleeping on the hard benches, even after the orderly-officer had inspected them.

Vogt was posted inside the back gate of the barracks, through which the road led towards the riding-school on one side, and straight on to the wood on the slope of the hill. The first two hours from five to seven o'clock in the after noon seemed to him terribly wearisome and purposeless; but during the night from eleven to one o'clock he felt stimulated by the sense of responsibility. The sentries were then locked outside, and had to patrol two sides of the great quadrangle surrounded by the public offices.

The night was pitch dark, so that Vogt was unable to distinguish his narrow path. But he stumbled bravely up and down by the buildings for his two hours. Even if he often missed his footing, it was better than standing still. For then one heard all kinds of strange noises, the cause of which could not be perceived in the baffling darkness. The forest was never quite silent; there were always cracklings and rustlings from its boughs and bushes. But in going the rounds these things went unheard in the noise of one's own footsteps; and one passed the quarters in which comrades were sleeping, and the stables, whose dimly-lighted windows showed small squares in the night, and one could indistinctly hear the rattling of the halter chains.

When Vogt went into the dormitory from the fresh, pure, night air he thought at first that he would choke in the atmosphere laden with stale tobacco-smoke and foul odours; but in the end he slept splendidly, despite his hard bed.

At five o'clock he was again on sentry-go. It was still dark, but there was already movement in the kitchen and the stables. At the gate there was a delay; the watch about to be relieved was nowhere to be found. The bombardier in charge cursed and swore unavailingly; finally, he consented to the suggestion of the others and organised a search. In a small shed, which served for the storing of hurdles and such-like, the gunner was discovered fast asleep. He had covered himself up with straw, and his sword lay by his side. The bombardier kicked him in the ribs with his heavy boots, and stormed at the rashness of such conduct, when at any moment an officer might come by.

But the sentry, a tall, strong fellow, answered crossly, "Shut your mouth, you stupid swine! And if you dare to report me I'll break every bone in your body!"

The bombardier grumbled something about "not going too far and getting into trouble."

"Any one might happen to fall asleep," continued the gunner. He yawned a few times, brushed the dust off his uniform, and said laughingly to Vogt: "It is nothing unusual on sentry-duty, you raw booby of a recruit! Nothing for you to gape about!"

And he walked off solemnly behind the bombardier.

Vogt stood thoughtfully beside the sentry-box. That was pretty bad discipline! At the same time the case was quite clear: if the bombardier reported the sentry, then the latter would naturally be punished, and severely too; but he would certainly revenge himself on the bombardier. Despite the buttons on his collar, the bombardier was not technically superior to the gunner; it would only bring about a quarrel, and in a fight it would certainly be the bombardier who would come off worst. It was quite the rule for the men to stick loyally together, and never expose a comrade if it could possibly be avoided.

Vogt, however, considered that there was a limit to comradeship, and that the sentry ought to have been punished. For in such ways respect was lost for other still more important rules. And, finally, he congratulated himself on having nothing to do with the matter.

This morning, for the first time for weeks, the memory of his home and the longing for it overwhelmed him.

He thought of how at home in the early days of the year he and his father had finished preparing the fields for the spring cultivation. He remembered how the young sun, in those fresh morning hours, had seemed to caress the long-deserted wintry earth with his kindling rays; and the black soil turned up by the harrow had exhaled a refreshing odour as of incense offered by nature's maternal heart. The daily increasing heat of the sun, the milder air, and the grateful receptivity of earth: all betokened the end of idle winter and the beginning of a new year of fruitfulness, the gospel of labour and of blessing. The ardent forces of nature welled up also in the hearts of men; and though his father had seemed to him old in the short cold days of winter, the scent of spring-time always made him young again.

He almost felt like a deserter not to be at home working. But no! the contrary was really the case. It was these thoughts that were disloyal. Was he not now a soldier, called to protect the soil of his beloved fatherland, if an enemy threatened it?

If——? he reflected further. There had been peace for thirty years now, and it might quite well last thirty more, or even a hundred. Was not this, then, mere waste of time? But, on the other hand, there was nothing to prevent a war breaking out to-morrow. He knew that it was improbable, but not impossible. The devil! then of course war must be prevented. But how?

His simple mind saw no solution of these contradictions. He gazed contemplatively at his sentry-box, and almost omitted to present arms to his captain, who was passing to the riding-school with the remount division.

After being relieved he watched two comrades who were playing at skat in the guard-room with dreadfully dirty cards. Suddenly he had a kind of waking vision. It was like the taking of the oath, when each man stretched out an arm to swear. The tattooed letters on Weise's arm, where the sleeve had slipped off, began suddenly to glow as brightly and clearly as if the sun were shining on them. Fraternity! that was not merely an empty word, then, not simply talk? If all men, Germans, French, Russians, and all others, stretched forth their arms and swore to be brothers, then—yes, then—there would be no more war.

But would that ever happen?

The card-players brought his reflections on the question of fraternity to a hasty close; they began to quarrel furiously, and wound up by throwing the cards at each other's heads in a very unbrotherly manner.

The recruit had to pick up the scattered cards, and when a king and a ten were missing there was nearly a fight. Finally the corporal in charge angrily stopped the noise.

When Vogt returned from his sentry-duty between eleven and one, he found his comrade Klitzing singularly depressed, and after a time the clerk confided to him that he had been very unlucky all the day before.

"You see, Franz," he said, "I can't get on at all without you. If you are my neighbour at foot-drill, I know just where I am. But yesterday you were absent, and I was a regular blockhead. Just because of me the drill lasted nearly an hour longer than usual."

"Well, now I shall be back again," Vogt replied.

Klitzing continued: "Yes, but this morning it was the same thing; and after drill the deputy sergeant-major said that slack fellows like me should be given a lesson by the other men, and so——"

Here he was silent, and nothing more could be got out of him, so that Vogt was quite angry over this lack of confidence.

By and by the fat brewer (who, however, was no longer fat) joined them, and said: "Well, mate, aren't you a bit dense to-day? The 'old gang,' especially the drivers, mean to be at him, to do for him, all because of that little bit of extra drill."

Vogt could not but smile at his comrade's good-nature. Truchsess, the most easy-going of them all, whose clothes after drill were as wet with perspiration as if they had been in water, Truchsess called it "a little bit of extra drill"!

But before he could speak, Klitzing began again: "Franz, you mustn't mix yourself up in this. If they mean to do it you can't prevent it. The best thing will be for me to submit quietly."

And with a little bitterness he added: "The most they can do is to beat me to death."

But Vogt interrupted: "Don't talk such nonsense! I don't know what they are thinking of doing, but I can tell you it shall be prevented. I promise you that. Don't be afraid. I shall find a way out."

He began to ponder how he could protect his friend from the roughness of the "old gang."

Should he ask Sergeant Wiegandt to give up going to see his Frieda for one evening? If he told him, of course not officially, but in a sort of way privately, about the intentions of the elder soldiers, then Wiegandt would certainly stay in. But his feeling of solidarity with his comrades forbad this.

Only, were they any longer comrades when they could ill-treat a poor weakling? Surely not.

Still he rejected this plan, and in the end decided himself to defend Klitzing regardless of consequences. If he challenged the fellows fearlessly and cheekily they would be sure to turn on him, and he would be able to defend himself. At any rate he could better stand a good hard blow than the clerk could.

Evening came, and Sergeant Wiegandt went to his rendezvous as usual. An expectant silence lay over Room IX. The recruits cleaned their things and glanced now and then in an embarrassed way at the corner where Vogt had seated himself close to Klitzing. The brewer had joined them also.

All was quiet until shortly before bed-time. Then heavy clanking steps approached from the large Room VII. on the other side of the corridor, and eight or nine old drivers pushed themselves in, armed with whips, belts, and snaffle-reins.

Vogt placed himself full in front of Klitzing.

"You be off!" they said.

"I shan't!" answered Vogt.

"We'll soon make you!"

"We shall see about that!"

In a moment a dozen hands had seized him; but the big, strong fellow defended himself bravely. He lashed out powerfully with fists and feet, making the attacking party more and more furious; but finally he was dashed to the ground, dragging several of his opponents with him. As if they had been waiting for this, the others now threw themselves upon him, and their blows fell thick as hail.

Klitzing, with his whole body trembling, stood by as if he had been paralysed. But the brewer bent his round head like a furious bull, and charged, using his skull as a battering ram, right into the middle of the scrimmage. Now there were two against ten. The odds were still far too great; and the brewer also was soon on the floor. The fighters made a tremendous noise, but whereas usually at the least sound a corporal would come running up to enjoin quiet, to-day nobody seemed to heed.

With a sudden effort Vogt succeeded in shaking two of his opponents off, and in half raising himself; he just caught Weise's eye, who, with his hands in his trousers pockets, was looking on at the row and laughing a little. He shouted to him goadingly: "Is this what you call liberty, equality, fraternity, you lousy fellow? Liberty, equality, fraternity!"

And he gave a shrill, scornful laugh.

But, as if summoned by the words, the haggard, sombre-visaged Wolf came to the door from the opposite room. He had at once understood why the row was going on. It was only to be expected, after the deputy sergeant-major's words! It was one of those injustices that he hated so intensely; worse and a thousandfold more cowardly even than a blow given to a soldier on the parade-ground by his superior officer.

He felt he had been summoned by those three words.

"Here I am!" he shouted, and his long thin arms brought substantial help.

But the "old gang" also received reinforcements. The struggle became wilder and wilder, and the combatants grappled with each other more and more furiously. The shouts had ceased, and one noticed now only the gasps of the fighters, the grinding of their teeth, the dull sound of blows, and now and then a grim oath.

Vogt was bleeding from a wound in his brow, in return for which he had bitten his opponent in the hand. But now the heavy buckle of a belt caught him full in the face. Sparks flew before his eyes, he reeled from the force of the blow, and, like an infuriated animal, his only desire was to revenge himself, to hit out and to kill his enemy. A newly polished sword lay near him, where it had fallen from the table. He seized it and struck and thrust with it in blind fury.

The recruits shrieked as they saw this development, but no one had the courage to seize the arms of the furious man.

Then an inspiration came to one of them.

"The sergeant-major!" he yelled at the door.

The struggling melee dispersed in a twinkling, the "old gang" vanished from Room IX., and only a great cloud of dust betrayed what had taken place.

The sergeant-major of course did not appear. But it was just as well; blood poured down Vogt's face, and when Klitzing awakened from his torpor he was seized with a kind of convulsive attack. He threw himself down, weeping and shrieking before his brave comrade, embracing his knees, and no talking could soothe him.

The other recruits stood frightened and helpless around the two. The brewer sat down on his stool to get his breath, and wiped the perspiration off his face.

Listing, the quondam tramp, was the most sensible. On the roads there is occasionally a fight or an accident, therefore one must know how to render assistance. He ran to the water-tap, and returned with a bowl of fresh water. He washed the wounded man's face, and then put quite a respectable bandage round Vogt's head. It is true that the folds were a little thick, as two towels were applied, and they looked almost like a turban, but they stopped the bleeding and held together.

The tattoo sounded over the courtyard.

It was high time to get ready for bed. The corporal in charge came into the room and told them to be quick. Suddenly he noticed the wounded man.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Listing lied fluently: "He fell down the dormitory stairs, sir, just a little while ago, when the wind had blown out the lamp."

"Indeed!" said the officer in charge. "Is he badly hurt?"

"No, sir," answered Vogt.

"Then off to bed!"

Vogt and Klitzing were the last to leave Room IX. Klitzing went silently along by his wounded comrade and looked at him timidly.

"Does it hurt, Franz?" he asked on the stairs.

Vogt began hesitatingly: "Well, you know——" but then when he saw his friend's sad eyes he continued: "Oh, no; it's not a bit bad."

Tears stood in the clerk's eyes.

"Franz, what a dear good fellow you are!" he said softly. "I don't know how I can thank you; but never doubt that I shall thank you some time."

In the bedroom Listing whispered to him that the "old gang" would beware of beginning it again. Wolf had told them that he should at once report them if they did, and he was known to keep his word in such matters.

When the two friends were in bed, the tall man came round to their corner.

"How are you?" he asked Vogt.

"All right, thanks," he answered.

"Glad to hear it."

He stretched out his hand to the recruit, and the two men exchanged a hearty grip.



CHAPTER V

"So pass the bottle about, hurrah! Gaily sing and shout, hurrah! Jolly artillerymen are we!" (Artillery song.)

Sergeant Schumann looked once more round the two rooms and the kitchen; no, nothing had been left behind. Only his overcoat and hat hung on the window-bolt, and his stick stood in the corner.

The civilian clothes did not please him at all. Every other minute his hand was up at his neck, feeling for a collar-band which seemed to be much too loose, but which, in reality, was not there at all.

His wife came in, busy as ever, in her hat and cloak, a little leather bag and an umbrella in her hand. She was to start at noon for the little mountain railway-station, where she would get the house ready for the furniture, which should arrive during the day. The sergeant-major, or rather the station-master's assistant, had some money matters to settle in the garrison town, and would not follow her until the next morning.

Frau Schumann was quite out of breath. Those stupid gunners had been so disagreeable when she wished to have her flowers put in the furniture van. She began excitedly: "Thank God, Schumann, the van is ready. Here are the keys. It's quite time for me to go to the station, isn't it?"

Schumann looked at his watch and growled: "Certainly, quite!"

"Then I'll be off," said the little woman.

But she remained standing in the middle of the room, seemingly unable to tear herself away.

"Dear, dear!" she said, "for years I have wished to leave this place, and now that we are really going I feel quite sad; don't you, Schumann?"

The sergeant-major muttered something unintelligible. If it had depended on him the house would not now have been empty and the furniture-van before the door. It was his wife who had worried him into it, and yet now probably she would begin to snivel.

Indeed, she had just taken her handkerchief out of her pocket and raised it to her eyes, when suddenly her face changed: "Good gracious! our bean-poles are still in the garden! I'm not going to leave them behind. Fancy it's only occurring to me now!"

She was hurrying out. But the sergeant-major got in the way and held up his watch in her face.

"Look here!" he said. "If you don't stir your stumps you'll miss your train."

She was alarmed: "Good heavens, yes, of course! I'm going. Good bye, Schumann! Look after everything, and—and—good bye."

Standing on tiptoe she reached up for a kiss from her husband and was quickly out of the door.

Schumann drew a long breath. She was his dear wife, but now that he had to say farewell to the battery he preferred to be alone, without her.

He stood still in the doorway.

A driver had just brought two horses out of the stable and was harnessing them to the furniture van.

Schumann had not taken much to do with the horses of late years; he knew that they were thoroughly well cared for under Heppner's superintendence, and the deputy sergeant-major was rather apt to resent any interference with his department. But he would have failed in his duty if he had not, in spite of this, kept himself informed of all that concerned the horses; if, in fact, he had not been individually acquainted with each one of them.

Sergeant Schumann went down the steps. He must begin his leave-taking—so he would first say good-bye to the horses.

Slowly he passed between the stalls. At that moment the strong smell of the stable seemed to him more delicious than the most fragrant scent, more delicious than the resinous forest breeze which blew through the valley where the little station of the mountain railway lay surrounded by pine woods.

There stood the beautiful creatures side by side in splendid condition and with coats like satin. Nearly all of them were dark bay, and according to temperament they stood stolidly staring before them, or pawed impatiently at the straw, or playfully bit and teased each other. Only four stalls were empty. "Sybille" and "Achat" were drawing his belongings to the station. Another pair had been borrowed by Major Schrader, who had been invited to a hunting party on a neighbouring estate.

Last he came to his own riding-horse in the loose box, a pretty creature with four white fetlocks, who was rather nervous, and unusually tender-mouthed. Baldwin shrank from the man in the dark brown suit, and it was only when the sergeant-major spoke that the animal recognised him. Even then he was shy, and sugar and bread failed to re assure him. Schumann called him by his pet name, rubbing his cheek against the velvet nostrils, and then only did the horse become quiet. The sergeant-major could have shed tears. But he wanted to make an end of it, and clear out from these barracks, where he no longer had his place. Lingeringly he quitted the stable, and going out on to the parade-ground, stood once more before the battery's memorial tablet. The sixth was one of the oldest batteries; there were therefore a goodly number of skirmishes and battles engraved upon the tablet. Sedan was the most disastrous and at the same time the most glorious day—the day on which the battery had fired nearly eight hundred shots, so that by evening the gunners had become so deaf that they could hardly understand the orders which were shrieked into their ears.

Oh yes, it had been an honour to belong to the battery, and it was only right that in times of peace also the sixth should always have been an example for others.

"To commemorate the fallen; to inspire the living!" he read softly.

He nodded in earnest assent; then turned round suddenly and re entered his house.

He put on his overcoat hastily, and seized his hat and stick. Then he locked up, and knocked at the deputy sergeant-major's door, in order to give up the keys.

Frau Heppner was alone.

"Are you just going, Herr Schumann?" she asked softly.

The sergeant-major nodded, and said: "I am putting the keys here, in front of the looking-glass."

Then he went up to the sofa on which the invalid was lying and took her hand. "Good-bye, Frau Heppner."

"Good-bye," answered the woman; and whispering softly she added: "And as we shall not meet again, I must thank both you and your wife."

"But what for?"

The invalid was silent for a moment, then she replied: "Well, when one's own house has always been a perfect hell, one learns to appreciate the peace and quiet of others. At least, it helps one to see there is something better than one's own lot."

The sergeant was silent. What could he say to the unhappy woman?

"So, good-bye, Herr Schumann!" she went on. "I sincerely wish you well!"

Schumann breathed more freely as the door closed behind him. He felt deeply for the poor woman, and was relieved to have got over the parting from her.

With the giving up of the key the last cord was loosened which had bound him to the battery and to the military life as a whole. Everything else had already been done.

The evening before there had been a small fete, to which the captain and the two subalterns had invited him and all the non-commissioned officers of the battery. Then in the morning, in the presence of the officers, including the colonel, and before all the men of the regiment, the good-service cross, which the king had granted him, had been handed him by the commanding officer; he had also received permission to wear his old uniform at any patriotic festivities. The colonel had spoken of him warmly as a pattern soldier, and had concluded with a cheer for the emperor and the king. Then the sergeant-major had requested that he, on his side, might be allowed to say a few words; and with a voice which failed many times he led a cheer for the beloved regiment, and especially for the splendid sixth battery. Afterwards handsome presents were given him: from Wegstetten and the two lieutenants a beautiful gold watch; from Major Schrader a heavy gold chain for it; from the non-commissioned officers an album with views of the town and the barracks, and with photographic groups of officers, non-commissioned officers, men, and horses. Finally, the commanding officer presented to him that service sabre which he had worn for ten long years, to be now his own private property.

He had only been able to thank them by a silent grasp of the hand, for fear that if he spoke he would begin to cry like a girl. Afterwards he had also said farewell to all the men. So now he was ready and could go.

It was about half an hour before the time for the afternoon drill. As Schumann entered the parade-ground he heard a voice shout from the steps: "The sergeant-major is going!" And in a moment all came running towards him, the drivers and gunners, old stagers and raw recruits, the entire battery crowding round to shake hands with him once more.

Again the sergeant-major had to clench his teeth; he passed silently along, shaking the hands that were stretched out to him.

Suddenly he stopped in astonishment, thinking he must be mistaken. But no, Wolf was there too—Wolf, the social-democrat, whose whole existence as a soldier was a cynical mask, the revolutionist who was only waiting for the moment when, free from the green uniform, he might preach his faith again! And he, Schumann, had never been at any pains to conceal what he thought of such disgraceful opinions.

Wolf had not exactly run up, but had come with the rake over his shoulder with which he had been raking the riding-ground, and was at any rate associating himself with the others.

"What, you too, Wolf?" Schumann involuntarily exclaimed.

"Yes, sir," answered the soldier. "You never were hard on any-one. You were always just."

Schumann was just a little bit shamefaced at this obviously sincere praise. Generally speaking, he had honestly tried to deserve it; but with regard to this social-democrat, he knew quite well he had many times been lacking in justice. He remembered how often, when Wolf's turn came, he had ordered him to perform some specially unpleasant work.

Embarrassed and hesitating, he replied: "Well, well, and you have always been a good soldier yourself, at any rate in externals. Only that you—well, there was no getting at you there!"

It was a good thing that after Wolf others came up to grasp his hand in farewell; or else, notwithstanding order, watch, and sabre, he would have left the barracks with a bad conscience.

The last, who kept on moving further down in order to be the very last to say good bye, was Niederlein, a smart little gunner, who had polished his accoutrements for him during the last year.

The sergeant-major pressed his hand with special heartiness, and breathed freely: Thank God, Niederlein made up for Wolf! Once when ill, and left alone in the dormitory, Niederlein had broken open a locker and appropriated a piece of sausage therefrom. Schumann had caught him red-handed. Thieving from a comrade was a serious offence, entailing severe punishment and public disgrace; but Schumann knew Niederlein was only thoughtless and greedy, and it had been more a stupid prank than a crime, for the money which lay near the sausage was untouched. So he had held the boy across the table and given him five-and-twenty strokes with his leather belt. He was not quite clear in his mind whether this had been entirely in order—it might have been technically an assault; at any rate it turned out right. Niederlein was now about the best soldier in the whole battery, and would have, gone through fire and water for the sergeant-major.

The lad watched awhile how Schumann went slowly out through the back gateway and disappeared into the little wood. Then he hurried off to his quarters, for the battery was collecting for foot-drill.

Schumann had purposely chosen to go to the town by the lonely way through the wood, because if he had gone by the high road he would have met the battery officers again. That would have meant another delay; and then besides he felt he belonged far more to the men than to the officers, despite his double stripes.

He paused on the hill and gazed at the well-known landscape beneath him, where in the foreground lay the great drill-ground at his feet.

With his sharp eyes he could even recognise individual men. The fourth battery had just brought its six guns up to the gate; the fifth had not stirred as yet—Captain Mohr was not fond of duty so soon after dinner; and now his own battery, the sixth, arrived on the ground to perform foot-drill. The ornaments on the helmets shimmered in the sun, and he almost fancied he could hear the even tread. Wegstetten and the two lieutenants were behind.

The drill began, and the breaking up into files, the deployment, and finally the parade-march, first in file and then in battery column—all went splendidly. It was a joy to look down upon the smart, well-ordered straight lines as they moved. Instead of himself, Heppner marched in the sergeant-major's place, and Keyser, as the senior non-commissioned officer present, led the file of drivers instead of the deputy sergeant-major.

All was thoroughly well done, there was not a hitch anywhere.

And he, Schumann, had believed that he was indispensable, he had thought things could not go on without him!

At supper Julie Heppner said to her husband: "Otto, the money you give us for housekeeping isn't enough. Ida couldn't pay the milkman to-day."

"No affair of mine," replied the deputy sergeant-major, with his mouth full. "You must manage things better."

When he had finished eating he put his coat on, buckled on his sabre and put on his forage cap.

His wife watched him from the sofa with angry eyes as he brushed his heavy beard and put on his gloves.

Heppner looked her straight in the face, laughed scornfully and said: "Yes, you are thinking again: 'Now he is going to the public-house and will spend all the bit of money!' Well, as it happens, it's not so this time. But you had better believe it all the same, and make yourself really angry."

This perpetual lack of money was, however, no joke to the sister-in-law either, as she was always having to put off and conciliate the creditors, and she joined in angrily: "It's the truth! You squander the money and we have to manage as best we can."

Heppner went round behind her and mockingly retorted: "So you're beginning to scold like your dear sister? It seems to be catching. But I'll tell you how it is: there was a good lot of the farewell beer left over yesterday, and I saved it up for myself. Now, who's right?"

He tapped his sister-in-law's round shoulder playfully, and added: "Who knows? Perhaps to-morrow I may give you quite a lot of money."

With that he left the house.

He was in a good temper. It had long been a grievance to him that Schumann—grumbling old plodder!—instead of packing up his few sticks and being drafted into the civil service, should have remained so long stuck fast to the battery, thus preventing his own promotion. Now at last the old man had disappeared, and he was certain of becoming sergeant-major.

To-day was a lucky day for him, he felt sure; and this must be taken advantage of: a little game must be arranged for the evening.

Therefore, he had taken care only to invite men on whom he could rely to this second instalment of the farewell drinking party: the sergeant-major of the fifth battery, who imitated his chief in drinking, and Trumpeter Henke of his own, the sixth battery, two seasoned gamblers. The two other members of the party were to be the landlord of the White Horse, and the fat baker, Kuehn, who held the contract for the white bread supplied to the regiment. To the baker in particular he had allotted the role of loser, as he had the most money.

At the gate it suddenly occurred to Heppner that it would be much pleasanter to walk the half-mile to the town in company, and he decided to fetch the trumpeter.

Sergeant Henke was a lively young fellow, with a fresh, rosy face, a flowing black beard and curly hair, rather beyond the regulation length. He was of a handsome soldierly appearance, and contrasted well with his wife, Lisbeth, a beautiful blonde, who with her slender figure always looked like a young girl.

This fair woman was blindly in love with her husband. She almost worshipped him, but he did not trouble himself much about her. He regarded himself as a great artist, because in the choir concerts he played the cornet solos, and always received much applause from the female part of the audience, and he considered that his marriage alone had prevented him from becoming a "celebrity." Once he had received a passionate love letter, signed by "a lady of high degree, who deplored with tears of blood" the dividing difference of rank between them. It was transparently the coarse work of a practical joker; but Henke in his conceit believed in the high-born heiress, and this dream quite turned his head. He ever afterwards posed as a fine gentleman, ogled all the elegant women of the town, and had hardly a glance left for his wife. She worked and pinched for him in order that he might be able to enjoy his aristocratic tastes, and thought herself happy because he bore with her. And he was always urging her to work and earn money, as he longed to become rich and be the equal of really fashionable people.