As the evening went on even that comfort failed. Everything was grey in the grey light around him.

As a gust of damp air blew in he once more drew a deep breath and got down from the stool.

Within the cell it was quite dark; but suddenly a square of light appeared in the door,—the little window through which the prisoner could be observed from without. The gas had been lit in the corridor, and the unsteady light of the unprotected, flickering jet penetrated the gloom of the cell.

At the same moment the corporal on guard appeared on the threshold. He brought with him the third of a loaf of bread, and he proceeded to let down the bed from the wall.

"Shall I shut the window?" he asked.

Wolf answered hastily, "No, no, sir."

The corporal nodded, looked round once more to see if everything was in order, and quitted the cell, turning the key twice in the lock.

The reservist heard him go along the passage to Findeisen's cell. Shortly after, the click of the spurs was again audible passing his door, and then everything was as still as before.

Wolf lay on the bed and munched hard lumps of bread, from time to time taking a drink of water. After that he fell into a soothing reverie, more and more forgetting his position, till at last he settled himself down comfortably on the hard wood, and fell fast asleep.

In the middle of the night he began to feel very cold. Instinctively he tried not to awake, as if even in sleep he knew how comfortless his surroundings were. He thrust his hands up his coat-sleeves and curled himself up on the bed; but at last the cold waked him completely.

More benumbing still than the frost of the autumn night was the consciousness of his misery. He shivered with cold, and yet could not rouse himself sufficiently to get up.

In the darkness of the night, the clear light of the hopes which had so heartened him grew pale. An unspeakable fear assailed him that he might be condemned to long years of imprisonment, and the darkness which engulfed him now seemed like a symbol of that terrible time,—an endless horror.

Through the window could be heard the monotonous pouring of the rain. The night wind was caught in the wooden screen, sent a damp breath into the cell, and swept on with a low moan.

In the intervals between these sounds, Wolf thought he could hear an indistinct scraping and scratching. From time to time it ceased, then began again. Could it be rats in the drain under the cell?

In the morning he started up suddenly. The key was thrust hastily into the lock, and the door opened violently.

The corporal on guard appeared on the threshold.

"Is this one here, at any rate?" he cried.

The dawn only lighted the cell faintly; but he could make out the form of the prisoner, and gave a sigh of relief.

"Thank God!" he said. "I am spared that, anyhow. They aren't both gone."

He called a gunner in, and searched every corner with a lantern.

While he was on his knees lighting the space under the bed, the gunner whispered furtively to Wolf, "The other man has escaped."

At first the reservist did not understand. Escaped? How was that possible?

He looked round the cell, and was unable to imagine how any one could escape from such a place.

Suddenly he remembered the scratching and scraping in the night, and his eyes sought for some tool with which it might be possible to break a hole through a wall. He noticed the strong iron trestles which supported the bed when it was let down; it might perhaps be done with one of them. But no. Up by the window the thickness of the wall could be seen; it must be close on twenty inches.

And yet Findeisen had escaped!

Necessity had quickened the wits of the dull lad, and had made him inventive. When they confronted him with the corpse of the sergeant, he realised that he had committed a murder; and from that moment he felt his head no longer safe on his shoulders. The fear of death lent him a subtlety of which he would never otherwise have been capable.

He had, as Wolf guessed, used the iron bed support as an implement. He had at once recognised that it would be impossible to break through the principal external wall; the other walls, however, might be expected to be considerably less strong, and they sounded hollower when he tapped them. Findeisen knew that one of them merely divided his cell from another, and so was useless for his purpose. But beyond the other wall lay a shed in which the fire-engine was kept. Its window, he knew, was only covered with wire-netting, and opened on to a field.

And as soon as all was quiet in the guard-house he had set to work, listening anxiously in the direction of the corridor during the pauses of his boring and levering. The wall was only the length of a brick thick, and after the first stone had been broken out bit by bit, it cost but little labour to widen the hole enough to let a man pass.

The night sentinels declared that they had not remarked anything unusual. Besides, they had an excuse in the regulations; for in such pouring rain they were permitted to take shelter in the sentry-boxes. So it was not even known when the prisoner had escaped.

A warrant for his arrest was sent out, but in vain. Gunner Findeisen had disappeared.

Later during the same morning on which Findeisen, avoiding all frequented paths, had slipped away through undergrowth and thickets to the frontier, Wolf, a prisoner awaiting trial, was removed to the house of detention in the capital.

The train in which he and the soldier who guarded him travelled passed another at an intermediate station. Reservists were looking out of every carriage; men from every branch of the service were mixed together, and all were alike in the wildness of their spirits.

The two trains started again at the same moment, and the reservists began to sing:

"Reservists they may rest, Reservists may rest, And if reservists rest may have. Then may reservists rest."

Wolf kept his eyes fixed on the dusty floor of the compartment.

As the song died away in the distance, he lifted his head courageously. The bright light of day gave him new confidence. Looked at from a truly enlightened standpoint, and regarded fully and clearly, his act had indeed been of the most excusable kind.

Perhaps in six months he would be free again.

A week later, Gunner Heinrich Wilhelm Wolf, of the Sixth Battery, 80th Regiment, Eastern Division Field Artillery, was condemned by the military tribunal of the 42nd Division, for actual bodily assault on a superior officer, to three years' imprisonment.



CHAPTER XII

Sergeant-Major Heppner married his sister-in-law[A] Ida very quietly during Christmas week. It was quite necessary, unless there was to be a christening before the wedding.

[Footnote A: Marriage with a deceased wife's sister is legal in Germany.—Translator.]

The terrible death of his wife had somewhat chastened the coarse recklessness of the man's bearing. Throughout the autumn and far into the winter he seemed entirely changed. He restrained himself, his harsh voice being seldom heard in the corridors of the barracks; and he attended scrupulously to his duties, so that the inner wheels of the battery ran smoothly in perfect order.

Captain von Wegstetten sometimes took himself to task. He could not but be pleased with his sergeant-major, and yet he could not quite overcome the antipathy he had hitherto felt for Heppner. The certain degree of intimacy that otherwise might be expected to arise from their common care of the new recruits appeared to him quite impossible. He could not bring himself to feel complete confidence in Heppner's uprightness.

The sergeant-major, however, was unaware of anything lacking in their relations; when he felt he had discharged his duty thoroughly his heart glowed with satisfaction, and he resolved never to fall back into his old follies.

He felt very awkward about his compulsory marriage; but happily no one seemed to think the worse of him for it. People considered it natural enough that a healthy young couple under one roof, with only a dying woman between them, should have been carried away by their passion.

The peace which now reigned in his dwelling seemed to him something unwonted and delightful. He began to change his manner of life completely, and, instead of frequenting public-houses, spent his evenings cosily at home. In order to save fuel, Ida had made the kitchen more habitable; and the sergeant-major, luxuriously ensconced in Julie's armchair, would watch the fire glowing through the stove door, and Ida bustling about her household tasks. Then, before turning in, he had to go once more through the stables, between the ranks of sleeping horses, the stable-guard emerging from the darkness of some corner to make his report. The sharp frosty air of the nights, after the moist aromatic warmth of the stables, would make the sergeant-major shiver and draw his cloak closer around him. He would settle himself anew by the stove, watching his young wife, whose quick, clever hands were busy with baby-clothes; and at such moments, tired by an honest day's work, Heppner felt himself to be a thoroughly good fellow.

During the course of the summer, Albina Worzuba had been brought home as a bride by Deputy sergeant-major Heimert, to the Schumanns' old quarters next door.

The married life of the young pair began happily. Albina was brimming over with affection for her husband, and Heimert felt he could not show his wife too much attention.

Ere long Frau Heimert played a leading role in the little world of the barracks. The wives of the non-commissioned officers listened more or less dubiously to the romantic tale of her origin, and envied her the all-powerful money at her disposal. For not only did she give one pure coffee from the bean,—no chicory mixture,—but she was also extremely fashionable in her attire, rustling about in silk-lined skirts, so that folk turned to look as she passed them. The good women considered her gowns altogether too noticeable. And such undergarments as she possessed! Red and yellow silk chemises and drawers, trimmed with the finest lace. Such lovely jewellery, too! Yes, indeed, Frau Heimert must come of well-to-do people. That was obvious in everything belonging to her, her house, her clothes, her linen. Her expensive musk scent penetrated even into the men's quarters.

Albina accepted the honour paid her with the airs of a little queen. She spared neither her good coffee nor her good nature; she wore her dresses, which she said came from one of the leading firms, with an easy grace. In reality, she bought them from an old "friend," part of whose business it was to be always in the latest Paris mode.

The non-coms.' wives envied Frau Heimert's taste, and tried to copy her manner and deportment. Only the fair-haired little Berlin seamstress, Frieda, Sergeant Wiegandt's sweetheart, found fault with her. Once at the non-commissioned officers' summer fete, that young person—who, by-the-by, was almost suspected of being a red-hot little social-democrat—saw Albina, and had the courage to declare, "That creature?—Otto, she's a——no! I won't soil my mouth with the dirty word. But I know that sort of truck! In some matters you men are just as blind and as stupid as new-born kittens."

Seeing Albina surrounded by lieutenants and non-coms., dancing first with one and then with another, Frieda grew quite excited.

"Otto," cried she, "if you dare to dance with that baggage, all is over between us. It's like flies buzzing about a sugar-cake."

Wiegandt had fully intended to dance the next dance with Frau Heimert; but he dutifully abandoned the idea, and conducted Frieda into a secluded little plantation, where other couples wandered lovingly entwined like themselves.

They chatted about the future, which now lay plain before them. Wiegandt had not again signed on, and by the following autumn he would have a good position in the town-police, with thirteen hundred marks a year, free quarters, and a hundred and twenty marks allowance for clothes. The burgo-master of the little town, being a senior-lieutenant of the reserve, had been present at the performance of some exercises by the sixth battery, and had personally chosen out his man. Wegstetten was furious at losing his best non-commissioned officer, and pressed Wiegandt to stick to the flag; but the sergeant was not to be prevailed upon, for he was impatient now to quit the service. With such a noble competency in view, therefore, he might well venture on marriage.

"All right, even when the children come," he whispered to his sweetheart; and Frieda nodded sagaciously, whispering back: "They'll come, sure enough!"

Albina Heimert never noticed that such a humble and inconspicuous little person gave her the go-by. As the wife of the deputy sergeant-major, she felt herself at last on firm solid ground. She carried her head high in the barrack-yard, and ordered her house with a fine matronly dignity.

She met the admiring glances of her neighbours, even if only prompted by some matter of domestic economy, with an indescribable little smile. No word might be spoken, but it would be quite evident that she was gratified by the admiration. It was Venus triumphing over Mars.

The person who was least affected by the beautiful Frau Heimert's charms was, curiously enough, Sergeant Heppner. Once, when Albina chanced to meet him in the corridor, she said: "When I first met you, Herr Heppner—you remember that day at Grundmann's—you were perfectly different—ever so much smarter and livelier! Really, I almost think you must be ageing, Herr Heppner!" And she burst into a shrill, affected laugh, which rang rather unpleasantly in his ears.

As Heppner sat in his armchair by the stove he contrasted his pretty, healthy, buxom Ida with the woman next door, and would be seized with a veritable horror of the all-pervasive odour of the scent she used.

He would make a disdainful grimace when Albina, in a huge hat, rustled past him, and would greet her carelessly, almost discourteously.

But with the spring the old spirit of restlessness possessed the sergeant-major.

Ida was expecting her confinement in May, and had no thoughts but for the child. Heppner began to marvel at himself for having been so domestic all the winter. Surely his limbs must have been benumbed and this brain addled! He really must rouse himself now and get a few new ideas into his head. So he easily slipped back into his old wild ways of life, and could less and less understand how he had come to live otherwise during so many months.

His former boon-companions welcomed him back joyfully, and it was not long before he was once more at cards with them. The promise he had given to Trautvetter he should construe after his own views; he would be careful to keep within bounds, under all circumstances.

It happened, nevertheless, that he lost at times; and to meet such little reverses he was obliged to borrow from the battery cash-box, for Ida kept a tight hand on the purse-strings, and he could not bring himself to cut down her housekeeping money. Of course, to balance these bad days there were runs of good luck, when he had a considerable surplus; but, like a true gambler, he did not set his winnings against his losses, considering them as so much pure gain, which enabled him to indulge in extravagances. He made new holes in order to stop up the old ones.

About this time Frau Albina Heimert spoke to him again one day.

"Thank heaven!" she said. "You seem to have roused up a bit, Herr Heppner! I quite began to fear you were becoming a hopeless rustic."

The sergeant-major watched her thoughtfully as, with her provoking little air, she disappeared into her own quarters.

The devil! How utterly absurd! He had actually positively disliked this beautiful creature all the winter! He was astonished at his own bad taste. Before him stood his wife on the kitchen hearth, her figure rendered shapeless by her advanced state of pregnancy. And he had once thought her prettier than Albina!

From this time he began to show Frau Heimert small attentions. He would walk with her if they met in the barrack-yard, would carry her parcels, or stand aside politely to let her precede him up the stairs, and then open the door for her. He would inquire earnestly after her health; and once, when she complained of a headache, he brought her all sorts of remedies, besides enjoining the men to be very quiet and to tread softly as they passed her door.

But Albina played the prude. She received the sergeant-major's attentions very coolly, and cut short his conversational efforts so as to excite him the more. At the same time her mockingly triumphant and provocative glances would contradict the virtuous compression of her lips.

Heppner did not at all despair. Unobtrusively he gradually multiplied the proofs of his gallantry; and by slow degrees the object of his attentions suffered her demeanour towards him to soften.

Suddenly Heimert noticed their intercourse, and, stirred by suspicious jealousy, tried hard to put a stop to it. But was that possible? The deputy sergeant-major was often detained for hours at the exercise-ground half a mile away. Heppner, as sergeant-major, could order it so; and thus he and Albina could be together undisturbed as often and as long as they pleased.

Heimert would learn from the other men who had been on duty at the barracks what Heppner had been about during the morning. He always tried to find out stealthily and without exciting comment; but his comrades knew very well what was up, and enjoyed playing on the jealousy of the young husband.

At last the deputy sergeant-major hit on a curious plan. This was to bring the two together in his presence. He thought that if there really was a secret understanding between them they would betray themselves in a moment of thoughtlessness. So he invited Heppner to drop in now and then, in a neighbourly way, for a cigar and a bottle of beer.

The sergeant-major accepted. Once or twice he brought Ida with him; then, as the time for her lying-in approached, he came alone.

Heimert watched them closely; every word, every movement, almost every look. But his suspicions were not justified. Heppner was polite, easy, and perfectly unconstrained; while Albina chatted easily and naturally, and accepted the homage of their guest with a kind of haughty tranquillity. Towards her husband she displayed quite unusual tenderness, so long as the sergeant-major was present.

Heimert was somewhat reassured by this. When Heppner rose to take leave Heimert would fling his arm confidently about Albina's waist, with a gesture which seemed to say: "You see, my wife is my own. I have her and hold her, and you won't get her, however much you may covet her. That's the right of possession. And so it will be, no matter how much you may hate and envy me. And when you have gone I shall claim my rights, and this woman must obey my will."

The sergeant-major read this defiance plainly in Heimert's face, and it had the effect of causing him to swear inwardly that he would seduce his comrade's wife.

In the middle of May Ida bore a child,—a fat, strong, healthy boy, weighing nine pounds. A splendid weight for a new-born baby!

At first the sergeant-major rather fancied himself as a father. Every one said that the fine boy was his living image. Certainly there was no need to be ashamed of being seen with such a child. Of course this son of his should be a soldier, an artilleryman. He should learn to ride as soon as he could sit on the saddle, and woe to him if he showed any fear!

Ida was happy beyond measure, and there could not have been a tenderer or more careful mother. Motherhood awoke in her much that had hitherto been unapparent in her somewhat stolid nature.

Heppner thought her little occupations silly and tiresome. The first sight of his boy at the healthy young mother's breast seemed to him charming enough. But before long he was continually scolding Ida for her over-indulgence of the child, telling her he would grow up a milksop, always hanging on to his mother's skirts.

And it soon bored him to be much with the child. If one wanted to rest the youngster was sure to start whining and squalling or if one felt inclined to play with him, to tickle his fat sides and toss him in the air, he was certain to have just dropped off to sleep, and Ida would stand sentinel over him, not suffering him to be disturbed at any price. She, indeed, seemed now to be nothing but mother, and to have forgotten altogether that she was also a wife.

Heppner consequently redoubled his attentions to Frau Heimert.

Albina could not endure little children, and took no interest whatever in his remarkable baby. This he thought rather stupid of her; nevertheless the Bohemian girl completely turned his head.

Uninvited, he constantly dropped in now on the Heimerts "to smoke a cigar with the deputy sergeant-major," as he said. Almost shamelessly he pursued his object, grossly flattering Albina, and making risky jokes with her.

Heimert sat by nearly choking with rage. He hardly knew why he did not seize the seducer by the throat. But the culprits would have a complete defence ready. Was it not all mere harmless jesting? Whatever anguish of jealousy he might feel, he must wait for fuller evidence.

And into the midst of the laughter would come through the thin walls now the cry of the infant, and then the low singing of Ida as she lulled her little one to sleep.

Albina wished to enjoy her revenge to the full. During the winter the sergeant-major had treated her as a cast-off love; he should suffer awhile for that. She exercised all her arts to augment his pain; it gave her a half fearful, half delicious pleasure to note his impatience.

One evening Heppner seized an opportunity when he imagined himself alone with her. He caught her head in his hands almost savagely and pressed a wild, passionate kiss on her lips. Albina's defiant resolution broke down; she returned his kiss with equal passion.

Heimert, standing in the dark kitchen, screened by the door, saw it all.

He had been to fetch a bottle of beer, now he suddenly re-entered the room.

"There's no beer, Albina," he said; "you must have been mistaken."

He sat down slowly at the table, and drummed gently with his fingers on a plate. The guilty pair were as if stunned by the fervour of their embrace; though little suspecting that the betrayed husband had witnessed it. They did not respond to his remark, and seemed lost to time and space. Neither did they notice that a long, oppressive silence had fallen on them, that the lamp was burning low, and the room darkening.

At last Heimert drew out his watch. "It's time to go to bed," he said; "we've got to get up to-morrow morning."

Heppner and Albina awoke suddenly from their entranced condition, and the sergeant-major hastened to say good night.

Quickly Albina prepared for bed. Usually she went through many ceremonies with a view to preserving her beauty: she rubbed her skin with lanoline, or sprinkled it with powder, to keep it soft and smooth; she spread a perfumed emollient on her hands, afterwards drawing on gloves to prevent them from losing their whiteness with rough work. But to-night she merely loosened her hair, and was between the sheets in a trice.

Heimert lay sleepless. Hour after hour he heard strike; the short May night seemed to him an eternity.

The woman beside him had sunk into a deep slumber. Now and then her breathing quickened, and she gave almost a gasp, flinging herself about as though in a troubled dream.

With the dawn of morning Heimert came to a decision. He would not allow himself to believe in Albina's guilt. He had noticed that when Heppner threw his arm around her she had shrunk from him. (This was true enough; Albina had winced; but it was on account of her artistically dressed hair.) She had submitted, he forced himself to think, in the paralysis of surprise. In such a case Heppner, no doubt, would have scolded his wife for not confessing. By right she ought certainly to have told her husband. But Heimert found a thousand excuses for her. Albina knew his jealousy, and desired, possibly, to avoid scandal, which would have been inevitable had she told him. Or perhaps she would speak to him about it after she had thought it over quietly by herself. Or, again, she might intend to deal with the sergeant-major in her own way. Or, once more, perhaps she was just beginning to yield to the temptation.

That was as might be. Anyhow, the affront was there: his wife had been insulted, and he, Heimert, must obtain satisfaction. He would set about it quite quietly, so as to avoid the gossip; but between men such an injury must mean a duel.

The officers always acted on that principle, and what was right for them must be right for the non-coms., who also wore swords at their sides. But all the ceremonial of a court of honour and seconds was not necessary among common folk like Heppner and himself. Alone, without witnesses, as man to man they would fight it out.

Heimert thought at first of selecting swords as the weapons; but their swords were not sharpened, and it might attract attention if he had them put in order. Besides, he thought it more becoming to use pistols when such a weighty matter as the honour of a husband was in question.

It was a piece of good luck that some years before he had picked up a couple of live cartridges after a shooting-practice.

Now he handled the little things with a grim satisfaction. They were not quite so small as those of the infantry, for the regulation revolver had a range of ten millimetres. The brass cases had grown a little dull, so he rubbed them until they shone.

Nothing more was wanting. The duel could take place.

The only remaining difficulties were locality and time; but concerning these also Heimert soon decided. Sloping up behind the barracks, the road led straight to an open bit of overhanging ground. There could not be a better spot. And of course the affair could only take place at night. He consulted the calendar: in two days there would be a full moon, so they would have light enough to see each other clearly at ten paces. The moon rose shortly before ten o'clock; she would be high in the heavens by midnight.

At daybreak the deputy sergeant-major went about his duty, cool and punctual as usual, only taking pains to avoid meeting Heppner. He did not wish to see him until the evening,—or, better still, till night,—so that the duel might follow immediately upon their interview. He knew the sergeant-major would not flinch, but would fall in with his arrangements. Heppner was no coward.

Albina behaved just as usual during the day, and said nothing to her husband about the kiss. But that, of course, made no difference to Heimert's plans. He learned from the stablemen that Heppner would be at the White Horse with Blechschmidt, the sergeant-major of the fifth, that evening. That was capital. He would catch him as he came home, and the affair would be arranged in two minutes.

Heimert ate his supper in silence. Albina imagined that he had had words with the captain or somebody, and did not bother him with questions. After she had cleared the table, she sat down to read the sensational feuilleton of the local daily paper, eating pralines all the while. Then she performed her evening toilet and went to bed. It was not yet nine o'clock; but that did not matter. She liked lying in bed.

On the stroke of nine Heimert heard the sergeant-major go out. In the corridor he caught some of the men larking about without their caps, and rebuked them sharply. Then he clanked down the stairs, and all was still.

Heimert carried the lamp to the table in the window and sat down to write. In order to pass the time until Heppner should return, he was going to check the shoeing account in his register by the entries in the ordnance books. In his slow, neat handwriting he inscribed one careful entry after another, and became so absorbed by his task that he never even heard the tattoo. When he looked up from the books it was already past eleven; but that was all right, for the sergeant-major was safe not to be going home till midnight.

Heimert opened the window and looked out. It had rained during the day, and now all nature seemed to be sprouting and budding. The odour of the young fresh green things was wafted in by a breath of wind, which gently swayed the cotton curtains. Forest and hills were illuminated by the brilliant moonlight; and like a white ribbon the foot-path climbed the steep ascent behind the barracks, till it lost itself in the shadows of a thicket. On the grassy slope stood a group of young birches, their white stems gleaming, and their shimmering leaves—still wet from the rain—shining as though made of silver.

Heimert gazed at it all with no thought for the beauty of the May night. He was glad that the moon shone so brightly, as he would be able to see his man with ease in such a light.

He fetched his revolver, and returning to the window looked across at the notice-board opposite, which threatened trespassers in the barracks or parade-ground with "a fine of sixty marks or five days' imprisonment." The white-lettered notice-board was fixed to the trunk of a beech-tree by a huge nail, and at the head of this nail Heimert took careful aim.

Satisfied, he laid down the pistol and returned to the table. But almost immediately he jumped up again and took a light out into the corridor. Yes, Heppner's revolver was in its usual place on the rack. He took the weapon with him into the kitchen, and sat down once more. Just midnight! The twelve strokes were sounding slowly from the great clock of the barracks.

Heimert still waited. After a little his head sank down on the table, and he fell asleep.

At half-past two Heppner came home. He had had a run of bad luck at the White Horse, had lost over a hundred marks, and that amount was now missing from the battery cash-box. He was quite overcome by this sudden misfortune. As if stunned he groped his way home to the barracks, scarcely seeing where he was going, stumbling at times over his sword, or entangling himself with his spurs.

When he rang at the gate for admittance he was ready to fly into a passion. He thought he had not heard the ringing of the bell, and he began to rage at somebody's carelessness in not having a broken bell mended on the instant. But the corporal on guard opened to him; so the bell was all right, and the sound must have escaped him. He stumbled over the threshold.

The corporal gazed after him in astonishment. Was the sergeant-major asleep or awake? He had staggered past with wide-open, staring eyes, like a sleep-walker. Perhaps he was simply drunk.

In the passage Heimert came to meet him. He looked distraught, as though just awakened out of sleep. He beckoned Heppner into the kitchen. Heppner entered and shut the door behind him. The light blinded him; he blinked stupidly, and thought he saw in the lamp-light two shining revolvers lying on the table.

"You kissed my wife yesterday," said Heimert, in a half whisper. "Isn't that so?"

Heppner nodded. "Yes, yes." What had the silly fellow got in his head? Of course he had kissed the woman; and he meant to do it again, and again too.

"And so you have got to fight it out with me," continued the other. "Man against man. Are you agreed?"

Again the sergeant-major nodded stolidly. Why not? Their betters acted thus.

"Shall we settle the thing now at once?"

Heppner nodded for the third time. It was all one to him, so long as he could get to rest at last.

Heimert took up the two revolvers in one of his big hands; with the other he pointed over his shoulder out of the window.

"We'll go up there," he said. "There's plenty of room there. And we'll take our own two revolvers with us. Look here! I will load them, each with one cartridge."

Under Heppner's eyes he placed the cartridges in the chambers of the revolvers, the shining brass gleaming beside the dull steel. He gripped the pistols by the barrel, and held out the butt-ends to the sergeant-major.

"Now choose," he said.

Heppner languidly took with his right hand the revolver which the other was holding in his left. Heimert held the remaining pistol in the lamp light, and read off the number.

"I have got yours," he said, "and you have mine. And now we'll wait till the sentry has gone round the corner."

He leant out of the window cautiously, and took a look round. The moon was in the zenith; houses, trees, and bushes cast but short shadows. The sentinel was strolling along by the hedge of the jumping-ground. His sword was in the scabbard, and he had buried his hands deep in his breeches-pockets. Every now and then the lubberly fellow would whistle a stave, or stand still and kick a stone from his path, or gape so loudly that the moon shone into his open mouth. At last he disappeared round a corner of the buildings.

"Now!" whispered Heimert. "You go first, but take off your sword."

Obediently Heppner unbuckled his belt and laid it down. He pushed the revolver carefully into his coat-pocket, and swung himself out of the window. The deputy sergeant-major extinguished the lamp and followed him.

Side by side, like two good friends, the two men climbed the path that led up the hill-side; Heimert striding on with quiet even pace, and Heppner, with unsteady knees and panting breast, trying involuntarily to keep step with the other man.

They vanished into the deep shadow of the wood, and after a short time stepped out again into the bright moonlight above. The moon was almost exactly overhead.

The deputy sergeant-major went thoughtfully along the path till he arrived at the spot where the ascent ceased and the ground became quite level.

"This is the best place, I think," he said. With the spurred heel of his riding-boot he drew a deep furrow in the clayey soil.

"Will you stand here?" he said to the sergeant-major. Without a word Heppner walked up to the mark. He carefully placed his feet with the toes against the marked line. Heimert went on another ten paces, not the leaping strides that are usually taken in arranging a duel, but fairly long ordinary paces.

At the tenth he paused, and again dug his heel into the earth.

The two men stood opposite to each other, separated by the terribly narrow interval of scarcely nine yards.

"Cock your pistol, Heppner!" cried Heimert to him. And the sergeant-major did as the other desired. He seemed quite unaware of its being a matter of life and death; he moved as in a dream.

Suddenly Heimert let out a curse. A difficulty had presented itself at the last moment, and threatened to upset his whole plan.

How were they to shoot?

By counting, of course. He had intended to count "one," then, after a couple of seconds by his watch, "two," and then again, after another couple of seconds, "three." Between "one" and "three" they were to fire. But, damn it all! how could he take aim if he was holding the watch in his hand and counting the seconds on the dial?

Irresolutely he looked down at his watch. This was like a bad joke, and perfectly maddening.

Suddenly an idea came to him. The minute-hand showed just two minutes to the hour. In two minutes then the barrack clock would strike three. That would be as good as counting.

In a clear voice he called out to his opponent: "Listen to what I say, Heppner. In two minutes the clock down there will strike three times. At the first stroke we must lift our revolvers, before that they must be pointed to the ground. Between the first and the third strokes we may fire, but not after the third. Do you understand, and are you agreed?"

For the first time the sergeant-major made an articulate sound. "All right," he said. His voice sounded husky, and he cleared his throat.

"Very good," said Heimert; "then it's all settled."

He took up his position, and looked coolly before him. The moon shone down from a clear sky. A single light cloud floated against the dark background, looking like a little white skiff.

Heppner watched the cloud. He tried to think how he came to be in this place, up on the hill in the wood, in the middle of the night, like this. He could not quite make it out. More than all there weighed on him a leaden feeling of weariness. He would have liked to throw himself down on the bare earth.

The seconds dragged on slowly.

Suddenly a night-bird screamed loudly from a neighbouring tree-top, and immediately afterwards sounded the first stroke of the hour.

The sergeant-major pulled himself up. With suddenly awakened senses he looked about him. Opposite him stood Heimert with his revolver, and he himself felt the butt-end of a weapon in his right hand.

But this was all madness. It was a crime. He wanted to cry out, "Stop!" This folly was impossible. If anything happened to him he was lost. There was money missing from the battery cash-box; at least he must put that right.

Then came the second stroke. Stop! Stop! Why was his tongue tied?

Heimert saw him draw himself up. He thought his adversary was going to fire, and he raised his revolver hastily. His forefinger pressed the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed through the air, and almost simultaneously the clock struck for the third time.

Heppner remained a moment standing. His revolver rattled to the ground, his left hand clutched at his breast. Then the tall upright figure lurched forward, and fell like a lifeless mass. A violent shudder ran through the limbs; the body contracted, stretched itself again, turned over on itself, and fell on its back.

Then all was still.

Heimert stood in his place. The hand with the revolver had slowly sunk, and hung down limply. His glance wandered from the corpse to the boundary line at his feet. He had not stepped over it. Everything was according to order.

At last he aroused himself from his stupor. He forced himself to pass the little furrow in the ground, and went towards his opponent. His footsteps were heavy and uncertain; it felt to him as if his soles adhered to the earth.

The sergeant-major was dead; there was no doubt about that. On the left breast were a slight blood-stain and a quite diminutive hole. His head was thrown back. The wide-open eyes of the dead man stared into the moonlight.

Heimert gently closed the eyelids. He paused for a time beside the corpse with folded hands, and softly muttered the Lord's prayer. Then he began to descend the hill.

But he seemed to bethink himself of something. He dived again through the shadow of the trees and knelt beside the sergeant-major. With great care he laid his own discharged revolver in place of the loaded weapon which Heppner had dropped.

When he stood up again a shifty, vague, cunning expression passed over his face.

Between the white stems of the young birch-trees he looked out for the sentry, who must have heard the shot. Redoubled precautions would be necessary in regaining the barracks.

The sentry was staring fixedly up into the woods hence he had heard the firing. With his head still turned towards the heights he walked up to the gates, and waited to be relieved. When the bombardier and the relieving sentry appeared he made his announcement. He pointed several times to the wood. The bombardier shrugged his shoulders and asked questions; finally he disappeared through the gateway with the sentry who had been relieved. The gates clanged together, and the keys rattled as the lock was turned.

The new sentry listened awhile to his comrades' retreating steps; then he strolled along his beat at a leisurely pace, occasionally looking up the hill. He took his time, but at last he turned the corner of the officers' quarters.

Heimert made use of the opportunity. He ran hastily down the pathway to the barracks. He drew himself up with the aid of the lightning-conductor till his feet reached the top of the wall, and soon after was standing, breathing heavily, in his own kitchen.

A moonbeam fell on something shining that leant against a kitchen chair. It was Heppner's sword. Heimert took it up and carefully hung it on its nail in the passage.

For a moment he stood listening. The Heppner baby was crying; the soothing murmurs of its mother could be plainly heard: "Sh, sh!"

He stepped back on tiptoe, drew the door gently to, and began hastily to undress. Then he lay down quietly in bed, taking pains not to make the bedstead creak.

His precautions were superfluous; Albina slept soundly. An earthquake would hardly have awakened her.

The deputy sergeant-major lay and listened. He could only hear the beating of his own heart, and through the wall the muffled sound of the child's crying.

"Widow and orphan," he thought.

The wailing voice subsided by degrees. The child had fallen asleep, or the mother had taken it to her breast.

Its father was lying up there on the hill-side, his huge body blocking the pathway.

Schellhorn, the fat paymaster of the regiment, whom Surgeon-major Andreae sent every spring to Carlsbad for a cure, found the corpse during his early morning constitutional.

He hastened to the barracks and gave the alarm.

After all particulars had been noted, the dead man was carried away. Four gunners bore the heavy body down the hill on a stretcher, and laid it on the bed in the Heppners' dwelling, the poor wife looking on with bewildered eyes.

There was no doubt as to the case being one of suicide. The direction of the shot, as shown by the post-mortem examination, was not against this theory; but the most unmistakable proof lay in the motive for the deed, which was only too clear. From the various cash-boxes under the charge of the deceased one hundred and twenty marks were missing.

Sergeant-major Heppner, in dread of this being discovered, had shot himself.

The colonel, Major Schrader, and Captain von Wegstetten unanimously decided to hush up the affair, in view of the certain censure of the higher authorities; and Schrader replaced the missing sum without more ado.

Heppner's gambling companions were seriously warned.

Sergeant-major Blechschmidt, who was most to blame, received an official intimation that he must not count upon a further term of service.

Finally the widow was informed that her husband had committed suicide in a moment of temporary mental aberration.

A few days after the funeral Heimert was installed in Heppner's place.

It gave him an immense deal of trouble to fulfil his new duties, and yet no man could have set himself to the task more zealously and conscientiously.

Captain von Wegstetten sometimes raged with impatience when his new sergeant-major could not meet his requirements. Mere indications and suggestions were not sufficient for the dull and somewhat limited understanding of Heimert. Every detail had to be pointed out to him and explained at length; but once he comprehended them he showed himself capable of carrying out orders punctually and carefully.

From the time of his promotion Heimert troubled himself little about Albina. His behaviour towards her became shy and odd; he avoided as much as possible being alone with her. He preferred to sit at his desk in the orderly-room, while she on her side felt no regret in being relieved from the too particular attentions of her unloved husband.

Kaeppchen came to the conclusion that the sergeant-major must have a screw loose somewhere. Heimert exhibited certain strange whims. He would become perfectly furious if the many-coloured penholder which Heppner had used were offered him, and he strictly forbade the corporal ever to put it on his desk. Kaeppchen would sometimes for fun hand him this penholder "by mistake" if a signature were wanted in a hurry. The sergeant-major looked so comic with his blazing eyes and crimson face, his nose shining reddest of all.

But the days were always too long for the sergeant-major. Even his writing came at last to an end, and there was still time left on his hands. He was not long in finding an occupation.

In the mounted exercises he had hitherto led the third column, but as sergeant-major he now had to take an entirely different place in the formation. His work was, as a matter of fact, much easier than formerly; but he seemed to find it twice as difficult to understand. He often did not know where he ought to be, and when Wegstetten found fault with him he took it much to heart. What sort of an impression would it give, if even the sergeant-major did not know his work, the senior non-commissioned officer of the battery?

When he went over his book, puzzling out the regulations with his fingers in his ears, his thoughts seemed to become more and more wildly confused. He could form no clear picture of all these evolutions. He therefore took his pen-knife, and with endless trouble made little wooden figures, roughly representing the guns, the ammunition waggons, and the individual mounted men. He coloured these figures so that they might be perfectly distinguishable: the commander of the battery, the leader of the column, the sergeant-major, the trumpeter, and the corporal in the rear. And then he made them exercise on the table, advance and retire, form into line, and wheel round; but his chief care was always to keep the yellow-striped sergeant-major in his right position.

Soon Wegstetten had no complaint to make of his sergeant-major, but Heimert still went on playing with his little figures. For these wooden guns and horsemen he was now the commander of the battery, and he would not be contented till his miniature troop was brought to as great a state of perfection as reigned under the captain of the sixth battery.

Albina shook her head over her husband's conduct. The man was ill, of that she was convinced. She spoke to him once of consulting the doctor, but Heimert repulsed her roughly.

"Thank God!" he said; "there's nothing the matter with me. I wish everybody were as healthy as I am!"

After this she left him in peace. In her opinion some insidious disease was advancing upon him, and sooner or later the trouble would break out.

Heimert's appetite began to fail at last; he hardly ate any-thing. He had always been extremely ugly, but people now shrank back at the sight of his face. His eyes had become sunken, and had acquired an unnatural brilliancy, while his hideous nose jutted out prominently from the middle of his ashy countenance.

Albina sighed. What sort of show could one make with a husband like that? It was fortunate that he kept out of the way so much.

But the time began to hang very heavy on her hands. From sheer ennui she took to having her hair curled.

The barber who shaved the sergeant-major every morning had already offered his services, commenting in a most flattering manner on the magnificent hair which he said she did not show off to the best advantage.

Albina had hitherto passed him proudly by. She despised barbers. But now she began to observe him more closely. He appeared to her a polite, agreeable, young man; he was good-looking too, even elegant. And he was entertaining. He could tell her the most interesting things about all sorts of people.

"You see, madam," he used to say, "a barber is one of the family almost. He sees people in deshabille, as it were. And sometimes one learns all manner of strange things. Of course the honour of the profession forbids gossiping. But there is no harm in repeating little trifling occurrences. Don't you think so? It amuses one's clients; and that is quite permissible."

Albina entirely agreed with him.

Here was at least a man with whom one could have some rational conversation.

During the exercises one morning the captain came riding up to the sergeant-major.

"You must go back home at once, Heimert," he cried. "The major wants the regulations that were in force at the last man[oe]uvres. Look them out, and send them over to the division at once, will you?"

"Now, at once?" asked Heimert.

"Yes, yes! Make haste and get them!"

The sergeant-major hastened back to the barracks. With helmet on head and sword by his side he set off at once on the quest. He gave Kaeppchen the regulations to carry over to the orderly-room of the division, and he himself returned home.

In the bedroom he found Albina and the barber together.

The shameless woman had felt so secure that she had not even troubled to bolt the door.

Her gallant lover disappeared through the window like a shot.

Albina was not so quick. Heimert seized hold of her and dragged her through the doorway just as she was, clad only in a dressing-jacket and a thin petticoat.

The jacket tore in his hands. Then he seized her by her thick hair. She screamed, but he pushed her before him down the passage.

A heavy riding-whip was hanging on a nail; as he passed he tore it down, and the leathern thong descended in furious blows on the woman's head, and on her bare shoulders and bosom.

She gave a loud yell of pain. The few men who had remained away from the exercises came running, and stared open-mouthed. The whip made deep red marks on the smooth skin, and the shrieks of the woman became more and more piercing. But Heimert drove her down the steps into the barrack-yard. She stumbled, and lost a shoe. No matter! on she must go!

If she stopped for a moment the whip lashed round her feet, her ankles, her knees. She cowered, shrieking. With outstretched arms she tried to parry the blows. Her husband pulled her upright; she staggered, but was again dragged along by her hair under the pressure of that remorseless hand. The blood ran from her shoulders, but the blows still rained down like hail.

At last, on reaching the back gate the iron grip was loosened. One last furious stroke tore her garments and dyed the white linen red. She stood there for a moment, with bleeding hands pressed to her head, with shut eyes and trembling knees.

Suddenly she realised that she was free, and with wild leaps she fled towards the forest. On the slope of the hill she turned. Her bare skin gleamed in the bright sunshine, and her dishevelled hair hung down over her brow. She shook her naked arms with furious gestures towards the sergeant-major, and screamed a hideous curse in his face. Then she disappeared into the wood.

Heimert looked after her with a dull expression of countenance, till no trace of her white garments was to be seen among the green bushes. Then he returned home with firm footsteps.

Wegstetten gave orders that the sergeant-major should not be disturbed that day. Under such circumstances a man had better be left to himself. But when Heimert did not put in an appearance next morning, Kaeppchen was sent to look him up.

The battery-clerk came back much disturbed, and announced: "Excuse me, sir, I think the sergeant-major's gone mad."

"Mad? You are mad yourself, man!" was the captain's reply; and he went in person to the sergeant-major's quarters.

Heimert was sitting at the table, his little wooden guns and horsemen before him. With smiling looks he was drilling them, giving the words of command in a soft voice.

He did not seem to recognise the commander of his battery, but gazed stupidly at Wegstetten when he spoke to him.

"Don't you know me, sergeant-major?" asked the captain.

Heimert smiled at him, and pointed to the little horses.

"I ask you, Sergeant-major Heimert, don't you know your captain?" demanded Wegstetten once more.

The sergeant-major shook his head, grinning. Then he set to work again, and the guns were made to advance, each at an equal distance from the other, with the leaders of the columns and the mounted men all in their places.

Heimert was taken to the lunatic asylum of the district. In general he was a very manageable patient, and it was only if a woman approached him that he began to rave. His greatest delight was to play with some wooden toys that were given him,—mimic guns and mounted soldiers of all descriptions.



CHAPTER XIII



Shortly before Christmas Senior-lieutenant Guentz was promoted to be captain, and was placed in command of the fifth battery, vice Captain Mohr, discharged from the service for incompetence.

New brooms sweep clean, and Guentz set to work with ardour at the difficult task of bringing order and efficiency into the neglected troop. By means of stringent discipline, and even severity, he succeeded in this more easily than he himself had expected, and soon began to notice with satisfaction that his labour was gradually bearing fruit.

After a time the fifth battery could be ranged alongside the pattern fourth and sixth batteries. Major Schrader rubbed his hands cheerfully: to have three such excellent officers commanding batteries in one division at the same time was indeed unusual good fortune, and he well knew how to make use of them.

At the spring inspection he received a string of compliments at least a yard long from the commander of the brigade, and in his joy showered thanks upon Guentz for having helped him to achieve such a success. Guentz himself was greatly pleased that the inspection had gone so smoothly. He had not been sure that this would be so, as he did not feel his battery quite well enough in hand even yet.

"Yes, it went off tolerably, didn't it, sir?" he replied modestly.

"Faultlessly! faultlessly!" said the major.

"Well, sir, it was partly good luck. The officer in command of a battery is right in the middle of it all, and sees lots of things which look as if they might go wrong. Then some happy accident occurs, and the situation is saved."

The major, however, seemed to have something more on his mind, and stood stroking his whiskers in embarrassment.

"Certainly, certainly," he answered. "A man must have good luck, or he will have bad! But your merit is there all the same, my dear Guentz."

And then he continued, rather haltingly: "And therefore, you know, it is all the more painful to me. But there is something more behind. These superior officers never seem to give unstinted praise."

Guentz's hand went up to his helmet, and he said, in a level voice: "Of course I am at your orders, sir."

"No, no, my dear Guentz," said Schrader, deprecatingly; "the colonel is kind enough to undertake the unpleasant part of my duty for me, and I am glad of it; for it would have been very much against the grain with me. Well, well! just you go quietly to the colonel, and don't worry about it at all. Thank you, my dear Guentz. Good morning, good morning!"

He turned towards his quarters, and from the steps nodded in friendly fashion to the captain.

Guentz did feel a little anxious about the interview which lay before him. He was conscious of having performed his duty to the best of his ability. But heaven knows what commanding officers won't sometimes get their backs up about!

Colonel von Falkenhein received him very cordially.

"My dear friend," he said, "I congratulate you! You could not have wished for a better debut as the youngest officer in command of a battery."

"Thank you very much, sir," replied Guentz; and then went straight to the point about the mysterious affair. His curiosity was surely pardonable.

"Excuse me, sir," he continued, "Major Schrader informs me that——"

Falkenhein interrupted him: "Yes, quite right. You will take it to heart, but you must know that our esteemed brigadier has still something in petto. As you have heard, he was highly satisfied with your direction of your battery to-day; but he considers that in regard to discipline you do not seem to be quite at home yet in your new position."

This was just what Guentz had not expected. He had imagined his best work to have been precisely in this direction.

Falkenhein smiled at his puzzled look as he asked for further explanation, and shrugging his shoulders went on: "Yes, so the general said, But, my dear Guentz, I have only formally repeated this to you as I was commanded to do so. Now let us talk it over as colleagues. I can understand your astonishment, and you will soon be more puzzled than ever. The reason the general gives for his strictures is that there has been so much punishment in your battery—more than double as much as in the fourth and the sixth together."

Guentz restrained a gesture of impatient surprise. This was rather beyond a joke!

"But, sir," he said, "you know under what circumstances I took command!"

"Know? why, of course I do!" answered Falkenhein; "and of course I explained to him. But he regarded my description as exaggerated. I may tell you in confidence that he belongs to the very clique who managed to keep Mohr in the service so long. And he regards his opinion as infallible—namely, that too many punishments in a troop are the consequence of a lack of discipline. He considers that a certain similarity in the punishment-registers of the batteries should be aimed at unconditionally. Otherwise unfavourable conclusions as to the capability of individual captains must be drawn, he says."

Guentz was honestly indignant, and when anything struck him as unjust, it never mattered to him in whose presence he was; he must speak his mind, even to his colonel.

"Pardon me, sir," he began, "but the general has surely lost sight of the fact that for similar results similar previous conditions are necessary. I consider, with all respect, that even in normal batteries the material on which we have to work is different; and that in the very same battery perhaps the new year's recruits may effect an enormous difference in the punishment-register. To say nothing of such circumstances as there were in my case. If my punishment-register were not greater than those of the fourth and sixth batteries, then that would reflect unfavourably upon me. And I most respectfully hope that it is not a more important matter to the general to receive punishment-registers of the same length, than that the discipline of a battery should suffer." Almost out of breath, he added! "Pardon me, sir, I beg!"

Falkenhein had become very serious.

"I take nothing you have said amiss, my dear Guentz," he replied. "I cannot but admit that you are perfectly right. And exactly what you have just argued I myself said very plainly to the general, very plainly indeed. He became damnably cold to me at the end of it."

The colonel paused, and smiled a little to himself as he thought over the conversation. The general had been nearly bursting with rage, and would not have permitted such opposition from any one else to go unpunished. But Falkenhein was a recognised favourite of the old monarch; he had been the king's hunting-companion for days together, and was surer in his position than even the general in his. So he could not cut up too rough.

"Nevertheless," continued the colonel more cheerfully, "he regarded it as desirable that a greater similarity should gradually be obtained."

Guentz answered firmly: "Forgive me, sir, I cannot promise the general this in anticipation. I could not bring it into harmony with my conception of the duty of an officer."

"Good," answered Falkenhein. "You have given me that answer as your friend and colleague. As your commander, I have perfect confidence that you will do all you can that is useful and desirable for the king's service, and that in this sense you will accede to the general's wish."

Guentz bowed, and answered: "Certainly, sir."

In the orderly-room he asked the sergeant-major whether Zampa had been exercised that day.

"Not yet, sir."

"Then please have him saddled, and I will take him out for a little myself."

He rode down towards the valley. Yonder on the left among the fresh green plantations lay the pistol-practice ground, on which a few months ago his duel with Lieutenant Landsberg had taken place. He thought less of that episode itself than of the night before it, during which he had written down his reasons for contemplating resignation.

To-day he felt himself enriched by a fresh argument.

Deuce take it! Was not this passion for similarity enough to madden one? Must everything be tainted by this damned, regular, grinding drill, this parade-march sort of principle? Must things everywhere run smoothly and according to rule, just in order that the authorities might be convinced of the excellence of the whole system?

So even the punishment-register should be carefully edited! No one must lift his head above his fellows! It was really laughable. Teachers might have bad pupils; but it seemed to be against the rules for the captain of a battery to have bad soldiers in his troop!

Luckily for him, he happened to be in very favourable circumstances. He had a colonel who stood up for him, and who could dare to express a difference of opinion from his superior officer, because he himself chanced to be in the good books of the king. So that this affair would pass by all right and do nobody any harm. But what would have happened if the colonel himself had felt uncertain of his position? Would he have found the moral courage to oppose his influential superior, even if only by a modest remonstrance? Would he not rather, for the sake of his career, have said, merely: "Certainly, sir!"

And then the pressure would have gone on downwards; and among a hundred captains there were certainly but few who, in the struggle between their better knowledge and their future career, would remain true to their convictions. Most of them would bring the punishment-register up to the "desirable" regularity, and just do as best they could with the bad elements in their batteries: the men who sneered at all discipline, and whom nevertheless their captain dared not punish properly; who spoilt the good soldiers, and increased the dislike of the reservists for the service. Otherwise the punishment-register might exceed the average demanded, and "that would cause unfavourable conclusions as to the discipline of the battery and the capability of the captain."

Guentz rode slowly back along the grassy lane. He looked around him. Yonder the white walls of the barracks gleamed in the sunshine; a fresh wind gently shook the budding branches, and all around everything was sprouting, filled with the vigour of youth. He guided his horse carefully round a patch of primroses, which covered the whole width of the path with a sheet of yellow blossoms.

He bade dull care begone. Could he not at any time quit the service directly he became convinced of its ineffectiveness? To-day's experience was simply a fresh weight in the scales of his doubt.

He had once more determined to apply all his strength to the solution of a problem, which had been in his mind even at the time of his employment in Berlin.

There seemed to him no doubt that the French field-artillery with its anti-recoil construction had gained a great advantage over all other armies; an advantage which could only be prejudiced if the utility of the invention were proved on the field of battle to be less than was expected. Up to the present time the French gun-carriage had only been tested on a small scale in peace man[oe]uvres, and it had not been absolutely demonstrated that its construction would stand the continuous high pressure of a campaign. He was now absorbed in a scheme for simplifying and strengthening the anti-recoil attachments in such a way that they would keep in working order under the severest test. And at the same time he had been directing his attention to the steel shields used in the French field-artillery for the protection of the men who served the guns. German military authorities were for the most part opposed to the introduction of this method of protection; but the shield seemed to him very worthy of adoption. In the battles of the future the percentage of probable losses must be computed quite mathematically; and it would be a great advantage if, by virtue of the shield, a large number of the combatants could be considered safe. The opponents of the measure gave it as their opinion that the men would shirk quitting the protection of the shield; or that, at any rate, they would take aim so hurriedly that their accuracy must necessarily suffer. Well, one might equally well argue that the infantry would refuse to leave their trenches. The other objection was more convincing: shooting would become too difficult if this steel shield were associated with the anti-recoil construction. It was a question of mobility; therefore Guentz set to work to find out some method of lightening the gun. Why should the gun-carriage be loaded with such a large quantity of ammunition as was customary—more, probably, than would ever be needed? He was constructing the model of a carriage in which the quantity of ammunition carried was to be diminished by one-third; so that the extra weight of the anti-recoil construction and the steel shield should be more than counterbalanced.

When he was in Berlin he had gone into the details of his invention with the head of a large Rhenish gun-foundry. This man proposed that Guentz should send in his resignation and enter the service of the firm at a handsome salary. Guentz at that time was not prepared to decide in the matter; but at the close of the interview the manager had said: "Who knows? perhaps we shall see each other again."

Had the man been right?

In any case, Guentz felt strong enough to make his own way through life.

The servant took his horse from him at the garden gate.

"Well, did it go off all right?" asked Klaere.

The captain answered, "Yes, first-rate." He did not conceal the "but," however. The calm good sense of his wife always helped him to test his own impressions. Klaere was, indeed, a woman whose like was not to be found in the whole world; a woman who had been created just for him.

She had her own methods in everything. If, at dinner, her husband were worried with thoughts of the black sheep in his battery, and would keep introducing such topics at their comfortable board, then she would snub him quite severely. But when he came to her with his real doubts and anxieties she was ever ready to comfort and advise him. She knew all about his plan of testing himself for a year in the command of a battery; and sometimes she was inclined to advise him to shorten the period of probation. She was shrewd enough to foresee that within a year and a day he would have discarded his officer's uniform.

Lieutenant Reimers continued as hitherto to be a welcome guest in the Guentz household.

He had realised that his frequent visits were in no way a bother to his friend; and when Frau Klaere, with the amiability of a careful hostess, considered his little idiosyncrasies of taste, he could but protest feebly: "Really, dear lady, you spoil me too much! What shall I do if, for instance, I have to go to the Staff College next year?"

To Guentz he once said, "I must say that in contemplating you and your wife, one realises what a half-man a bachelor is."

The stout captain laughed good-naturedly.

"Klaere," he shouted to his wife, who was just coming into the room, "it appears that I wasn't making a mistake when I chose you for my wife."

"How's that, my Fatty?" asked his wife.

"Reimers has just been saying that the sight of our wedded life gives him an appetite for matrimony. What do you say to that?"

"A very sensible remark, Herr Reimers," laughed Klaere.

Reimers blushed a little and rejoined: "Well, then, I shall soon go bride-hunting. For your advice is always good, dear lady."

"Now then, flatterer!" growled Guentz. "Don't make my wife conceited."

But when Reimers had bidden them good-bye he said to Klaere: "I really believe it would be a most sensible thing for Reimers to marry; he is not the sort to become a mere mess-house or tavern habitue. He ought to go about and study the daughters of our country a little."

"Why go about? There's good enough near at hand," said Frau Klaere.

The captain looked up: "Eh?"

Smilingly his wife pointed over her shoulder to the neighbouring villa.

"Marie Falkenhein?" asked Guentz.

Frau Klaere nodded.

"You don't want to earn a match-maker's reward, do you, now?" inquired her husband.

"Oh, Fatty, darling! don't you know me better than that?" his wife protested. "No, no, nothing of the sort! But seriously, I do mean that those two young people would suit each other very well. With regard to Marie, I know positively this much, she thinks Reimers very nice; and that is, at any rate, something to go on, until our dear Reimers opens his eyes."

"But let him open them quite by himself, please; no assistance, I do beg!" the captain interrupted.

"Of course, Fatty, quite by himself."

"But, Klaere, how about that episode of the Gropphusen? That was a bit off the rails, wasn't it?"

"Nothing of the kind. Nothing but a mere passing flirtation."

Guentz shook his head thoughtfully.

"No, Klaere," he replied. "I understand Reimers. He would never have anything to do with mere passing flirtations. It is just the dear fellow's misfortune that he takes everything so damned seriously. It went pretty deep with him that time with the Gropphusen; you can believe me as to that."

"Still, one does not cling for all eternity to such a useless sort of business."

Guentz was not quite convinced.

"Well, we must hope not," he said. "And, really, the two would suit each other excellently."

Walking up and down the room he continued: "Yes, in all respects. Reimers has an income of about seventy thousand marks, and the colonel would certainly be able to give his daughter a bit of money without having to pinch himself. I should say about twenty thousand. True, he is no Cr[oe]sus; but then he will soon be made a general. Our dear Reimers will have to keep his passion for books in check. Yes, yes! The thing would answer admirably."

He stood still and knocked the ash off his cigar.

"Why are you laughing, you sly little woman?" he asked, glancing down at her.

"How funny you are, Fatty!" Klaere answered. "You accuse me quite sternly of the worst intentions, and then you make plan after plan, and even begin to reckon up their joint income!"

But Guentz parried the accusation gallantly:

"Just another compliment for you, my Klaere. Only happy couples try to bring about other marriages."

A short time afterwards, without any prompting from the Guentzes, Reimers said to his stout friend: "Guentz, doesn't it strike you that Mariechen Falkenhein is a very nice girl?"

Guentz leant back in his chair reflectively, and answered: "A nice girl? how do you mean? Certainly she has a pretty face, her eyes are especially sweet, and she has a good figure. Just a little too slight. For my taste, of course I mean."

"No," replied Reimers, "I don't mean that so much. Certainly she is pretty. But, after all, that's a secondary matter. I mean more the effect of her personality. There seems to be something so sure, so comfortable, so restful about her. Don't you think so?"

"Well, you know, I have not made such detailed observations. But I daresay you are right. And I should say that she will make a splendid wife some day. Quick and accurate, without a trace of superficiality, with a strong instinct for housewifely order; a simple, clear, shrewd intellect—the man who wins her for his wife will be a lucky fellow!"

Reimers unconsciously drew himself up a little, and he said doubtfully:

"But surely she is still much too young."

"Not a bit," replied Guentz. "She will be eighteen in the autumn, and she is not even engaged yet. And after that there would be the betrothal time of the educated European—not less than six months. Well, that would bring her nearly up to twenty, and at twenty a woman in our geographical area is quite eligible for marriage."

Reimers appeared to meditate upon this. Finally, however, he only replied by a prolonged "H'm," and dropped the subject.

But the ladies of the regiment had soon a fresh subject for gossip. Lieutenant Reimers was paying his addresses to Marie Falkenhein. There was no doubt that his intentions were serious. Well, he had no rivals to fear. Falkenhein was poor every one knew that. He could have very little income beyond his pay. And his daughter? Oh, yes, she was a pretty, graceful creature; but she was not brilliantly beautiful, and therefore could not have any very great expectations. No question of anything beyond just a suitable and satisfactory marriage in the service.

From this time onward the matter was almost regarded as settled; and in the garrison gossip Marie von Falkenhein and Lieutenant Reimers were soon spoken of as though their betrothal had been already announced.

Naturally the interesting news was eagerly carried to Frau von Gropphusen, and she was narrowly watched for the effect of the communication; but nothing could be detected. No flinching, no pauses in the conversation, no alteration in the expression of her face or of her voice. What a pity that there was no theatre in the town, when they so thoroughly enjoyed such little dramas!

Hannah Gropphusen did not discontinue her visits to Frau Guentz. She came neither more rarely nor more frequently. She seemed to have regained self-control.

Frau Klaere's birthday was celebrated in the arbour of the Falkenheins' garden, by the second Maibowle of the season. They had drunk to the health of the birthday-queen, and were just sitting down again when there was the tinkle of a bicycle-bell outside in the street. The soft sound of the quick wheels came nearer, and just in front of the garden there was the thud of a light pair of feet jumping to the ground.

A clear voice, which would have sounded merry, but that for the moment it seemed a little breathless, called up to the arbour: "Hurrah! hurrah! And for the third time hurrah! Can one get anything to drink here?"

Guentz hurried to the balustrade.

"My dear lady!" he exclaimed astonished. "Certainly you can! There's still lots left."

He turned round: "Pardon me, sir, but here's Frau von Gropphusen."

Falkenhein went quickly to his side: "Do give us the pleasure of your company, dear Frau von Gropphusen. I will have your bicycle taken in at once."

He went to the gate and conducted Frau von Gropphusen to the arbour. Guentz had already placed a chair at the table for her and poured out a glass of Maibowle.

"Who rides so late through night and wind?" asked Klaere merrily, holding out her hand cordially to the new arrival.

Hannah Gropphusen greeted the festive circle with a bright smile, and replied: "Do forgive me, Colonel von Falkenhein. The lights and the festivity in your arbour were too inviting."

She raised her glass, and drank to Klaere Guentz: "To your happiness, dear Frau Klaere, from the bottom of my heart."

"I have been delayed at Frau von Stuckardt's," she then said; "or, rather, Frau von Stuckardt would not let me leave."

"Stuckardt told me," interrupted the colonel, "that his wife was not well."

"Yes, she has got the old pain in her face back again, which no doctor can relieve, and that was why I had to stay so long. I had to keep my hands on her cheeks. She says I have soothing hands and can do her good."

Reimers looked across at her. She was sitting a little in the shadow, so that her white straw hat and light blouse stood out distinctly. On her bosom sparkled a small diamond. Only the tip of her foot was visible in the lamplight, a beautiful, narrow, elegantly-shod foot, which was swinging rapidly backwards and forwards.

To avoid catching her eye, Reimers turned to Marie Falkenhein, his neighbour. The Maibowle had got into his head a little. He chatted away cheerfully, the young girl listening with flushed cheeks and radiant eyes, and answering laughingly from time to time. They neither of them noticed that meanwhile Frau von Gropphusen had emptied her glass and was preparing to go.

"Many thanks," she said. "I was nearly fainting. The Maibowle has done me good. But it's getting late; I must go home."

"Of course they are expecting you at home?" asked Falkenhein.

Hannah Gropphusen laughed rather bitterly.

"Expecting me?" she replied. "Who? Oh no, I don't suppose my husband is at home. But pray, colonel, don't punish him for that!"

This was rather painful. However, Frau von Gropphusen afterwards said good-bye to them so simply and naturally that no one thought anything more about it.

The colonel accompanied her to the gate, and the four in the arbour went over to the balustrade. Guentz had put his arm tenderly round Frau Klaere, and Reimers was standing beside Marie Falkenhein. They watched Hannah Gropphusen mount her bicycle and ride slowly away. She turned round in the saddle, waved her right hand, and shouted out a laughing "Good-night."

A little further along she looked back, and the white-gloved hand waved again, but they could no longer distinguish her features.

Then the rushing wheels disappeared in the darkness.

Frau von Gropphusen rode quietly home.

The servant was waiting at the door. He took the machine from her, asking if she would take tea.

"No," she answered. "I have had it. You can clear the things away."

She threw herself on the couch in her room just as she was, in her bicycling costume. She drew up the rug and wrapped herself in it.

And Hannah Gropphusen lay thus till far into the night, staring with wide-open eyes into the darkness of the room.

A few days later Marie Falkenhein came through the garden gate to Klaere Guentz's house.

"Klaere," she said, "I am going into the town to inquire after Frau von Stuckardt. Would you like me to call in at the chemist's and tell him he is to send you the sugar-of-milk for the baby?"

Frau Klaere took stock of the young girl, and shook her finger at her laughingly.

"Mariechen! Mariechen!" she said. "I never would have believed you could become such an accomplished hypocrite, my child."

Marie turned crimson.

"Yes, yes," continued Klaere. "Because you have heard me call vanity a vice, you were ashamed to show off your new dress and hat to me. But you hadn't quite the heart to pass by your old friend's house. Isn't that the way of it?"

The young girl nodded, her face scarlet.

Klaere stroked her cheek caressingly, and went on: "You silly little goose! But really, you know, when one's as pretty as you are, a little vanity is excusable. And now tell me, where in the world did you get these things?"

"Oh, Klaere," replied the girl, "not here, of course. Frau von Gropphusen went with me and helped me to choose them. I can tell you, Klaere, she does understand such things."

The young woman stood in front of her friend and looked her over from head to foot. It would have been impossible to find any costume which lent itself more happily to Marie's dainty appearance than this of some light-grey soft silken material, trimmed with white, and with a little hat to match, the shape of which softly emphasised the delicate beauty of the young face.

Klaere gave the girl a hearty kiss, and said: "You are as pretty as a picture, little one. Quite lovely. Well, and what did the stern father say to all this?"

Marie was quite flushed with pride.

"At first he said, 'By Jove!'" she answered. "Then I made him give me a kiss; and next he got quite anxious and wanted to know whether I hadn't been running into debt. I had to swear to him that the whole turn-out didn't cost me more than what he had given me for it."

"And is that the truth, dear child?"

"Well, I had just to add four marks from my pocket-money."

Klaere shook her head smilingly. "Dear, dear! So young and already so depraved! Hypocrisy and perjury! Well, at least it is worth it."

Frau von Gropphusen now made quite a business of helping Marie von Falkenhein about her clothes. Hannah's slender hands were quicker and cleverer than those of the deftest maid, and she knew how to transform the young girl's plain boarding-school frocks into something quite pretty and original.

She did all this with a soft motherly tenderness, hardly in accordance with her own youthfulness. Marie Falkenhien's school-girl stiffness disappeared gradually, and a dainty young woman blossomed out.

"By Jove!" said Guentz to Frau Klaere. "How Mariechen is coming on! She is getting a deuced pretty little girl!"

And Reimers looked at the young girl with eyes which no longer contained the brotherly indifference of past months.

Shortly before the departure of the troops for the practice-camp the regimental adjutant, Senior-lieutenant Kauerhof, had a fall from his horse, and injured one of the tendons of his knee-joint. This would probably keep him away from duty for about six weeks, so Lieutenant Reimers was appointed to take his work. Being the eldest lieutenant in the regiment his promotion to senior-lieutenant was expected any day.

The young officer was in the seventh heaven of delight at this mark of distinction. He embarked on his new duties with boundless and untiring zeal. He almost divined the wishes of Falkenhein; and sometimes it was not even necessary to give explicit directions as to the manner in which this or that order was to be carried out. The colonel knew that Reimers, with his powers of intuition, would do the right thing.

Falkenhein could not imagine a more painstaking adjutant, nor one who, when off duty, on the march, or at the practice-camp, could have looked after his colonel's comfort with more tender consideration. He had noticed that Reimers had of late paid his daughter attention, and the idea of some day entrusting his child to the care of this excellent young man—already like a beloved son to him—gave him real pleasure. This gratifying prospect made him more unreserved than was usually his custom. It was well known that the colonel was not exactly delighted with the hundred and one innovations that had been introduced into the army at the accession of the young emperor. And now, feeling that he could trust his acting adjutant implicitly, and that not a word of misrepresentation or misconstruction would ever reach the ears of any evil-disposed person, he freely unburdened his mind of the cares and anxieties that weighed upon it.

Some of these confidential communications struck Reimers with amazement. He had expected to find in Falkenhein an officer who would entirely dissipate all the doubts that Guentz had awakened in his mind; and now he discovered that this honoured superior also was filled with the gravest views as to the thoroughness and efficiency of the organisation of the German army. The more important of these conversations he noted down each evening in the following manner:—

June 2nd.

The colonel happened to talk about the supply of officers for the German army. In his opinion, the best material to draw from is the so-called "army nobility"—that is to say, those families (not necessarily noble) members of which have in many successive generations been German officers—German meaning Prussian, Saxon, Hanoverian, &c.—(examples: the colonel himself, Wegstetten, and also my humble self). These families are mostly of moderate means, and often intermarry. That conscientious devotion to their calling as officers is thus ingrained in their flesh and blood must be self-evident. It is born in them; and by their simple, austere up-bringing, with their profession ever in view, they become thoroughly imbued with it. But there is a danger that in such a mental atmosphere their range of observation may be so restricted that they cannot view the life of the world around them with intelligence or comprehension. Therefore it is of immense importance that the corps of German officers should be strengthened by the infusion of fresh blood from the middle and lower-middle classes, whose members, having been brought up and educated according to modern ideas, are of great service to the other officers in enlarging their range of view. They provide unprejudiced minds and clear intellects capable of dealing with the more advanced technical problems of modern warfare (Guentz, for instance).

The most! unsatisfactory material consists of those officers who, on account of inherited wealth, look upon their profession as a kind of sport, attractive, abounding in superficial honours, and for that reason very agreeable. They generally spring from well-to-do middle-class families (Landsberg), or, in the smart regiments of Guards, from the families of large landed proprietors and wealthy manufacturers. These latter are apt to regard court ball-rooms and racecourses as more important fields of action than drill-grounds and barracks. They are wholly without ambition, because they only intend to spend a few years in the army, and then retire to the comforts of private life on their own estates. They are neither good officers because to be that demands a man's whole attention and energies; nor, subsequently, good citizens—because the proper management of a large estate needs training and experience, which cannot be acquired during their years of military life.

"Yet sometimes these very officers become generals in command, or something of the sort!" said he. "That's the worst of it!"

June 3rd.

The colonel continued the conversation of yesterday. We talked about the aristocracy and the middle-class in the army. He admits without hesitation that the middle-class element is despised, from the staff-officers downwards, owing to causes originating in the reflected glory of the old personal relations between the monarch and his feudal lords, now somewhat modified by the indiscriminate giving of titles—the acceptance of which titles, moreover, on the part of the middle-classes, he utterly condemns. He wound up by saying: "If only it were always members of the aristocracy who were really the most efficient, and attained the highest eminence!"

Just as the colonel had argued before that there was danger of one-sidedness from the prevailing influence of the "army nobility," he now pointed out that, on the other hand, an advantage arose: a kind of accumulation of specific military qualities of a bodily as well as of a mental kind. He may be quite right.

June 6th.

Yesterday and to-day the Crown Prince lunched at the mess. He came for these two days in order to inspect the regiment of dragoons here, which belongs to his brigade. An amiable, good-tempered fellow (although our cooking did not give him entire satisfaction), and one who likes to sit over his wine a little.

As we rode after dinner his Highness told us some most racy and amusing stories in capital style. Then the conversation turned upon questions of tactics during the last campaign, and at this juncture the colonel became quite grave. These visits of exalted personages to regimental officers, which are to a certain extent of a social character, may, he says, bring about serious consequences. Such exalted persons are apt to regard any intellectual cypher as a great military genius if he happens to be an agreeable and versatile talker, and then the military authorities have not always the courage to disturb the preconceived notions of their sovereign. Result: Society-generals for dinners and balls; after whom rank next the petticoat-generals. And then he referred to the female ascendency in the reign of the third Napoleon.