Frau Lisbeth, however, obtained the dissolution of her marriage on the ground of malicious desertion.
At first she thought of furnishing a little shop in the town and setting up a laundry; but Trautvetter begged her rather to go into service for a time.
"Why?" asked she.
He found some difficulty in answering her. At last he came out with:
"I am very fond of you, Frau Lisbeth; and if you could make up your mind to it I should like to ask you if you would have me."
Lisbeth smiled a little, and then said, "You may ask me that now!"
Her voice sounded honest and friendly.
Trautvetter took her hand in his and said: "Then that's all right!"
But she continued gaily and cheerfully: "Besides, in any case, I should have ended by being your mistress."
"Oh, no!" said Trautvetter. "Under certain circumstances I prefer a wife."
Despite the warmth of the August sun, Julie Heppner grew worse day by day; but this was nothing to her in comparison with the burden of mental suffering which almost overwhelmed her. She watched her husband and sister with a gaze that never faltered. She saw with horror how Ida became less shy of her and abandoned herself more and more to her passion. Nor was this hidden from her husband. He noticed with cynical satisfaction how the young girl's power of resistance diminished. The desired fruit must soon fall into his hands almost of itself.
Soon, under cover of the playful teasing which went on between the sergeant-major and his sister-in-law, even in the presence of the invalid wife, he began to indulge in passionate, lustful touches and covert embraces which brought the blood to the girl's face and made her shiver.
She resented Julie's reproaches with the hard, insensitive egoism of one in love. What! Did this wretched moribund creature still think to claim the man whom she, the fresh, young girl, loved, and who loved her in return?
Julie laughed bitterly to herself. Would it not be best to resign herself to it, to close her eyes, and to await the deliverance of Death?
Oh, no! She could not endure this shameless insult which they both, as it were, hurled in her face. She racked her brain as to how she could revenge herself on them; but in vain. Most terrible of all was it to feel that though still alive she was virtually dead already, as powerless and helpless as a corpse!
Then the worst happened.
The sergeant-major and his sister-in-law were invited to afêtewhich the military society, "The Fellow-Soldiers of 1870-1," were arranging in memory of the battle of St. Privat.
The programme included music, theatricals, and dancing. Towards evening a fanfare of trumpets summoned the guests to the festival-play. Even in the garden under the lime-trees the heat of the summer sun had been great, and in the confined space of the overcrowded hall it became unbearably intense. The rows of chairs were placed much too close together, in order to accommodate the large audience. Once seated, it was impossible to move; one remained wedged in between one's neighbours.
Shortly before the curtain was raised, Heppner and Ida discovered two empty chairs. The sergeant-major sat down first. The narrow space then left on the neighbouring chair was far too small for the girl's fully-developed hips.
Consequently his sister-in-law was almost sitting on his knee. He felt the warmth of her blood and her firm limbs through her thin cotton skirt. They were pressed close to one another in the darkened room. Drops of sweat gathered on their brows, and their breath came gaspingly and with difficulty. But, as if by mutual consent, they did not move a limb. They were hearing nothing but the voice of their blood, and in the close contact they could distinctly feel the pulse-beats.
Neither of them took in a word of the play which was being performed on the stage.
At last the singing of the National Anthem announced the end of the piece. The spectators breathed sighs of relief and pushed patiently and slowly through the narrow doors out into the evening air of the garden, wiping and fanning their hot faces with their handkerchiefs.
Ida looked pale, and sank down exhausted on a chair. "I would rather go home," she said.
"Why not?" he agreed, and held out her jacket for her to put on. But the girl took it from his hand and hung it over her arm. A rush as of fire streamed through her body, making her skin prick and tingle.
Walking silently side by side they left the restaurant garden.
A house stood half-way up the hill, whence two roads led to the barracks: the high-road down through the valley, and a footpath which led to the little wood at the back of the barracks, and then went on further. Heppner chose the footpath.
The evening had not brought coolness. The leaves hung motionless on the branches. The twilight began to give way to night. The girl felt the tepid breeze like a warm bath on her bare neck and arms.
At the edge of the little wood the pair turned and looked back. The lights of the garden gleamed through the darkness. The noise of the merry-making was hardly audible; only a trumpet and the rumble of a double bass, marking the dance measure, could be heard distinctly.
In the shadow of the trees Heppner put his arm round his sister-in-law's shoulders. She shrank slightly, and shuddered as if at a touch of frost. Pressed closely to each other they walked on slowly, and still in silence. The man's hot hand weighed heavily on the woman's shoulder; his throat was parched; his arms were as if paralysed; he could not turn his head and look her in the face.
They had reached the end of the wood. Fields stretched away on both sides of the path; the darkness of night surrounded them.
In the valley a train was passing. A cloud of sparks streamed from the funnel of the engine; on the dark ground the windows of the lighted carriages threw illuminated squares, which flashed along beside the train and vanished with it in the dim distance of the night. Not a glimmer remained to show the trail of man.
Suddenly the girl stood still, and with a wrench freed her self from the man's arm. She gave a stifled cry, like the wail of one vanquished after a hard struggle--then flung herself on his breast.
After a night of terrifying visions and dreams Julie Heppner had become quieter. She fought against the belief that her horrible suspicions could have become truth. It was too monstrous; they could not have been brutal enough to inflict this last injury on her as she lay dying!
But her doubts became certainties as she observed the altered demeanour of her husband and sister. The restless yearning had vanished. They were more at ease; there was a complete understanding between them; and their glances no longer desired and hungered, but rather told of a happiness already tasted.
From this time the invalid's mind was filled with schemes of vengeance, and she gradually conceived a mad determination to kill the guilty pair. She felt that she had no time to lose. Her life was nearly spent. She could now only take a few tottering steps; and increasing weakness would soon prevent her leaving her bed.
From under her eyelids she watched the girl's every movement. Oh, how she hated her, this healthy, blooming creature, with her splendid stature, her round white arms, and her magnificent bust! How she hated her! Her freshness, her youth, her beauty, her soft young body with which she had seduced the man, which he had caressed!
And Ida never suspected that vengeance was imminent, that death was near her--nearer even than to the dying woman herself!
The sands ran unceasingly through the hour-glass of the nearly expiring life. Constant and violent attacks of coughing kept the invalid from sleep, until the staff-surgeon prescribed morphia for her in fairly large doses. The poor woman was near death; why should not her last days be lightened, her last sufferings relieved? He cautioned the sergeant-major as to the danger of the drug, warning him to be careful in pouring out the doses.
Julie did not know how to praise the staff-surgeon enough; the rest was such a wonderful refreshment. True that on awaking her limbs felt rather heavy; but at the same time she felt the strengthening effect of the long undisturbed night's sleep. Sometimes she even thought she might begin to hope again; and when she felt particularly well she regained a faint desire for life. That would indeed be the most perfect vengeance, if she could live to spite them both, perhaps for years!
Then her illness once more overcame her; she despaired anew, and hourly planned revenge.
One morning, as she lay on her bed in a kind of stupor, she tried to recall the events of the night. Something had happened which she had seen vaguely through the veil of her torpor. Despite her drowsiness, she had been frightened, horrified by it; yet afterwards the incident had vanished from her memory, and now she was endeavouring to bring back the faint trace into consciousness.
It was just before she had fallen completely asleep, when her senses were becoming dulled, and the final action of the morphia was about to set in, that a slight cough had brought her back from the void, partially arousing her. While in this condition she had perceived that Otto, her husband, had softly raised himself in bed. Sitting up he had listened awhile, then had crept cautiously towards her, and had remained standing by her bed for a long time.
Now she remembered: she had been horribly afraid that he would do her some injury; that with his big strong hands he would take her by the throat and strangle her. She was far too weak to resist him; indeed, she had felt that she had not even the strength to cry out. But nothing of this had happened. He had only stood there motionless by her bedside, looking into her face. She had felt his gaze through eyelids that had closed with fatigue. Then she had gradually sunk into sleep; and just at the very last she fancied she had been aware that her husband was moving away from her bed.
She pressed her hands to her brow as if to prevent the thoughts from escaping. She closed her eyes and forced herself to live again through the events of the night. At last they came back to her, and the memory struck her like a stinging lash, so that she cowered on her bed, clutching the coverlet with her hands, and biting her handkerchief to keep herself from shrieking with horror and hatred.
When he left her side her husband had turned towards the door--towards the door beyond which her sister slept. And thus it was that the shameless pair took advantage of that sleep for which she, poor invalid, had been so thankful! Even this relief, this wretched remnant of happiness, they embittered for her!
Never again should the healing, sleep-giving drug cross her lips, to give the opportunity for such abominations! Never! Not if it cost her her life! For that life was no longer worth having.
But stay! She would dissemble; would appear to take the drug and then pretend to go to sleep, in order to gain a chance of revenging herself on the adulterers how, she did not know; but it must be soon. In two days the regiment would be off to the autumn manœuvres, and by that time her vengeance must be consummated; she felt her strength would not last much longer.
On the following morning there was much work and bustle going forward in the battery, as early the next day they were to start for the manœuvres. The sergeant-major had barely time to throw together the few things that he intended to take with him.
"Ida," he shouted through the door, "cut some bread and butter for my breakfast, and send it over to me in the orderly-room."
Julie was as usual on the sofa, which was pushed close up to the table. Her sister was sitting doing some needlework.
Rather annoyed at the interruption Ida got up, and fetched bread and butter out of the kitchen. With a large bread-knife she cut two slices, buttered them, and carried them off.
The bread and the knife had been left lying close to the edge of the table. The knife swayed a moment on the round crust, then it slipped slowly off the loaf, and fell flat upon the rug in which the invalid was wrapped.
At first Julie let it lie there unnoticed; Ida could take it away when she returned. Suddenly, however, an inspiration, as it were, flashed through her mind. It was fate that this knife should have fallen on her sofa; it was to be the instrument of her revenge! She took it quickly in her blanched hand and examined it. It had a sharp, pointed blade, fit to go through flesh and bone; it seemed to have been freshly sharpened. She felt the edge, and in so doing cut her finger slightly. A few drops of blood spurted on to the shining steel, and near them were the marks left by the bread which it had cut. Julie felt as though she could not take her eyes off the blade.
But she heard the outer door close, and swiftly hid the knife under her coverings.
Ida came in, and began to get her own breakfast. She looked about the table.
"Have you the bread-knife, Julie?" she asked. "It was certainly here."
The invalid answered sullenly: "I?--No."
"Didn't you see it lying here, Julie?" Ida asked again. "Just here on the bread?"
"No," replied the invalid, "It wasn't there. I should have seen it if it had been. Perhaps you took it with you to the orderly-room by mistake."
"Perhaps I did," said Ida; and in the afternoon she asked her brother-in-law: "Otto, can you tell me whether I left the bread-knife lying in the orderly-room this morning?"
The sergeant-major answered: "Perhaps so. I'll see." After which nothing more was said about the missing knife.
Julie Heppner felt strangely strong and well as she held the formidable weapon in her hand. Now at last the hour had come in which she would be revenged for years of suffering, and for the accumulated disgrace of her married life. And she regarded her husband and sister with triumphant glances, as two victims who must fall under her hand without chance of escape.
There was so much to pack up and arrange during the evening that no one thought of giving the invalid her morphia.
"Otto, will you give me the medicine?" she requested at last. "I can prepare it for myself."
The sergeant-major started, and glanced at his sister-in-law, smiling cynically. The devil! In all this silly excitement they might have sacrificed the last night before their long separation, if the very person they were deceiving had not herself come to the rescue.
Ida smiled back at him.
He gave the bottle and a spoon to his wife with a "Mind you don't take too much." But he thought to himself, "Perhaps she will take a little more than is ordered, and so sleep the sounder."
Then he went back to his sister-in-law and the packing.
"There!" said Julie, as she held out the spoon. "I believe I did take just a little more than usual. Ida, will you help me to bed? I begin to feel tired already!"
Just then it struck ten o'clock. The tattoo sounded.
"So late already?" exclaimed the sergeant-major. "I must be off at once with this to the baggage-waggon."
He took up his box and turned to go. In the doorway he paused once more and said, "I shall only just go through the battery and then come back to bed, for I must be up betimes in the morning."
The sick woman lay waiting. She had taken the knife with her into the bedroom hidden under her shawl, and now held it grasped convulsively in her hand.
Close by in the sitting-room her sister was bustling about. The door had remained half open, so that her movements and occupations could be plainly perceived from the bedroom. At last she undressed herself hurriedly, as if forced to hasten.
Through the half opened door she called softly into the dark bedroom, "Julie, are you asleep?"
Then again, louder and more insistently, "Julie, are you asleep?"
She stood listening awhile at the door, and then got into bed. The door was still open and the sick woman heard how restlessly she tossed about.
An hour later the sergeant-major opened the outer door. He took his spurred boots off in the corridor, and slipped cautiously into the bedroom.
Once more came a whispered, "Julie, are you asleep?" and the woman felt as if she could have laughed aloud at the fools who let themselves be thus led by the nose.
Heppner stripped his uniform off rapidly. Then he moved again to the side of her bed and listened--as on that other night.
The invalid lay motionless.
The deceived wife suffered the tortures of the damned; and it seemed to her that her agony must be as eternal as hell itself. She clutched so hard at the knife-handle that her nails were driven into her flesh, and she bit her lips until they bled to keep herself from shrieking with frenzy. A thousand times she thought that morning must be breaking; yet still the shameless pair were together.
At last came an end to the horror.
The woman was asleep already when the man left her. She did not reply to the farewell which he whispered to her from the door. Then he lay down, breathing heavily, and in a moment had fallen into a deep sleep.
Julie waited a little while. Then she got up, her husband's snores and heavy breathing drowning the slight noise of her movements. Now she was standing with her bare feet on the boards. She had the knife in her right hand.
Which of the two should she punish first?
She must kill them both, that was certain. But before she died that shameless creature should know the truth. A flood of abusive words, the most obscene and filthy she could conjure up, lay on her tongue. She would shriek them into the ears of her dying victims, would shout for joy, would exult over them! Oh, how she would triumph! After all the shame, after all the sorrow, she would at last remain the conqueror!
She dragged herself along by the bed carefully. With trembling steps she crossed the threshold and went into the sitting-room. The feeble light of breaking day struggled in, just clearly enough to enable her to distinguish things. The room looked dreary, clothing was strewn about, the chairs were out of their places, and the remains of the evening meal were still on the table. A moist heat pervaded this scene of disorder. The suffocating air seemed laden with a sense of the horrible, unnatural crime.
The sick woman staggered. There was a mist before her eyes. But with an effort she pulled herself together and moved towards the bed.
Her sister was asleep, her face hidden by her loosened hair and pressed into the pillow.
Suddenly she stirred, and as she stretched herself slowly the coverlet fell rustling to the ground.
In the dim light her white skin gleamed.
The woman fixed her burning eyes on this beauty. Suddenly a mad smile distorted her lips, and she raised the knife. She would plunge the blade into her sister's adulterous bosom; and thus deal out justice, measure for measure.
But there came a rush of blood to her throat that choked her. She swayed, and grasped at the empty air with clutching fingers. The knife slipped from her relaxing hand and clanged on the floor. The dying woman collapsed with a dull thud.
The sleeping girl turned over lazily.
"Be quiet, Otto!" she murmured.
Suddenly she gave a shriek of horror, rushed into the bedroom, and shook the man, who could hardly be aroused from his sleep.
He followed her, still half dazed.
Julie Heppner lay dead, bathed in her own blood.
The husband and sister gazed at her horror-stricken, and shuddered as they saw the knife lie gleaming near the corpse.
Death had passed over them.
Outside the trumpeter on duty blew the joyful fanfare of the reveille:--
Reveille
"The bullets are all of iron and lead;But it's not every bullet will strike a man dead."(Old Soldier-song.)
"The bullets are all of iron and lead;But it's not every bullet will strike a man dead."
(Old Soldier-song.)
Kläre Güntz was nursing her child. Through the thick drooping branches of the pear-tree the sun shone on the mother's breast and on the infant's little round head. She bent over him with a happy smile, and held him close.
Sheltered on one side by a high wall, and on the other by the thick leafage, the little garden seemed a haven of joy and peace far removed from all turmoil and tumult of the outside world. The stillness of the summer morning reigned unbroken.
A few more sucks, and then, sleepy and satisfied, the little head sank back on its cushion. Kläre laid the baby-boy in his perambulator.
In the heavenly quiet of this secluded corner of the garden, in the presence of her sleeping child, a picture of health, and from whose lusty sucking her breast still ached a little: in the fulness of this bliss she felt so overwhelmed with thankfulness that she could not help shedding a few holy tears of joy over the blessedness of life.
Suddenly she checked herself.
Kläre Güntz did not exactly regard such moments of tender emotion as inadmissible; but one should not give way to feelings of this sort too long. Recognition of great happiness should always manifest itself in cheerful activity. So she sat up, and began stitching energetically.
But the work was almost mechanical. Like Cæsar, Kläre Güntz could do two things at once: mend, darn, sew, or anything else of the kind, and think at the same time.
She was anxious about her husband,
Not on account of his health; she tended and cared for him too wisely, with her housewifely watchfulness and love. But he, who usually stood so firmly before the world, was suffering now from inward uncertainty. His moods were unequal; and sometimes the cheerful, determined man would be quite overcome by irresolute depression.
This depression was connected with the service. Kläre had found that out at once. The eternal disputes with a disagreeable superior were probably to blame. For Captain Mohr, who feared a rival and a successor in the senior-lieutenant, opposed tooth and nail every improved regulation that Güntz endeavoured to introduce in the battery, thus causing endless discussion and unpleasantness.
At last Frau Kläre had made a move. She came to the conclusion that she must appeal to the colonel, who at once agreed to her request that Güntz should be transferred, and Kläre was not a little proud of her success. In reality, however, she was only responsible for it in the very smallest degree.
True, Falkenhein had heard her attentively, whereas he usually only listened to ladies out of pure courtesy. He had a very high opinion of this clever, capable woman. But he would have refused even her request without hesitation had he not himself been convinced of the necessity for the measure demanded. The discipline of the fifth battery, loose enough already, suffered more and more from the constant friction between the two officers. He regarded Mohr as a very harmful element in the service. The captain, through some outside influence--a very influential relative of high position, it was said--had managed so far to retain his post; but he, as colonel of the regiment, would see to it that the undesirable officer should receive his dismissal in the spring at latest. And meanwhile Güntz must be transferred from the fifth battery. It fell out conveniently that Wegstetten should be ordered away just then to the Austrian manœuvres. Güntz was put in charge of the sixth battery; and the affair had a perfectly natural appearance, since the command properly fell to the senior-lieutenant of the regiment.
Güntz had no idea of his wife's little intrigue. He assumed his new position with fresh courage, and it seemed to please him; but nevertheless he did not regain his former happy balance.
Something still troubled him; and the young wife, pleased as she was at her successful assumption of the good fairy's part, was again at her wits' end to discover the cause.
The fact was that Güntz felt himself daily less and less satisfied with an officer's career, and he almost began to believe that he had missed his vocation. It was very hard to realise this only after he had devoted the twelve best years of his life to soldiering. But he did not think it was yet too late to make a decisive change, and he was earnestly elaborating a plan to send in his resignation and devote all his time to mastering the technique of engineering, his former favourite study.
He now determined to command the battery for a year, and then to decide definitely whether to adopt this course or no.
On August 15 he took over the command of the sixth battery. He felt easier in the more congenial atmosphere of his new department; yet his full zest for a soldier's life did not return.
Wegstetten's battery seemed to be in excellent order; the only exception being Lieutenant Landsberg. That young man had positively raved with joy when Wegstetten's temporary absence was announced. The captain's hand had pressed heavily on him, and Landsberg thought that now he would be able to live his life more as he pleased. Senior-lieutenant Güntz, who was to be in command, was after all virtually his equal, and it was quite impossible that he should be as strict about duty as the full-blown captain of a battery.
So he at once began to behave with a self-satisfied independence which under Wegstetten's rule would have been regarded simply as high treason. He did not appear punctually on parade, and sometimes he would remain away altogether, even when it was his week to be on duty.
But Güntz shook off his doubts and depression of spirits, and said to Reimers:
"Look here, my boy, I shall have to make that Landsberg eat humble-pie; there's more than one way of doing it. The worst of it is, though, that the fellow is not an exception, but just a representative of the whole species of decorative officers; and in the end it will be little enough use if one of them is brought to book for once in a way. Directly a more lenient officer is in command the whole thing will begin over again. And just consider the prospect, my dear boy; if this slack, unenthusiastic crew increases in number, what will happen then? Now and then, perhaps, one of them gains a little sense by the time he is promoted to captain. With the greater number the chances are that during the ten or more years that they are subalterns, utter superficiality will have become their rule in life; from which, despite responsibility, they are unable to break loose, and according to which, therefore, they act. Then, when they are found to be good for nothing, they are either retired, and eat the unearned bread of pensioners (unearned, of course, only in such cases as theirs), or, if they have a cousin or great-uncle anywhere, who can put in a good word for them, or if they belong to the best families, or if they are very religious--why, then God Almighty intervenes, and the scandal waxes still grosser; for the useless captains become staff-officers."
Reimers tried to reply, but Güntz waived off his objection with an impatient gesture, and continued: "As to the young officer of whom we are speaking, the disinclination which he manifests for the actual duties of his profession is a fact, and, unfortunately distinctly typical. I assure you that most of our lieutenants look at their life and work from the point of view of mere schoolboys. They lounge about, do just the duty they are positively obliged to do, laugh in their sleeves if they get rowed, and swear at every short hour demanded by the service. Nothing but continuous lazing! Then in the end, every one who has not been arrested for some piece of sheer stupidity is made captain,--of course always supposing he has not been positively dishonest, or done something criminal."
Reimers interrupted him: "Come, you know, the thing's not quite so simple as all that!"
But Güntz replied: "Oh yes, it is! To master the elementary formulae according to which the service is regulated, sufficiently to satisfy the mere requirements of inspection--that is child's play. And yet on that the superior has to found his judgment! But to work them out so thoroughly that one has them at one's finger-ends at any moment and on every emergency (for that alone can prove their efficiency) that is really difficult, demanding long and exhaustive study. And who has the patience or the inclination to do it? Everything is sacrificed to making a good show at the reviews. If only one has been able to cut a good figure then, one has got out of it well! A teacher must have good and bad pupils in his class, of course; but woe to the commander of a battery who is disgraced by having a bad officer under him! He has not been able to educate him! So, instead of an incapable man being got rid of when he deserves it, an enormous amount of pains and trouble is wasted on him--absolutely wasted! Disgusting love of show! Instead of our holding forth everlastingly to these young people about upholding the honour of their position in the eyes of the world, they should rather have it brought home to them that they ought to win their own self-respect by honest and conscientious attention to duty."
"You exaggerate!" murmured Reimers.
"I wish indeed that I did!" rejoined Güntz. "But just you go to every individual brother-subaltern and say: Is drilling recruits a pleasure to you? Do you get up early, determined to work hard all day and to endeavour to train good soldiers for the king? or, do you on awakening growl that the devil may take the whole dirty pack of recruits?"
"Why don't you rather ask with what thoughts they awake during gun-practice and the manœuvres?"
"Because the one depends upon the other, my dear fellow. Without the training of recruits there would be no gun-practice and no manœuvres. It is just as if we were military teachers. Well, gun-practice is to a certain extent an examination for the men; while the manœuvres, as you know, don't teach the men anything new, but are rather a test for the higher officers. But the teacher who only wants to make a show at the examination, and who does not expend all the enthusiasm and inspiration of his calling upon the teaching itself,--I have no use for him!"
"You really are unjust!" exclaimed Reimers.
"Well, perhaps so----"
"You see, you allow it yourself!"
"But in a different way from what you mean. I say that the subalterns themselves are only in part answerable for their faults, the other part of the responsibility is borne by the entire system."
"What system?"
"Why, the system of our entire army service, of our military education."
"Has it not been tested in three campaigns?"
Güntz was silent for a time, and then he answered, turning away: "Yes, certainly. But you are not unaware of the fact that a system can go on being tested until the moment when it collapses?"
"And anyhow," he continued, "all this refers to private thoughts of my own, about which I can't tell you just yet. I am now going to make the final experiment, and then I shall have to decide."
"What?"
"Whether I remain an officer or not."
This struck Reimers like a blow. "Güntz, you are mad!" he cried.
His friend shook his head gravely, and said, "We shall see."
Meanwhile, Güntz coolly took up the glove which Landsberg in his presumption had thrown down. He had decided that, if possible, he would only meet the young man's impudence with the weapons which stood at his command as the head of the battery.
One day Güntz had ordered Landsberg to superintend the checking of the stores ordered by the regiment, and found him instead fast asleep and carefully covered up on a sofa. This was a gross breach of duty; for according to the rules the officer in charge should have himself supervised the checking of the stores by one of the sergeants. But this was not all; Landsberg had had gunners posted on the watch, so that he should not be surprised by his commanding officer, and that was misappropriation of the service staff.
When called to order, he coolly excused himself: "I beg your pardon, sir; but I really thought it could not matter much about a few dozen horseshoe nails more or less."
Güntz felt it would have been trouble wasted to explain to the lieutenant how it was perfectly possible that the lack of "a few dozen horseshoe nails" might be the cause of a battery's immobility in time of need. He simply rebuked him briefly and sharply.
Landsberg took the punishment in strictly correct style. But a most unreasonable anger gleamed in his eyes. He made up his mind in all seriousness that he would complain of Güntz, and tried to get his fellow-subaltern, Reimers, to associate himself with him. Reimers, however, refused politely and decidedly, and moreover spoke to Landsberg for his good, strongly advising him to submit to discipline and amend his behaviour.
Landsberg was apparently convinced, and for a time his behaviour rarely gave occasion for blame. But in the circle of the younger officers he let fall dark insinuations that he would be revenged for the "insult" which the hateful martinet Güntz had inflicted on him. He gradually worked up a genuine hatred of Güntz, and this hatred took an important place in his previously empty life. He vowed Güntz must stand in front of his pistol, even if it cost him his officer's sword-knot. With every reprimand this fury increased, till Landsberg determined to pick a quarrel with Güntz and somehow positively insult him, when a duel would be unavoidable.
At last an accident brought things to a climax.
The officers of the second division of the regiment were in the habit of going occasionally to the Auer, a lonely forest tavern, during the summer months, to play skittles. The Auer was about an hour's distance from the garrison, and lay nearly in the middle of the pine forest, which extended over the mountains and beyond the frontier. The younger men bicycled there and back, while their elders either rode or drove. Major Schrader arranged these excursions, and bore the expenses himself. They were partly intended to provide opportunities for personal intercourse between him and his officers.
He declared himself a lover of rural life, and the party always fell in with country ways quite contentedly. Pilsener beer was the tipple, or, at most, a little brandy or gin; and in the way of food, fresh eggs and butter, black country bread and strong ham, played the principal parts. Scandal-mongers of course wanted to know whether, the Auer's landlady had been a former sweetheart of the major's, and Schrader defended himself laughingly against the insinuation; although he need not have been ashamed of the dignified, buxom woman, so scrupulously neat and clean. It certainly was a fact that no one ever saw the landlord of the Auer, and that the landlady's two smart boys, who helped so cheerfully in picking up the skittles, bore a striking resemblance to the major.
It was in the courtyard of the Auer tavern, when, after one of these excursions of Major Schrader's, they were getting their bicycles out of the shed, that Landsberg's rancour broke out.
He had not been thinking about his grievances at the moment. He had preferred a stronger drink than the light beer, had almost emptied a half bottle of gin, and was more inclined for sleep than for anything else, so that he did not find his bicycle quickly. Güntz made some harmless chaffing remark, and a violent quarrel broke out.
Finally Güntz turned away, shrugging his shoulders. He considered that Landsberg was drunk. But the lieutenant suddenly ran after him and aimed a blow at him, striking him on the arm. The other men at once threw themselves between the two, and held Landsberg fast. The young fellow, perfectly mad with rage, kicked out with his feet and literally foamed at the mouth.
Schrader had him taken home in a carriage by his adjutant and Captain Madelung. To Reimers he said: "My dear Reimers, you will see that your friend Güntz goes home quietly, won't you?" And Reimers replied: "Yes, sir."
Güntz signed to his friend to remain behind. From the dark skittle-alley they could watch their comrades starting for the town, all much depressed by the untoward occurrence, speaking in undertones, and accompanying their whispered words with restrained gestures.
For a few minutes Güntz walked silently up and down the gravel-strewn skittle-alley. Reimers sat down in a small arbour, where the empty barrel still lay upon a bed of ice. When Güntz stood still, Reimers could hear the drops of the melting ice falling into the earthen basin. Otherwise all was silent, until the steps on the crunching gravel approached once more.
"I think we can go now," said Güntz, in his calm voice, which only sounded a little harder than usual.
Reimers answered: "All right, if you like."
"Yes. Let us go."
In the courtyard the senior-lieutenant suddenly stood still. "The devil! I am horribly thirsty!" he said, clearing his throat.
"Shall I fetch you a glass of beer from the bar?" suggested Reimers.
"No, don't bother. Water will do me more good," replied Güntz.
He returned to the arbour, fetched a glass, and went to the well. The pump creaked discordantly in the stillness of the night.
In the moonlight Reimers saw how his friend drank the clear water with eager gulps, filled the glass again, and again emptied it.
Then they went towards the shed in which the bicycles had been stored.
"That was delicious water," said Güntz, with a sigh of satisfaction. "The strength of the forest and of the earth!"
The shed was badly lighted by a miserable oil lamp. The two machines were leaning against the wall. Outside was a third--Landsberg's. Güntz pushed it in under cover.
"It would be a pity," he said, "for the night dew to spoil the nickel."
They wheeled their bicycles slowly through the gate, and as they were starting Güntz said: "Look here, dear boy; will you go to Landsberg early to-morrow morning and take him a challenge? I will see about the announcement to the court of honour myself."
Reimers answered simply, "Yes." And then he added: "But what are the conditions?"
The senior-lieutenant considered for a moment.
"Oh, well," he said at last, "the court of honour will decide as to that. Meanwhile, say fifteen paces, and three exchanges of shots."
"Right."
"Well, off then! But look out, it's horribly dark."
The two friends rode in silence until they reached the garden gate of Güntz's house. The senior-lieutenant would have said a mere brief farewell, but Reimers held him fast.
"Güntz," he said, "I can't help thinking that a challenge on grounds connected with the service is incorrect. And--I believe that it is so in the present instance."
"Yes," replied Güntz, "the private reason is undoubtedly connected with the service. Landsberg wishes to revenge himself because I reprimanded him sharply. But overtly the affair has arisen quite otherwise. I have no alternative but to challenge him."
"Yes, you are right," acknowledged Reimers. He stood awhile leaning against his bicycle, deep in thought, until Güntz pressed his hand, and said, "Good night, dear boy!"
And Reimers answered, "Good-night, my dear Güntz." Güntz put his bicycle carefully away, and then quietly went upstairs. During the summer months, when his duty sometimes began at five o'clock or even earlier, he occupied a small bedroom next to the larger one in which his wife and child slept. But the door of communication between the two rooms was always open.
In a few rapid movements he took off his sword and his spurred boots. Then he went to the door of the bedroom and listened in the darkness. A slight breeze came from the garden and moved the lowered window-blind with the regularity of a pendulum. Somewhere in the grass a cricket was chirping; and through the slight noises the deep contented breathing of the two sleepers could be heard, slow and deep the mother's, and the child's soft and light.
Güntz leant against the lintel and listened lovingly to the sweet, regular sounds. This room contained a world of happiness for him; and the breathing of his sleeping dear ones was to him the most priceless music.
Suddenly he shivered in the warm August air. An over-powering fatigue almost paralysed his limbs, and one single horrible thought filled his mind.
Wearily he pulled off his clothes, and was soon wrapped in heavy sleep.
The court of honour endorsed the challenge but it modified the terms, arranging that instead of three interchanges of shots there should be two, at fifteen paces. The duel was to take place early the next morning, at half-past five, on the pistol-practice ground of the regiment.
After Reimers had presented the challenge to Landsberg, he made all the necessary arrangements to act as his friend's second. He whispered the time and the place to Güntz while at the table in the orderly-room signing despatches.
The senior-lieutenant nodded curtly, and answered: "Right; I'll speak to you later."
Sergeant-major Heppner approached him, and said: "At what time to-morrow morning do you wish the battery to be ready for the tactical exercises, sir?"
Güntz was at once on the spot. He signed the order and leant back.
"To-morrow? H'm!" he murmured.
The duel was to take place at half-past five. He considered; in a quarter of an hour one could easily cover the short distance between the shooting-ground and the barracks.
"Six sharp," he then answered decisively.
Heppner replied: "Yes, sir, six o'clock;" and wrote the time in the order-book.
"Yes, six o'clock," repeated Güntz.
If it were no longer possible for him, then Reimers would command the battery.
It was Wednesday, the day on which Reimers was engaged to dine with the Güntzes. He would have excused himself, so that his friend should devote himself undisturbed to his wife and child, but Güntz refused: "Nothing of the kind, my boy. Why, Kläre might smell a rat! No, no! you must come. But you'll have to put on another expression, you know!"
So Reimers went, but left unusually early, and when he returned to his quarters Gähler handed him a letter from Falkenhein.
The colonel wrote as follows:
"MY DEAR REIMERS,--I return from Kühren about eleven o'clock, and I beg of you to look me up this evening without fail. "Yours, "v. F."
Here was a glimmer of hope! Perhaps this wretched duel might yet be avoided! The colonel of a regiment had in certain cases the right to suspend the judgment of the court of honour, and to refer the matter directly to the throne for a decision.
Frankly, Reimers could not think on what, in this case, such interference could be based. The affair seemed just as clear and distinct as could well be; a verbal quarrel whence resulted the actual insult, which, though not serious, left not the smallest loophole for a revocation. The duel seemed utterly inevitable.
Falkenhein was already waiting for him. The firm, clear-headed man was in a state of almost feverish excitement. He walked restlessly up and down the room, constantly buttoning and unbuttoning a button of his coat.
"Thank you for coming, my dear Reimers," he said in a voice of forced steadiness, and speaking in jerky sentences. "Tell me, you are his second to-morrow, are you not?"
"Yes, sir," answered Reimers.
"It is a good thing that you will be there. Yes, it is a good thing. I--I felt I must speak to you about it. It is true that a commander should come to his decisions alone, and I have done that--but now I must speak to some-one. I have not been to Kühren; I sent the carriage away, and have been walking in the forest for a long time, and alone. This duel--it is a mistake, a terrible mistake; that's certain. But my hands are tied. I can do nothing to prevent it. And yet if things go badly, I shall be partially responsible. My best officer, one of the best, most excellent of men, against a lazy ne'er-do-weel! God knows that laws are sometimes utterly unreasonable, and many of our ideas are equally senseless. I have racked my brains to find a way out of this difficulty, and it seems impossible. I know that Landsberg's real reason is military antagonism; but despite that, I dare not interfere."
The colonel stopped suddenly right in front of the lieu-tenant, and looking him squarely in the eyes, asked: "Do you really think that Güntz's honour is affected?"
Reimers was silent. A "yes" seemed to him quite contrary to reason, and yet he could not say "no."
Falkenhein had again begun to walk up and down the room, not awaiting a reply.
At last he turned again to Reimers.
"Well, the matter must take its course," he said, in a somewhat calmer tone. "One thing, however, I ask you to do for me. Directly all is over to-morrow, will you come and tell me--quite privately? I shall hear officially from Kauerhof. He's to be umpire, isn't he? And be quick, won't you, even if all has gone well?--a 'three-cross' ride!"[A]
[Footnote A: The necessary speed in conveying military despatches is indicated by crosses. Thus, one cross signifies walking and trotting alternately; two crosses, a quick trot; and three crosses, as fast as the strength of the horse will permit.]
He held the lieutenant's hand in his, and pressed it warmly. His depression seemed to have partly passed away.
"But you must not break your neck," he concluded, smiling slightly. "And now let us hope for a happy meeting!"
In passing Reimers glanced at the Güntzes' villa. It was all in darkness, save for the window of his friend's study on the ground floor, whence a light was still gleaming.
Within, Güntz sat at his writing-table, with several sheets of paper lying before him. For more than an hour he had been staring at the white sheets and reflecting.
Shortly after ten Kläre had fed her baby; and then, the sleeping child tenderly clasped in her arms, she had gone up-stairs. Her husband had watched her through the half-open door, and the nursery-lullaby with which she hummed the child to sleep sounded in his ears for long after.
Now he sat there, not knowing whether he would ever again see his wife's honest, sensible eyes, or the droll, wondering gaze of his child.
A hard battle was going on within him, and once or twice he raised his hand as if to push a heavy weight from his brow.
The cuckoo-clock in the corner by the stove cuckooed twelve times, and then from without sounded the deep, full tone of the parish-church clock. The new day had begun.
With a strong effort Güntz raised himself, bent over the white leaves, and with swift-moving pen filled page after page.
He had decided to send in his resignation.
The request should go up to the regiment before the duel, and now he was explaining to Reimers the reasons which had decided him to take this sudden step. To Reimers alone. But if he wished he might show the letter to the colonel. The opinion of any one else was immaterial to him.
At the outset he begged his friend not to think that he had withdrawn from the duel out of cowardice. He could point to his whole previous life in support of this--the life of a quiet, resolute man, always consistent with his principles. And, after all, Reimers knew and trusted him.
This duel was utterly senseless, brought about as it had been by a laughably trivial occurrence; and, moreover, it was in the highest degree unfair, despite the fact that both duellists would face each other under similar conditions, with similar weapons, and with the same sun and the same wind. It was unfair, because the stakes were of such totally unequal value. A man in his prime, who had done good work in his profession and promised to do still more, must pit himself against an irresponsible young fellow, who up to the present had shirked everything serious. And then Güntz's position as husband and father must be compared with his opponent's irregular life. An absolute cypher was opposed to a number that counted; and, moreover, to a number doubled in its capacity.
Güntz said roundly that he regarded his life as too valuable to be thrown into the balance of this quarrel.
Then he went more into detail with regard to the doubts which for weeks had been harassing him and driving him towards the decision to renounce his right to wear the uniform of an officer; the strong doubts as to whether, under existing conditions, German officers were not undertaking work of no benefit to the future.
He did not mean to say that the calling of an officer was an altogether unproductive vocation. The yearly training of a large number of soldiers, who supported the credit of the kingdom, and thereby insured peace, was, no doubt, a positive factor in both political and social life.
But was this bulwark, which year by year was rebuilt and strengthened anew, really secure enough to withstand storms and assaults?
That was just what he doubted.
The organisation of the German army rested on foundations which had been laid nearly a hundred years ago. Prussian institutions, tested by many victories, had been transferred to the new empire, and were still continued. Since the great war they had never seriously been put to the proof; and during the three last decades they had only been altered in the most trifling details. In three long decades! And in one of those decades the world at large had advanced as much as in the whole previous century!
The system of the military training of the men, evolved in an age of patriarchal bureaucratic government, had remained pedantically the same, counting on an ever-present patriotism. Meanwhile, in place of the previous overwhelming preponderance of country recruits, a fresh element had now been introduced: the strong social-democratic tendencies of the industrial workers, who, it is true, did not compose the majority of the contingents, but who, with their highly-developed intelligence, always exerted a very powerful influence.
Now, instead of turning this highly-developed intelligence to good account, they bound it hand and foot on the rack of an everlasting drill, which could not have been more soullessly mechanical in the time of Frederick the Great. And they expected this purely mechanical drill to hold together men from whom all joyful spontaneity was taken by the stiff, wooden formalism of their duty, and not a few of whom cherished the very opposite of patriotism in their breasts! Drill was to maintain discipline among them? It held them together as an iron hoop holds together a cask, the dry staves of which would fall asunder at the first kick!
Confronting the men stood their officers, who, although many of them actuated by the most honourable intentions, were quite incompetent to guide the recruits to a convinced and conscious obedience, a voluntary patriotism. The officer, as a consequence of his origin or education, was separated by a veritable abyss from the sensations and thoughts of the common soldier; and, on the other hand, the soldier was unable to understand the spirit in which he was treated by the officer. It thus came about that the officer for the most part had a pretty low opinion of the privates, while the private did not fail to form his own conclusions as to the officers.
The constancy with which the German corps of officers clung to the old principles of army organisation was worthy of a better cause. Pinning their faith to their glorious traditions, all criticism was set down as malicious gossip, even if it came from their own midst. To an ideal of such doubtful value they devoted their industry and strength. And it was strange how little the analogy of the miserable year 1806 shook military self-confidence, despite the startling points of resemblance. Now, as then, the complaint was of the one-sided reactionary training of the officers, which must separate them from the forward movement of the people; now, as then, there was a kind of hidebound narrow-mindedness, too often degenerating into overweening self-conceit, making them a laughing-stock to civilians; and, finally, now as then, there were the same stiff, wooden regulations, the mechanical drill, which, despite all personal bravery, failed utterly before the convinced enthusiastic onrush of the revolutionary army. But worse than defeat in battles was the cowardly capitulation of strongholds which ensued. The commanders of those days certainly understood how to command the evolutions of a battalion, how to direct a parade march, and how to ensure that all pigtails were of the regulation length; but despite all the drill and all the pedantry, they remained strangers to the inspiration which inaugurated a new era of military service--the new patriotism, the love of one's country. They had stood in a strongly personal relationship to their king but it no longer sufficed to save them. They had shouted "Long live the king!" thousands of times; yet they betrayed the king when they presumed he had lost because they knew no better.
They hadplayedtoo long at being soldiers to be able really to be soldiers.
Subsequently such men as Scharnhorst, Boyen, and Gneisenau directed the military service into the new paths of allegiance to the nation; a work which was crowned by the unexampled successes of the years 1870-71. But since that epoch, while the foundation of the system--the people themselves--had with each new year altered and progressed in every relation of life, yet the system itself had remained unchanged, and the German officer's devotion to duty, similarly unchanged, was largely wasted by being directed into worn-out channels.
Again, it must be deeply deplored that promotions were no longer due to military efficiency alone, but also to victories achieved at the courts of princes. To this circumstance, opening up, as it did, an anything but reassuring view of the good faith of the authorities, was to be added yet another, also tending to undermine the soundness of the army: the ever-increasing luxury apparent in military circles. Of necessity, and in the true interests of the army, the best material in the corps of officers--the members of the old noble and gentle "army nobility"--were careful to shun this vice. These officers, whose families had often served the king as soldiers for four or five generations, held fast to a Spartan simplicity of life, and to the old Prussian independence of material comforts, and with them were all those who regarded their vocation as something loftier than an amusement. Otherwise, a most unsoldierlike luxury was spreading unhindered in all directions, causing the young subalterns especially to neglect their duties, and rendering them in great measure absolutely unfit for real hard work and privations. And despite the numerous orders levelled against them, these tendencies continued to increase, because of the lack of a good example in high quarters.
The plain and simple uniform in which so many great victories had been won no longer sufficed. New embellishments medals, cords, trimmings, or what not were eternally being devised. As though such mere external trumpery could create anew the now waning love for military service!
In what striking contrast stood the magnificent goblets of delicate porcelain and other costly materials, in which the officers of the Chinese Expedition offered champagne to their French comrades, to that broken-footed glass cup out of which--and in abominably bad wine--King William drank to the victors of St. Privat!
All became clear to Güntz as he wrote, and he felt as though a heavy burden were being lifted from his shoulders.
He concluded: "I can no longer regard as valuable the work which as an officer it is my duty to perform, and have therefore decided to resign my commission. Although I am only one small wheel in a large and complicated machine, I have still the right to give my opinion; and I am making use of that right because I recognise that the mechanical power which drives this machine is threatened with paralysis, and will, in my view, infallibly succumb unless there is an entire reconstruction of the whole fabric. That, I fear, is not to be expected within any reasonable time."
He laid down his pen, and looked thoughtfully at the closely written sheets.
Everything that he had set down had been well considered and frequently thought over; but was it right, after all, to send in his application just at this moment? Was it right for him to break the vow he had made to himself that he would test himself carefully, that he would pass a year in command of the battery before making his final decision? Ought he not to stand by the calling to which his life had been dedicated, until he could resign quite voluntarily, fully convinced, and without any extraneous considerations? Without, for instance, the danger of losing his life through the custom of this calling--a custom, just or unjust, but which at any rate was in operation and perfectly well known to him?
The lamp under the green shade began to burn less brightly, and flickered with a quick hissing sound. The hands of the cuckoo-clock pointed to half-past four.
Güntz got up and stretched himself. He walked firmly to the window, pushed the curtains far back, and opened both sides of the casement.
Outside the warm summer's night was giving place to the dawn of day. A cool morning breeze blew into the room, fluttering the curtains, and extinguishing the lamp's weak flame. It cooled the man's eyes and filled his lungs with fresh air.
Güntz drew himself up. He returned to the writing-table, placed the loose leaves carefully in order, and locked them in a drawer.
Right or wrong he would keep his word.
He scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper: "My Kläre, I love you unspeakably. You and the boy. Be brave!"
He glanced round to see where he should lay the paper. In the end he folded it up, and put it under a meteoric stone, shaped like a fungus, which during their honeymoon he had found on the sand-dunes of the Heligoland coast.
The servant knocked, and brought in the coffee. He had found the senior-lieutenant's bed untouched, and his face showed his surprise.
The coffee was too hot, but the water in the carafe was deliciously cold. Güntz damped his handkerchief and wiped the ravages of the night from his brow and eyes.
Then he went again to the window and the refreshing morning breeze. He was in good spirits. He felt as if nothing untoward could happen to him that day.
There was a sound of hoofs in the street outside. The groom had brought the brown mare. He held the animal before the garden gate and carefully took a piece of straw out of her mane.
Güntz told him to walk her quietly up and down. He must wait for Reimers, who would be sure to come directly.
Soon in between the measured paces of the led horse came the sound of a quicker step. Güntz recognised the fidgety trot for that of Reimers horse "Jay." He went out of the house and through the iron gate into the street.
"Morning, my boy!" he said, and offered his hand to Reimers. Then he mounted, and both trotted down the street in silence.
Once outside the town Güntz let his mare slow down. "We are in plenty of time," he said.
Suddenly he stopped and listened. A horse's trot and the rumbling of a carriage could be heard coming from the town.
"The others," said the senior-lieutenant. "Let us get on."
The pistol practice-ground lay half way up the incline upon a shelf-like terrace of the hillside, a smooth grassy space, surrounded on both sides by high bushes; at the lower end there was a shed built of strong boards, in which tools and targets were stored.
Güntz and Reimers dismounted at the shed, and fastened up their horses by the bridle. Reimers pressed his friend's hand once more, gazing at him with anxious eyes. He could not speak.
They stood side by side on the edge of the terrace, whence they could look down upon the country road in the valley below. A carriage was approaching, followed by three riders: Landsberg, little Dr. von Fröben, his second, and Gretzschel, who was brought chiefly to look after the horses.
The carriage stopped at the foot of the hill. Kauerhof got out, with the pistol cases in his hand, and after him the surgeon-major and his assistant, both with instrument cases. The three other men rode slowly behind them up the steep incline.
Before the shed, brief polite greetings were exchanged, Gretzschel remaining there with the horses.
There was a singular expression of shyness on the faces of all. One might have fancied that these men were assembled for some guilty purpose. Güntz alone looked frank and unembarrassed.
The prescribed attempts at reconciliation were unsuccessful. Güntz shook his head in refusal.
Then Kauerhof began to measure the distance. He had long legs, and he made the fifteen paces as lengthy as possible.
Just at this moment the sun rose above the mountains on the other side of the valley.
Kauerhof loaded the pistols, and the seconds carried them to their principals. Güntz nodded cheerfully to Reimers as he took his weapon.
The umpire then took up his position and convinced himself with a glance that all was prepared. The duellists were standing at their marked lines, the seconds at a little distance alongside of them. He took out his watch, and glancing at it said: "I shall count: ready, one, then three seconds; two, and again three seconds; then, stop! Between one and stop, the gentlemen may fire."
He glanced round once more. The four officers stood motionless in the clear light of the sun, Landsberg sideways, Güntz with his broad chest facing his opponent. The junior surgeon wiped the moisture from his brow; Andreae tugged nervously at his hair.
The umpire counted.
Landsberg raised his pistol at once and fired. Güntz heard the bullet whizz past on his left. He had directed his barrel a little to the side of his opponent's shoulder, and pressed the trigger. The shot missed fire. He had forgotten to cock the pistol.
The second attempt at reconciliation was also unsuccessful.
Again Kauerhof gave the word.
Güntz saw Landsberg's pistol aimed directly at his breast. Then Landsberg looked up, and for the hundredth part of a second caught his opponent's gaze.
Landsberg's aim was unerringly directed on his man, when suddenly his hand began to shake, and he fired blindly, just as he heard Güntz's bullet whistle past him.
Güntz stood unharmed, a happy smile on his good-natured, open face.
Reimers hastened up to him and seized his hand. He would have liked to throw his arms round the dear fellow's neck.
Now the reconciliation took place, and when the opponents shook hands Landsberg's glance fell before the honest eyes of the senior-lieutenant.
All traces of embarrassment vanished from the men's faces. There were sighs of relief, and hearty congratulations; the two doctors packed up their grisly instruments again; all were anxious to get away, and to report the fortunate result of the duel to their comrades. Reimers was on his horse and already starting off at a trot, when Güntz called to him: "Where are you going in such a hurry?"
And Reimers shouted back gaily: "The colonel's waiting. 'Three crosses,' my orders say!"
The senior-lieutenant rode slowly down. He himself had plenty of time to spare. It was only ten minutes after the half hour, and it was not until six o'clock that he was due at the tactical exercises.
The carriage and the three riders overtook him. Dr. von Fröben and Gretzschel greeted him with candid joy in their faces; Landsberg was a little stiff. The surgeon-major blew him a kiss from the carriage. Güntz responded cordially, and continued at his leisurely pace.
The colonel was looking out into the street from his high summer-house in the garden. Reimers recognised him from a distance, and as nothing better occurred to him he took off his cap and waved it in the air.
Falkenhein checked him energetically when he was preparing to dismount. "Stay where you are! Stay where you are!" he cried. "So all has gone well?"