“The sentinel keeping guard between twelve and two o’clock this night I found asleep during an inspection which I made. He answered my call only after a considerable time. I must declare in advance that the man, in case he should urge his inability to recognize me in the dark, is stating what is not true, since I noticed particularly that he was asleep.”
“The sentinel keeping guard between twelve and two o’clock this night I found asleep during an inspection which I made. He answered my call only after a considerable time. I must declare in advance that the man, in case he should urge his inability to recognize me in the dark, is stating what is not true, since I noticed particularly that he was asleep.”
This report he placed on the desk of the commander of the regiment. Then he aroused the regimental chief clerk from a sound sleep in the adjoining room, kept that poor fellow shivering in his night garments in the corridor for about ten minutes, and then went home. Having discharged what he considered a grave duty, he was able to sleep the sleep of the just.
On the afternoon of December 22d, SergeantSchmitz returned from jail.
The poor fellow had greatly changed. The black moustache, formerly twisted and waxed so as to describe an angle in exact imitation of the Kaiser’s, was drooping, and his face was pale and worn. He looked shyly at all the privates whom he met in the streets, and when one of them saluted him, he deemed it a special act of courtesy. He thought he read in everybody’s eyes:
“This man is a criminal,—a man punished for grave insubordination!”
When he reported himself to the chief of the squadron, the latter said, with some show of feeling:
“Sorry, my dear Schmitz, that I have to lose you. You were always a man of whom I felt proud, and who did his duty as few others did. But the colonel has commanded me to cancel the capitulation agreement[14]and to dismiss you forthwith. Console yourself with the thought thatyou have become the victim of a dirty intrigue. I wish you well, and if I can be of any service to you, you know where to find me. And so, farewell!”
Schmitz felt the tears spurting from his eyes, as his chief went towards the stable. His captain was really sorry to lose him. Schmitz had always been one of the pillars of discipline in the squadron, and now this train of misfortune had removed him and plunged him into misery. It was a most unfortunate thing.
Schmitz went to the sergeant-major, who gave him his papers and the fifty marks due him. The sergeant-major, too, felt sorry for him. He gave him a fervent shake of the hand.
“Have you any further claims on the regiment, Schmitz?” he asked.
“Since the manœuvres last year I’ve been suffering with rheumatism.”
“But you didn’t tell me about that, Schmitz, at the time, and considerably over a year has elapsed since then.”
“Well, I didn’t report it then because I did not want to disturb the run of things by myabsence. I knew the captain was bothered a good deal at the time.”
“Yes, yes, that is all very well. I will report your statement at once to the regiment, but I’m afraid it will be too late. Meanwhile you had better deliver up all the regimental property.”
So then Schmitz went up to his room, packed all his things, and put his private belongings in a small trunk. But before doffing his uniform he went to the neighboring city and purchased for himself a civilian’s suit, a collar, and a hat. These took about all the money which had been paid him.
Then he carried everything of the government’s outfit to the quartermaster, to whom he likewise sold some of the private regimentals he had bought with his own money. The sabre he kept as a memento.
And then came the hardest of all,—the farewell from his comrades and his horses. Every one had a friendly word for him, for he had been a good comrade and had never been puffed up with his own importance. Many a mute pressure of the hand told him that they all felt sorryfor him, and that they, as much as he himself, thought the treatment to which he had been subjected an act of injustice. The privates, too, pressed up to him to say a word of good-bye. Often he had berated them soundly, but they all knew him as a decent fellow, and as one who had never badgered them unnecessarily.
As the noon service drew towards its close, Schmitz went into the stable. What a pang for him! Never in his life had a thing seemed so hard to him. All the beasts he loved so well turned and craned their necks towards him, leaving the savory hay and their oats for a moment as soon as they heard his voice, and gazing at him with such intelligence as if they appreciated his woe to the full. The sense of desolation almost overpowered him.
He had filled his pockets with sugar, and he began with “Clairette,” feeding the sweet morsels to all his quadruped friends. “Clairette” lifted her forefoot, begging for one more piece. He laid his head against the velvety neck of the animal, stroking caressingly the silky nostrils and around the fine eyes, then kissing her on the white spot just below. The mare seemed tounderstand him. She whinnied softly, and gave him a sad glance of parting. Next came old “Marie.” How much longer would she be able to stand the service? And thus he visited them, one by one, in token of farewell. The last one was “Napoleon”; but even he showed to-day no trace of his accustomed ill temper. He gave the strange man in civilian clothes a long look of doubt and forbearance.
A last, lingering glance to his hundred darlings, and then he painfully suppressed a tearful sob, and climbed up to his late quarters to get his trunk.
There he met the sergeant-major of his squadron.
“Your invalid claims, Schmitz, have been disallowed. The colonel says you would have had to make a report at the time. Now it is too late. Just as I thought. Here is something for you,—the bill of your attorney, who has asked the regiment to collect the amount due him. It’s a matter of sixty marks; and if you are unable to pay it he threatens to seize your property.”
Schmitz had almost forgotten about that.
“Within an hour I shall have the money,” said he, after reflecting a moment.
Then he went down to the city and entered the store of a watchmaker. He laid on the counter his watch and chain and asked in a firm voice:
“What will you give me on this? I need money!”
The watchmaker examined both, and then said, with something of a sneer:
“Twenty marks. That is all I can give you.”
Schmitz calculated silently. He still had thirty-five, and twenty more made fifty-five. So he needed another five marks. He removed a ring from his finger, a little gift from his mother.
“What is this worth to you?”
“Ten marks!”
“Good, give it to me!”
Schmitz pocketed silently the two gold pieces, then went to the barracks, paid the sergeant-major the sixty marks, and took his trunk away. He was just in time to catch the evening train.
Those who saw this pale, downcast man, withhis small trunk, seated in the car, scarcely supposed that he was until recently a royal Prussian sergeant, dismissed in disgrace from long service because of a small offence, without a penny, but with rheumatism in all his bones, and with his patriotism destroyed, thrust into the street to seek a new and precarious means of living, after spending his best strength, his health, and his youth in the service of his country.
On the summit of the hill, whence he could discern the barracks, the snow glistening on its roof, he cast a last look at the spot where he had spent so many years. He raised his arms with a threatening gesture, and a curse escaped his lips.
In the train which carried him off there were numerous soldiers of his regiment, singing and joking, on their way home for the holidays.
Christmas Eve had come. All the world—thousands, millions—were happy. They felt the charm of this most beautiful Christian festival,—a day which moves to softness the hardest hearts. But Schmitz, an outcast, felt nothing but bitterness and shame. His glance dwelt on the lighted windows where all thesehappy people were celebrating, and he vowed vengeance.
Friedrich Röse meanwhile occupied a badly warmed cell, undergoing a fortnight’s confinement because of his alleged inattention while on duty as sentinel.
Through the narrow window of his cell he could espy the quarters occupied by the third squadron, a couple of stories higher, in the same building; the row of windows was shining with the brilliant lights of a gigantic Christmas tree, standing in the centre of the large hall. The sounds of a pathetic Christmas hymn were floating down to him, as it was intoned by the throats of the men. Shivering with cold, he sat on the edge of his hard pallet, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Again his thoughts dwelt with his friends at home, far away, and wrath filled his soul.
What disillusionment the year had brought him since he had begun his term as volunteer! His father, once sergeant-major in a regiment of Guard Cuirassiers, had often described to him a soldier’s life in vivid colors, and had expressedhis hope to see, some day, his boy himself advanced to the grade of sergeant.
But that prospect was now gone. His punishment brought with it as a consequence the impossibility of ever rising from the ranks.
His one-time zeal for his calling had changed suddenly to a violent distaste for everything connected with the service. At one blow the enthusiastic, ambitious recruit had turned into one of the many soldiers who serve in the army simply because they are compelled to do so, and who are longing for the day when they will be able to doff the uniform forever.
And why all this?
Not because he had knowingly neglected his duty, but because one of the officers, one of the men whom he had until recently looked up to as demigods, had in his drunken spleen selected him for a victim. And that which this officer had maintained in his report had to stand as an absolute fact, no matter how untrue; and if he or anybody else should express doubts of its accuracy it would mean a new and punishable offence.
In answer to the questions asked by the chiefof his squadron, Röse had stated the occurrence quite truthfully, and had assured him solemnly of his innocence. But the adjutant had replied to this that the man wanted to exculpate himself by untrue statements. The report was, therefore, accepted as it read.
Was it to be expected that Müller would admit his own wrong, admit that he had in his semi-drunkenness misinterpreted the facts, and that he had been in an unpleasant frame of mind at the time? Of course not. That would have meant charging himself with an offence. How could he, the infallible regimental adjutant, own up to an error? No, he was never mistaken; and what difference did it make, anyway, if this raw recruit did get a fortnight’s term in the “cooler”?
What difference?
This difference,—that there was now one more of those who proclaim that the private soldier in the German army is a man forced into a yoke, the prey of every whim of his superiors, a man exposed to the bad humor of those above him, one who has to suffer, without a sign of resistance, undeserved harshness andinjustice. Such a man was now this young recruit.
And what further harm was there in it?
This,—that everybody in the future, when Röse should be asked for his testimonials, would shrug his shoulders, thinking: “This man cannot be trustworthy, for he has undergone severe punishment for neglect of duty as a sentinel, and that is a bad sign!”
Towards nine o’clock in the evening Röse was aroused from his sombre reflections by a rattling of keys at his door. The key turned in the lock, and in stepped the officer on duty, making his round, behind him the guard.
Röse jumped up, assumed a rigid military posture, and reported himself.
“Private Röse, sentenced to a fortnight’s confinement for neglect of duty while on guard!”
The officer cast a searching glance into the dark cell, trying to make out whether he could discover a forbidden object in it beside the blanket and the water-pitcher, and then he turned to go. But Röse hesitatingly and in humble tones said:
“Will the Herr Lieutenant permit me to make a respectful request?”
“Ask the guard if you want anything,” answered the officer shortly, and then descended the stone steps, his sword clanking.
The corporal on guard then turned and went back to Röse’s cell.
“What is it you want?” he asked, with a show of good-nature.
“I should like to know, Herr Corporal, whether a letter from home has arrived for me, and whether I could not have it!” answered Röse, shyly.
“Well, my boy,” laughed the corporal, “strictly speaking, that is something not permitted—first serve your sentence, then you can find out.”
But as he scanned closely the features of Röse, who was of his own squadron, and whom he rather liked,—noticing the melancholy face,—he felt pity for the poor fellow. It was really a hard thing to spend Christmas in jail for what probably was a mere oversight, or for what, according to Röse himself, he had not even committed. Therefore he said pleasantly:
“Well, I will inquire.”
He locked the door, and sent a man to Röse’s quarters with a request to the corporal there to call on him. When the man came over he asked him:
“Is there a letter for Röse?”
“A letter? No, but a package has come for him.”
“Let me tell you!” whispered the corporal. “Open the box and bring something of the contents over here. I feel sorry for the poor devil.”
The other nodded and disappeared, soon to return with a letter that he had found inside the package together with some dainty eatables. The corporal took it all and brought it up to Röse, and then he told a man to carry up a pail of coal to the cell.
In a few minutes the sheet-iron stove was aglow, and sent waves of warmth into the cold cell. Röse stood in front of it, and by the flickering light of the flames he slowly perused the letter of his parents. While he read tears were streaming down his face. Then he hid away under his pillow the other treasures,—a sausage and a cake,—wrapped himself into his blanketand lay down to sleep. In his dreams Röse was standing beneath the Christmas tree, and around him were his dear ones at home.
The twenty-eighth of December was a day of mourning for the fourth squadron.
All the men, including those who had just returned from leave, gave the last escort to a dead comrade. It was Dietrich, the good-service man, who was carried out to the cemetery.
He had always been of a weakly constitution; but he had been seized by a violent fever the day when he had returned, overheated, and wet to the bones from rain, after hard drill on the parade ground, and had had to spend the evening and the night in a cold room, because Roth had refused to furnish coal. Two days later the surgeon of the regiment established the fact that inflammatory rheumatism had supervened, and this had taken so bad a turn within a short time that the heart had become affected. On Christmas Day the poor fellow had died.
His parents had been summoned by telegraph to attend the funeral of their only son; but sickness in the family and other circumstanceshad prevented their coming, and thus the funeral took place without a single friend or relative being present.
The day afterward the fat reserve man, the one who had been injured by “Napoleon,” left the hospital. His injuries seemed healed; but the whole face was horribly disfigured by livid marks left from the sutures of the surgeon’s needle, and the left eye had been removed by an operation, since it had been feared that the other eye might also be lost unless prompt and radical measures were taken.
Maimed and crippled for life, the man returned to his home, discharged from the army for physical inability. A monthly pension of nine marks had been “generously” allowed him by the government.
Schmitz, the ex-sergeant, on New Year’s Eve sat in a scantily furnished room.
To earn a living, even if but a very poor one, he had been forced to take work as a common laborer in a large factory of the neighboring city. He had engaged board in a tenement house, with the family of a fellow-workman.
There he sat now, his head buried in his hands. On a plate before him were the remnants of a frugal supper, and a small lamp with broken chimney threw a reddish sheen on his immobile figure. Against the wall, above his bed, were hung his sabre and its scabbard, crosswise. On a small wooden stool stood a bowl, in which he had performed his ablutions, and a soiled towel hung from it. The fire in the small stove had long ago died down, and but a few coals were still glimmering feebly.
To see the man one would have imagined him asleep; but Schmitz was very much awake, and in his head wild thoughts were whirling. He was thinking of times past and gone; and the more his present circumstances contrasted with former ones, the more grimly rose his hatred against the man who had brought him to his present plight. He was planning his revenge, ruminating deeply how best he should punish the rascal, and how to brand him with a life-long reminder of his infamous deed.
A while longer he thus sat, brooding darkly; then he rose with clouded face and stepped to the window. He breathed against the panecovered with rime, until a small space had been formed through which he could peer out into the open. He saw the dial opposite on the church steeple, from which the bells melodiously rang out in full-toned peals the closing moments of the old year, and proclaiming the advent of a new one.
Midnight. Schmitz seized his hat, clapped it on, took his heavy cane into the right hand, blew out the lamp, and cautiously descended the dark staircase. On the ice-crusted step in front of the housedoor he lingered a moment, listening to the vibrations of the solemn bells. No other sound was audible; no human step could be heard—only the distant rush of air which, like the breath of a gigantic being, told of the thronged streets of a busy city.
Schmitz shiveringly turned up his coat collar, sank both his hands into his pockets, and went briskly, the cane under his arm, to the railway station. There he bought a ticket for his former garrison, but a few minutes away by rail, and stepped on board the train which had just rolled in.
Arrived there, he found the small town buriedunder a thick blanket of snow. From the barracks row upon row of lighted windows glimmered like stars from the distance. Every little while snatches of song or single chords, wafted towards him by the wind, gave sound in the night. Far away the ringing of church bells could be heard, coming not only from the steeples of the town itself, but from the villages and hamlets surrounding it,—a joyful greeting to the new year. From out of the dramshops and restaurants floated the sounds of loud talking, laughter, and singing of merry people, celebrating in hot punch the gladsome hour.
Schmitz went fleet-footed towards the end of the town where the barracks were situated. But when he came to a restaurant in the vicinity of the spacious building he made a halt. Cautiously he peered into the gloom around him, to make sure that nobody was near, and then he climbed to the top of a wall and looked intently into the lighted window below.
Sure enough, there sat Roth, a conspicuous figure in a company of fellow-drinkers; for in this place he habitually spent his evening hours,frequently far into the night, drinking and playing at cards.
Then carefully and noiselessly he climbed down and strolled on in the direction of the barracks. He turned into a rural pathway, lined on both sides by snow-capped hedges, and then stopped at a certain spot. He knew that Roth would pass him on his way home.
Schmitz had to wait a long while in the nipping air, but his blood bounded tumultuously through his veins; for his revenge, longed for with all his heart, was close at hand.
The keen-edged wind drove particles of snow before it and pricked his heated face like needle-points. The dead leaves of a tall beech-tree rustled over him, and he felt like a victor. Patiently, triumphantly, he waited.
Down below, where the pathway opened into the street, he now and then saw a dark shape reel past and disappear in the night like a shadow, the soft snow deadening the footfall. These were jolly roysterers, returning from their carousal.
From the steeple, some distance away, came the metallic voice of a bell striking the first hour of the new year, and Schmitz reckoned on theprobability that his foe would soon wend his way homeward.
But in this he deceived himself, for it was close unto two o’clock when the “Vice” at last turned into the lane. Schmitz could not be mistaken. His sharp eyes, by this time habituated to the dark, clearly made out the burly figure. He grasped his cane firmly in his hand, and his heart hammered in his bosom. Nearer and nearer Roth approached, now but a few steps away, his face almost completely hidden in the upturned collar of his cloak; but Schmitz saw the cruel, hard eyes, now dull and fishy from excessive indulgence in New Year’s punch. Roth was in a good humor, however, whistling to himself and dragging his sabre at his feet, walking with unsteady gait.
At this moment Schmitz stepped out from beside the hedge, and, his cane on his shoulder, he planted himself before the other.
Roth was startled, and looked keenly at the man who stopped his progress. He did not recognize him.
“What is it you want?” He mumbled thickly.
“To settle accounts with you,” was the brief answer. At the sound of the voice Roth visibly paled. For a moment the two stared at each other.
“Oh, I see, it is you, old fellow. And what do you want of me?”
“This is what I want!” shouted Schmitz, and with terrific force his cane came down on Roth’s head. A second blow followed, almost as hard, which hit him on the cheek, so that the blood rushed out of the wound. The “Vice,” taken unawares, made no motion to defend himself while Schmitz rained a shower of strokes on his body. Then at last Roth, wide awake now, felt for his sabre, partly drawing it from its scabbard; but Schmitz gave him no chance to use it. Like a famished wolf he seized his enemy by the throat, throttling him, and, dropping his cane, with his clenched fist he dealt him several fearful blows on forehead and mouth, winding up with a tattoo that sounded like the beating of a drum on the man’s skull. A violent push made Roth stumble and fall to his knees.
“So, now, you miserable cur, I have paid mydebt to you!” and saying which, he kicked his fallen foe. Then he turned on his heels and said, as a parting shot:
“Now go and report me again, you swine; but if you do I shall have another reckoning with you, and tell about some of your thieving!”
The former “foddermaster” felt that he had meted out justice, and he was fully prepared to take the consequences, no matter what they might be. Revenge is a sweet morsel.
Roth had to spend several weeks in the hospital, until he had recovered from his injuries. It was the hardest drubbing he had ever received in his life. Vanity forbade him to give a true version of the assault. He reported that he had been attacked by several drunken laborers, and claimed to have used his sabre with effect on one of them; but nobody believed his tale, for no wounded laborer was heard of in the little town, and physicians there and in the vicinity were equally ignorant of such a case. It was, therefore, generally assumed that Roth had met with his deserts at the hands of the ex-sergeant, and nobody pitied him.
FOOTNOTES:[8]A vice-sergeant-major in the German cavalry receives in legitimate pay and emoluments and rations, if married, about one dollar per day. But it is notorious that peculations, hush money, and bribes from privates often swell his income to ten times that amount.—Tr.[9]“One year’s volunteers” are those young soldiers in the German army who, by reason of superior education and because they pay for their own uniforms and accoutrements, serve but one year in the active army. They belong, of course, mostly to the well-to-do classes, and generally are promoted to the rank of officers in the reserves.—Tr.[10]“Gold fox,” a slang term for the German twenty-mark gold pieces.—Tr.[11]“Römer,” the name of prettily shaped glasses, usually of amber or emerald hue, in which Rhine and Moselle wines are served.—Tr.[12]“Slain a rich Jew,” a German phrase for “suddenly acquired wealth.”—Tr.[13]“Blue rag,” German slang term for bank notes of large amount.—Tr.[14]“Capitulation” means an arrangement by which a non-commissioned officer agrees to serve the government for a certain term of years.—Tr.
[8]A vice-sergeant-major in the German cavalry receives in legitimate pay and emoluments and rations, if married, about one dollar per day. But it is notorious that peculations, hush money, and bribes from privates often swell his income to ten times that amount.—Tr.
[8]A vice-sergeant-major in the German cavalry receives in legitimate pay and emoluments and rations, if married, about one dollar per day. But it is notorious that peculations, hush money, and bribes from privates often swell his income to ten times that amount.—Tr.
[9]“One year’s volunteers” are those young soldiers in the German army who, by reason of superior education and because they pay for their own uniforms and accoutrements, serve but one year in the active army. They belong, of course, mostly to the well-to-do classes, and generally are promoted to the rank of officers in the reserves.—Tr.
[9]“One year’s volunteers” are those young soldiers in the German army who, by reason of superior education and because they pay for their own uniforms and accoutrements, serve but one year in the active army. They belong, of course, mostly to the well-to-do classes, and generally are promoted to the rank of officers in the reserves.—Tr.
[10]“Gold fox,” a slang term for the German twenty-mark gold pieces.—Tr.
[10]“Gold fox,” a slang term for the German twenty-mark gold pieces.—Tr.
[11]“Römer,” the name of prettily shaped glasses, usually of amber or emerald hue, in which Rhine and Moselle wines are served.—Tr.
[11]“Römer,” the name of prettily shaped glasses, usually of amber or emerald hue, in which Rhine and Moselle wines are served.—Tr.
[12]“Slain a rich Jew,” a German phrase for “suddenly acquired wealth.”—Tr.
[12]“Slain a rich Jew,” a German phrase for “suddenly acquired wealth.”—Tr.
[13]“Blue rag,” German slang term for bank notes of large amount.—Tr.
[13]“Blue rag,” German slang term for bank notes of large amount.—Tr.
[14]“Capitulation” means an arrangement by which a non-commissioned officer agrees to serve the government for a certain term of years.—Tr.
[14]“Capitulation” means an arrangement by which a non-commissioned officer agrees to serve the government for a certain term of years.—Tr.
Duringthe last days of January the Casino was in an uproar. A number of mechanics, painters, and florists were busy transforming the rooms and corridors, even the veranda, with its adjoining conservatory, into a suite of daintily decorated festal halls. Numerous booths and tents were being erected, and all other preparations were made worthily to receive Prince Carnival, whose coming was timed for the first week in February.
Hundreds of potted plants and orange and laurel trees from the conservatory gave a gay and summer-like appearance to the ballroom. Placards painted and inscribed in suitable manner hung from the walls. In the booths and tents the usual array of eatables and “wet goods” of every description could be seen, to be sold by pretty womenfolk. One stage hadbeen fitted up for variety performances, while on another a circus was to be seen, in which a number of private soldiers, disguised as wild beasts, were to play leading parts under the eyes and whip of the trainer—none other than Captain Kahle. These men had been drilled for the purpose throughout the whole month.
There was also a stretch of natural greensward, laid down by the Casino gardener. This was to produce the illusion of a small park. Benches placed on it invited the guests to rest and to enjoy the music of a band upon a suitable stand, while Pilsen beer was to be handed to the audience by waiters. In an adjoining room mock marriages were to be performed, the fee to the officiating justice of the peace to consist in the purchase of a bottle of champagne. And, to complete the scene, arrangements had also been made to obtain a quick decree of divorce (by the same official) for all those couples who deemed themselves mismated after a short experience of an hour or so.
The large dining-room represented picnic grounds. On a platform wreathed in green there was room for an orchestra, and the trumpetersof the regiment had been ransacking the whole town for weeks in order to find ragged costumes and discarded garments of every kind, clad in which they were to represent village musicians.
Even photographers were there, to ply their trade in several tents, the outside of which showed a collection of ludicrous portraits and prints of various kinds. The purpose of this stratagem was, of course, to attract customers.
Naturally all these festivities, planned for weeks, formed the main topic of conversation with the members of the club, and the whole garrison was for the time being turned topsy-turvy. Every one intended to appear in as original and amusing a guise as possible, and there was much mutual consulting and guessing as to which particular rôle was to be assumed by each person.
Thus the opening night of the fête drew near. During the afternoon a crowd of hairdressers moved into the Casino, to assist members of the club in getting themselves up properly. The regimental tailor, with his aides, went from one officer’s house to another, making alterations orneeded repairs on the uniforms and costumes to be donned.
At seven in the evening the orderlies, in the black garments of waiters, were expecting the guests and members, and half an hour later these began to arrive in crowds.
It was a multi-colored, vivid picture, as all these persons, many of them good-looking and picturesquely attired, in all sorts of disguises, began to move in the brilliantly lighted halls, while the several bands, placed at coigns of vantage, struck up lively and inspiring airs. Dancing began at once, and champagne flowed in streams. At a garden table under an orange tree one could see a powerfully limbed peasant, his hawthorn stick between his knees, devouring a plateful of caviare, while his neighbor, a circus clown, was dissecting a lobster.
The most ludicrous figure, however, was Colonel von Kronau in his Polish farmer’s costume, wearing a fur cap on his head, and a tippet around his neck. If he had appeared in this disguise at the hog market in a Pomeranian town, every purchaser would have supposed him to be the “genuine article,” namely, a breederof porkers. And it was quite evident that he did not have to take much pains correctly to imitate the manners and gestures of the person he represented.
The champagne was paid for out of a common fund specially raised by all the members of the Casino. It was, therefore, not astonishing that the Herr Colonel was, after the lapse of one brief hour, deep in his cups.
His adjutant had not done well to disguise himself as a Polish Jew, for in that way he looked indeed too much his part.
Frau König was charming as a chambermaid, and her blue eyes radiated the pleasure she felt. As a young gamekeeper, Lieutenant Bleibtreu paid assiduous court to the aforementioned chambermaid. He had already proposed to her to visit the “marriage booth” in the adjoining room, and the justice of the peace was getting ready his paraphernalia. Only late at night, when the captain, her every-day husband, carried her home, did the pretty maid relinquish her newer claims upon the gamekeeper.
Frau Leimann presented herself as a peasant girl from the “Vierlande,”—a district nearHamburg,—and her costume looked indeed very picturesque, and became her well. Borgert noticed this fact with great pleasure, and the dainty figure and small nimble feet made a strong impression on his susceptible heart.
Frau Kahle, as a flower girl, was flirting desperately with the younger men. She also played her part very well, for the champagne in which she had liberally indulged began to exert its effects. Lieutenant Kolberg, as a modish dandy, had already purchased nearly her entire supply of flowers, and when, soon after, the remnant had gone, he claimed and obtained her as his partner for the dance.
Frau Captain Stark alone did not seem to belong in thismilieu. The choice of a costume, to begin with, had occasioned her deep and anxious thought. She felt that to follow her inclinations and appear at the masquerade in either the guise of a ballet dancer or of a flower girl would too markedly invite criticism. Her fifty years and her towering shape would really have made her too conspicuous in such parts. On the other hand, to show herself as a peddler woman or fishwife would have, so she feared, made herlook “too natural.” Having, therefore, discarded these notions, her fancy roved in the realms of the beautiful and fantastic, until it settled down upon a costume which, bespangled and with its garland of rushes, she declared to be that of a “mermaid of middle age.” Nobody was in a condition to contradict her, inasmuch as nobody recollected ever having seen a “middle-aged” mermaid before. She floated, as a matter of fact, in a cloud of pink and sea-green laces. The capacious bosom this cloud concealed from view rolled and heaved quite realistically, thus producing the effect of ocean waves, and her enormous arms were awe-inspiring enough to keep away all evening those in the crowd who had not got their sea-legs,—and that meant practically all the younger officers. At all other times her most dutiful slaves, these young men seemed to have conspired to leave the dreaded chief of the regiment’s nominal chief severely alone. Of course she felt this as an unpardonable offence, and this all the more as the colonel at an early hour was in an irresponsible condition, and hence listened to her violent plaint with stolid equanimity.
There was a male trio, too, that claimed some attention. They represented to the life merry, devil-may-care vagabonds, and so well did they act their parts that one would have supposed they had just been picked up on the miry highway outside. They deemed it, of course, strictly within their privileges to get drunk with all due speed,—an endeavor in which they admirably succeeded. From that hour on they became an unmitigated nuisance, not even atoned for by some humor or merry pranks. After midnight they were always seen in a bunch, steadying each other as they lurched along.
Lieutenant von Meckelburg, during the earlier part of the evening, stuck resolutely and almost silently to his assigned duty, it being that of an organ-grinder. He had picked up somewhere a villainous specimen of this instrument of torture, and with it had retired into a corner, wearing the ragged and faded clothes of an impecunious veteran of the wars, with his visorless, crumpled cap pulled over his eyes, and with a face which for unadulterated melancholy could not be duplicated. Hardly any one took notice of him, and his physiognomy grew sadderand sadder. At last, however, he left his organ in its corner, and visited the various bars where champagne could be had. With each generous libation his features cleared, and finally he got himself into a decidedly hilarious condition, and not only moved with his organ into the centre of the greensward, where he placed it on one of the benches, but accompanied its shrill and squeaking notes with a mellow basso of his own.
The bands meanwhile played their best and merriest, and as several casks of beer and some dozen bottles of cheap spirits had been provided for them, the members, both trumpeters of the regiment and civilian musicians hired for the night, devoted no inconsiderable portion of the intervals between their playing to frequent and prolonged visits to that small side-room where these drinkables had been placed ready for use. After a while they dispensed even with such formalities. They rolled the remaining casks up the steps of their podium, and shortly the faucet could be espied from among the greenery, and the musicians hovering about it. As a matter of course, their playing soon showed theeffects of all this tippling. One man particularly, one of the flageolets, became quite unmanageable,—or rather the instrument on which he was performing,—so that it usually was the space of a second or two ahead of the others. This weird music only ended with the removal of flageolet and man from the scene.
At eleven began the festal performance on the small stage constructed for the purpose.
One of the lieutenants led off with two topical songs rather too outspoken in the lessons they tried to convey. He was disguised as a prima ballerina for the purpose, and as a windup he danced, with great skill and abandon, a can-can. The ladies tittered and the men guffawed. After more of the same kind there was enacted a parody on Shakespeare’s “Hamlet.” The gentleman responsible for this version had employed radical means to clear the stage of all thedramatis personæ, at the end. Murder, suicide, poison, dagger, lightning even decimated their ranks, and when the curtain dropped there was not a soul of them left alive. The crowning effect of this parody was the appearance of the prompter himself before the footlights. In afew tear-choked words he informed the audience that after seeing the actors all die, and nothing but corpses around him, he could and would not survive, and so he made an end of himself, too, using a rope for the purpose.
The humor of the whole audience after that grew rapidly boisterous, and by midnight the tone of this carnival fête given by officers and their ladies could scarcely be distinguished from that rampant at a village kermess. If anything, it was a trifle more unconventional.
Lieutenant Kolberg had in the meantime found a cosy arbor into which to retire with Frau Captain Kahle, and more effectually to exclude intruders had placed a tall screen before the entrance.
A little “flirtation,” more or less serious, was something he could not do without, and since the garrison with its staid citizens and their staider wives and daughters did not furnish the material required for him, he had made up his mind to lay violent siege to the heart of the lady. He knew that it was a susceptible one, and from Pommer he had heard, in hours of bibulous intercourse, that siege in her casemeant speedy surrender. He had already progressed with her beyond mere preliminary skirmishes, and in their conversations with nobody near they had begun to use the intimate “thou,” and to call each other by their given names.
For his purpose, then, no better time could have been found than this very festivity, with all the allurements which champagne, music, the dance, and the hurly-burly of a huge crowd afforded. Shielded against indiscreet spies by the interlacing vines creeping all over this arbor, his love-making had proceeded at such a rapid pace that within an hour the little woman did not thrust her gallant wooer aside when he dared imprint a kiss on her swelling lips.
In another arbor, more in proximity to the champagne bar, First Lieutenant Leimann sat in lonely misery and shed rivulets of tears. His intoxication, in its more advanced stage, always took that form known technically as “howling desolation.” On this occasion it had seized him promptly after the ninth glassful.
His condition was in ludicrous contrast with the magnificence and dash of his attire, for he was dressed, regardless of expense, as aHungarian magnate of the first water, and he rejected with sombre scorn all attempts made by friends to commiserate him. His nearer acquaintances knew for a certainty that he would thus remain seated on top of an empty wine cask until the very close of the ball. For whenever the black devils of drink cast their spell over him in this fashion it required from four to six hours to emerge into a saner and somewhat soberer frame of mind. Just now his sobs shook his whole bony body. The divers orderlies who passed him held their sides with laughter, but he heeded them not.
His wife found the situation very annoying, and she therefore resolved to get one of her sudden attacks of headache. She retired, with signs of disgust on her pretty face, to another corner, and when Borgert joined her soon afterward, she requested him in mellifluous tones to escort her home.
As they reached the door of the house in which she with her husband occupied the upper part, while Borgert had his smaller lodgings on the ground floor, she sighed with some satisfaction and said in a low voice:
“The air has done me good; I feel much better now.”
“Then may I take you back to the Casino?” was Borgert’s answer, and the tone of his voice was full of disappointment.
“No, no, we will go up and have a cup of coffee; that will do us good, and I really do not feel like returning to that crowd of drunken people; it is simply disgusting!”
“Just as it pleases you, my most gracious lady!”
With that he inserted the key into the lock, opened the door, and both of them silently scaled the rather steep stairs, dark as Erebus.
When they had reached her cosy parlor, Borgert brought the lamp and lit it. He knew exactly the spot where he would find it in the dark, for his acquaintance with every nook of the apartments had come in the course of time with their mutual intimacy. Then he took up a newspaper and sat down in the sofa corner.
Frau Leimann had disappeared in the adjoining room; but it took her only a very few minutes to return, bearing in her hands the Vienna coffee machine, and presenting, nowthat she had resumed a comfortable and coquettish kimono in lieu of her masquerade costume, a most seductive picture.
“So,” said she, letting the heavy window curtains down, “now at last we are again where we can have a comfortable, undisturbed chat together.”
The first rosy dawn showed on the horizon as a heavy, lurching step was heard on the stone stairs outside. Frau Leimann blew out the lamp, and then resumed her seat on the sofa, leaning her head against the soft cushions.
Meanwhile Leimann had noisily opened the door leading into the corridor, and now stepped into the room where his wife was waiting.
For a moment he halted at the door. He thought he discovered the scent of cigarette smoke. Then he felt his way towards the table, found a box of matches, and lighted a candle. Then he saw his wife recumbent on the sofa.
The sight touched him. Had this faithful soul awaited his coming so long, in order to offer him a cup of coffee? Doubtless sleep had overtaken her, and she had not heard his step.So he cautiously approached her and imprinted a kiss on her forehead.
A nervous cry escaped her, and she quickly rose.
“Oh, it is you, Franz. Where did you stay so long?”
“Do not be angry with me, my angel, that I kept you awake so long; but I really never dreamed that you would do this. Why did you not retire long ago?”
The words sounded so full of affection,—almost like an excuse, like a prayer for forgiveness,—but they did not touch her; she simply yawned with some affectation, and stretched her arms as if dying for a sound sleep.
“Why, you know, Franz, that I had to wait for you; you were again in a fearful condition. When I saw you sitting in that way I felt so miserable that I could bear it no longer, and went home.”
“Alone,—so late at night? Why did you not have one of the orderlies escort you?”
“Borgert took me as far as the door; he offered to be my escort.”
“Well, I’ll have to thank him for that to-morrow, and, come to think of it, he is always very attentive to you. Where did he go afterwards; I never set eyes on him again the whole night.”
“He complained of a headache, and seemed to have had enough of the whole show. I suppose he went to bed long ago.”
“Why didn’t you offer him a cup of coffee?”
“But, Franz, what would the servants think if they heard me coming home with a gentleman so late at night? That would never do. Our maid, Marie, anyway, is listening and spying continually, and one has to take care not to let her hear things. I presume she has been telling tales out of school as it is.”
“Send her away then, if you have no confidence in her.”
“I would have done it long ago, but I can’t let her go until we have paid her wages. We’re several months behind with her.”
“Then pay her to-morrow.”
“What with? Have you any money?”
“I? What an idea. You know perfectly well that the few marks of my pay could neverkeep this household running. Hasn’t your mother sent the allowance this month?”
“No, she hasn’t anything to spare this time.”
“Oh, of course,—the old story.”
“Is that meant for reproach? You knew yourself that we were not rich. Do me the favor, therefore, to spare me your hints and complaints. I find them tactless and inappropriate at this late time.”
“Yes, you never want to hear about that. You ought to have known before you married me that to keep house without money is a beastly nuisance. Now we have this ceaseless dunning every day: one day it’s the butcher, the next the baker, and the day after the laundress,—and they all want money. I can’t cut it out of my hide.”
“But wasn’t it yourself who kept on urging and urging me until I promised to marry you? Didn’t you gainsay all my objections and insist on our marriage?”
“True enough; but you and your mother ought to have known better. You never ought to have consented, even if I was fool enough to insist on it. Your mother knew how much itcosts to keep house, and I didn’t. And now it is too late.”
“That I know myself, and you needn’t drive me crazy by constantly nagging at me. And it isn’t my fault, either; for if everything had turned out the way my mother desired, you would not have had to complain to-day that you are married to a woman without money. You were not the only one from whom I had proposals.”
“That you ought to have told me then,” replied her husband, with an ugly sneer. “I’m awfully sorry if I have interfered with your fine prospects.”
“You are more vulgar, Franz, than I thought you.”
“Oh, yes, women can never bear the truth. If one doesn’t flatter you the whole time and play on the tuneful lyre of love, you at once begin to find fault.”
“Well, I haven’t been surfeited with terms of affection by you.”
“That is merely because I don’t know how you have deserved them of me. Is it perhaps because I don’t know how to pay my shoemaker,or how to meet a whole bunch of bills that have come in the last fortnight? Oh, what a fool I have been! Instead of leading this dog’s life with you, I might to-day attend the Academy of War and lead a decent existence.”
“Hold your tongue, you vulgar brute; you have no right to insult me! Leave my room, or I shall leave the house!”
“Instantly, and with the greatest pleasure, my gracious lady! Pleasant dreams to you!”
So saying, Leimann violently slammed the door behind him so that the windows shook, and then went to his own bedroom.
But his wife buried her face in the sofa cushions and sobbingly sought relief in tears. That gave a vent to her feelings of hatred and rage against her heartless husband. Her whole soul rebelled against this brutal man whom she had married because he had sworn on his knees to her that he could not live without her. And now he roughly stamped into the ground the affection which she once had borne him. He desecrated all those recollections which are so dear to a woman’s heart, and which at critical points in her life are meant to be a stay and acomfort, and to make the burden of misfortune lighter to her.
And if, a short time before, when she had hastily parted from Borgert, she had felt something like remorse,—something of shame in having abused the confidence placed in her by her husband,—she now regarded herself as a victim, and her fault only in the light of a just revenge for his heartless conduct.
For at no time is the heart of woman more susceptible to temptation than at the moment when she feels herself betrayed and outraged in her best feelings.
Itwas plain daylight when the last guests left the Casino. Without exception, liberal indulgence in champagne and brandy had done its work, and the motley crowd that left the building thus “early” was in a decidedly boisterous mood, and the limits of decency and good manners had been passed by them hours before.
The nearby church bell struck the hour of seven as Captain Stark and his wife, as well as the colonel and his better half, climbed into the capacious vehicle that had been waiting for them at the door of the club-house for several hours. The horses had become stiff in the joints, and, with a cold and raw blustering wind to chill them, they were now forced to pull their heavy load on the miry highway leading toward town. The coachman had to use his whip freely to make the poor beasts break into a sorry trot;but at last the human load had been deposited before their doors.
Lieutenant von Meckelburg and First Lieutenant Specht could scarcely keep on their legs; but, nevertheless, they walked straight from the Casino to the barracks, where they were to give, each of them, an hour’s instruction to the recruits. They quickly doffed their fantastic gear—the organ had been left behind by the lieutenant; but when they appeared before their pupils the latter could scarcely suppress a shout of laughter. For Specht had in his hurry forgotten to remove his artificial moustache, and this gave him such an unusual appearance that it was only when his voice, somewhat shaken by alcoholic excesses, met the soldiers’ ears that they felt sure whom they had before them. The “instruction” he thus imparted was certainly very far from enlightening their minds on the duties falling to the share of a defender of the fatherland.
Most of the other officers preferred, however, a good long sleep, and simply ignored the work of the day. It was only towards noon when the first captain showed his face at the barracks.
Captain König and his faithful Lieutenant Bleibtreu were, in fact, the only officers of the whole regiment who attended to their duties in the forenoon, they having gone home at reasonable hours. Their principle was: first the work, and then the amusement.
Captain Hagemann showed himself in the streets, mounted on his favorite horse, as the noon hour struck. He had not yet recovered his equilibrium, and the horse seemed to appreciate that fact instinctively. He carried his master with such tender commiseration for the condition of the latter that he picked his way as carefully as if walking on ice.
Stark himself preferred to remain altogether at home. His “Kater”[15]was inexorable, and demanded a long, unbroken rest to find its way out of the muddled brain of its owner. His place in the regiment was, as usual, filled by his tireless lady. Holding her husband’s official note-book in her hand, she went her rounds, noticing the presence of all the men and non-commissioned officers, and making a black markagainst the name of Lieutenant Kolberg, as he was absent without leave.
At 1.30 she received a visit from Hagemann, who came to make most elaborate and humble excuses because he had been audacious enough to indulge in gibes at the expense of the doughty lady during the ball. In fact, while in the enterprising stage which forms so interesting a part of the effects produced on human bipeds by champagne, he had been bold enough to pay her some strongly ironical compliments in her capacity of “mermaid.” He had told her incidentally that she was eminently fitted for her part, as it was a well-known physiological fact that fat kept afloat on water. Frau Stark, who was proof at all times both against flattery and against the insinuating allurements of the foamy liquid, and who was as much matter-of-fact to-day as she had been the night before, merely deigned to accept these excuses with a small nod and a dry “That will do!”
Leimann, on his part, likewise started out on a tour of visits, the sole purpose of which was to offer much-needed explanations and apologies to nearly every member of the club whom hehad offended more or less seriously during the period of his “howling desolation.”
Night had come, in fact, when the larger number of the officers met at a solemn “Dämmerschoppen” at the Casino,—a process of applying hair of the dog that bit you to cure the injury. They discussed in voices still considerably husky and thick the doings and misdoings at the entertainment of the previous night. Criticism was applied freely to everybody who happened to be absent; but about Leimann judgment was unanimous: he was a beast.
It was Borgert’s part to report to the assembled “Corona,”[16]in his inimitable manner, about that part of the adventures of Kolberg and Frau Kahle which had come under his personal observation.
Nothing had escaped his lynx eye, and he related with great gusto what he had not failed to discover of the interesting proceedings in the arbor. Even the protection of the screen had not been sufficient to blind him.
While all these things were said about them,Kolberg and Frau Kahle were sitting near a good fire in his room, enjoying the renewal of their intimacy.
On pretext of necessary purchases, she had escaped the vigilance of her husband, and under the protection of the dark had hastened to that end of the town and to the garden behind the walls of which stood the small house inhabited by Kolberg. Tall chestnut trees, throwing their shadows over its roof, gave it additional seclusion.
What was there really for her to make life enjoyable? Aside from walks in the woods nearby there was nothing to do for her the live-long day, so that she felt it a positive blessing to have, as often as circumstances would permit, a cosy tête-à-tête with Kolberg. Her husband, too, was not the kind of man a woman could be happy with. Hard drinking and interminable hours spent at the Casino were all he cared for. The estrangement between him and his wife had been almost complete even before Pommer, and now, since his going, Kolberg had crossed her path.
In this way passed several months.
The secret of the intimate relations existing between Kolberg and Frau Kahle had slowly filtered down into all the strata of society represented in the little town, and they formed even one of the regular themes of conversation in the low-class dramshops on the outskirts of the town where the laboring population lived.
Even Kolberg’s comrades knew about it, but none of them felt rash enough to undertake mediation or interference in such a delicate matter where the tangible proofs seemed not within reach. It was to be expected, that if confronted with the facts of the case as far as these were palpable, both parties concerned would simply deny the damaging allegation, and in such a case the rôle of the advising friend might easily have become one of great difficulty. The accuser might then have been charged with assailing the honor of a lady of the regiment and that of a fellow-officer. Such a charge, in the absence of absolute proof, could have had but one issue. For who could tell whether the sole witness to some of the escapades of the two—that is, Kolberg’s man—would stick to his statementsas soon as he should see that circumstances became serious? Perhaps—and that seemed probable—he would entirely recant from fear of punishment for having secretly played the spy on his master. And suppose he then represented the facts in a more harmless light, who could gainsay him?
On the other hand, it was justly feared that thedénouementof this matter would raise much dust, and lead to the resigning of one comrade, to a serious duel, and to the disruption of another comrade’s household. And as Captain Kahle was rather popular with his comrades, because of his open-handedness and his easy good nature, nobody felt like opening his eyes to the miserable intrigue.
Therefore everything remained as it was, and only malignant gossip increased in volume, so that Captain König at last resolved to give the commander of the regiment a hint of affairs in a spirit of strict privacy.
But the colonel asked, as soon as the ticklish subject was broached:
“Do you report this to me officially? No? Well, then, I don’t want to know anything aboutit. I won’t burn my fingers in meddling with a matter of that kind.”
König himself did not feel like becoming the instigator of a most disastrous scandal. After all, it was not primarily an affair where he ought to take the initiative, and this aside from the further consideration that he would probably become involved in a duel by taking the lead in exposing the guilty parties. He therefore also made up his mind to keep quiet.
Thus it was that nothing was done by anybody to put a stop to all this mischievous talk, and to put out of the world a matter which was of the greatest injury to the regiment and to the whole corps of officers,—a matter, too, in which the civilian population was perfectly justified in pointing the finger of scorn at them. And whereas in other circles, in civilian ones, the guilty parties would under similar circumstances have been called to account, in this instance a state of things was permitted to exist for a number of months which scandalized every decent person who, while forced by social conventions to meet the offenders on terms of equality, would have entirely shunned themonce proper steps were taken to conciliate outraged public opinion. And this was all the more reprehensible because it affected a caste which deems itself superior to any other within the monarchy, and which believes itself to be the guardian of good manners and morals, and of a high conception of honor.
The largest measure of blame necessarily fell to the share of Colonel von Kronau. This gentleman, at all other times ready to proceed with stringent severity wherever he discovered slight breaches of discipline or of the mechanical details of drill, and who knew no clemency where nothing was to be feared for himself by playing the rigid taskmaster, in this instance tolerated this shameful thing; for he knew that interference in this particular would mean for him, in any case, serious inconvenience. Two things were possible. Either he would be charged with falsely accusing others, or else his position as commander would receive such a blow as to make it perhaps untenable, once his superiors should obtain knowledge of the actual state of affairs within the regiment. Neither of these contingencies was to his taste.
It was, therefore, with great relief that he one day received the official notification of Captain Kahle’s promotion to a majority, together with an order of the latter’s transference to a garrison in South Germany. That, then, meant the longed-for end of this horrible business, and he doubly rejoiced that he had not acted on the spur of impulse; for he doubted not that, if he had, the outcome would not have been as favorable.
Kahle felt naturally greatly elated at his unexpectedly rapid promotion. At last he had reached the goal of his ambition. For many years, ever since he had entered the army as a beardless stripling, it had been his aim to attain to a commanding position. And once up the ladder as far as major,—the critical point in the career of every German army officer,—he could with confidence await further promotions in the course of time; for he was not devoid of talent in his profession, and had devoted much serious study and research to its higher spheres, although the benumbing effects of the dissolute and monotonous life in the little garrison had also had upon him decidedly deleteriouseffects. He had acquired drinking habits, and his domestic peace had, as he was aware, for some time suffered therefrom; but he felt sure that amid new and more inspiring surroundings he could pull himself together and become once more his old self of former days. Hence the new Major Kahle felt happy, and no cloud disturbed his serenity. He was going to a large and lively city, and both he and his wife would reap the advantages of that. There was quartered there a considerable body of troops of various branches of the service, and his intercourse would, in consequence, greatly widen, and so would that of his wife. His income would be much larger, and the social attractions offered in the new place,—such as diverse entertainments, concerts, a good theatre, and the opera,—would do much to restore that sense of contentment to his volatile spouse which she had seemed to lack for long.
The day after his promotion had become public,—a “Liebesmahl”[17]assembled the entirecorps of officers at the Casino. Specially to honor the departing major, the colonel had ordered full-dress uniform, and Kahle himself, a man of tall and commanding figure, made a fine show in all the glory of his orders, silver tassels, and broad stripes.
After the second course the colonel arose and made an impressive speech in behalf of the departing comrade. In it he paid high tribute to the new major’s popularity and to his eminent military virtues. At its close he handed to Kahle the usual silver tankard, bearing the initials and insignia of the regiment.
Kahle was greatly moved by these tokens of esteem, and he thanked the colonel in a short, manly way. In his farewell speech the joy of his promotion was the predominant note; but there was an undertone of sadness at parting, after so many years, from comrades and a garrison he had known so long. Often, it is true, he had sighed for a change, and there had been a good deal of worry and annoyance in this world-forgotten little town close to the French frontier; but now, when the hour of parting came, it cut him, nevertheless, to the quick tohave to leave it all behind. Such is the weakness and inconsistency of frail human nature.
Next day he left by the noon train, and the officers were assembled at the station in full force to bid him good-bye. Brief military leave-taking,—just a shake of the hand and a word or two. The colonel formally and affectionately kissed him on the cheek, and then Kahle bade leave to his wife and their little son. His heart was heavy, and it cost him something to conceal the tear which had stolen into a corner of his eye. He had fully resolved to make his married life hereafter a happier one, and to have once more a real home. It was this thought in his mind which made parting with his wife particularly cordial. He trusted that she would rid herself of those bad habits she had acquired here, and that different environs would soon sweep from her memory recollections of life in this little town, where he and she had been forced to spend the best years of their lives, at the frontier,quasioutcasts of the empire.
Until arrangements could be made by him for new and comfortable quarters in the garrison he was going to, Frau Kahle was to stayon here, and First Lieutenant Weil and wife had asked her, to make things pleasanter for her, to remain as a guest at their dwelling for the short intervening time.
Joyfully Frau Kahle had accepted the friendly invitation. Thus she would have occasion thoroughly to enjoy herself with Kolberg until the hour of separation from him should strike. She felt with great relief that with her husband away she had no longer to give an account of her actions to anybody.
One day the Weil family were seated with their guest at table, when a military servant brought in a letter for Frau Kahle which the carrier had just left. She opened it, rapidly looked over its contents, and then put it away in the pocket of her robe, her cheeks reddening.
“Frau Pastor Klein is writing me to come and take a cup of coffee with her this afternoon, since she wants to see me once more before my going,—amiable of her, isn’t it? I think I will start at once, so as not to be too late.”
She arose, and sidled out of the room with a “Till this evening, then!”
A few minutes later Weil saw her hasteningdown the street in the direction of the town.
“Strange!” he then said to his wife. “I don’t think she ever associated with her before, and scarcely knows her. I hope this is not one of madame’s little tricks.”
“Let her go where she will, Max,” retorted Frau Weil, indifferently. “It’s none of our affair. She will leave in a day or two, anyway, and, after all, she is responsible for her own actions.”
But Weil shook his head doubtfully and went to his study.