nn entered the parade-ground he heard a voice shout from the
steps: "The sergeant-major is going!" And in a moment all came running
towards him, the drivers and gunners, old stagers and raw recruits, the
entire battery crowding round to shake hands with him once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sergeant-major pressed his hand with special heartiness, and
breathed freely: Thank God, Niederlein made up for Wolf! Once when ill,
and left alone in the dormitory, Niederlein had broken open a locker
and appropriated a piece of sausage therefrom. Schumann had caught him
red-handed. Thieving from a comrade was a serious offence, entailing
severe punishment and public disgrace; but Schumann knew Nied