our whole military system; as if
Madelung's and Wegstetten's and my own work were bound to be labour in
vain."

He stopped suddenly. His usually cheerful face had grown careworn and
gloomy.

"How do you mean?" asked Reimers.

The other sighed, and answered, "Dear boy, I cannot say more as yet; I
have not fully thought it out. I will first make an attempt to settle
down to the work here. I promise you, as soon as my own mind is clear,
I will tell you honestly what is bothering me."

Reimers suspected moisture in the eyes of his friend, as they clasped
hands.

Guentz went on softly: "Dear old boy, it's pretty hard when a man finds,
or thinks he finds, that he has devoted his life to a fruitless,
hopeless business! What is such a man to do? But it is possible that I
am right in my fears--and of that I cannot bear to think."

"What fears do you mean?"

"I can't help myself. I am often forced to remember that we've had a
bad time before."

"Before when?"

"Before Jena."

Reimers started. The ominous word struck his pride like a lash. He drew
himself up stiffly. "Why not before Sedan?"

The other calmly answered: "Sedan? Jena? Perhaps you are right, perhaps
I am. No one knows."

After this conversation Guentz avoided such topics with his friend. If
Reimers tried to draw him again on the subject, he answered evasively,
"I have told you I must fight it out with myself. Until then I don't
want to talk at random."

But for all that he grew calmer and more equable. The biting, sarcastic
tone he had adopted gradually disappeared; and it almost seemed as if
the mood had been merely a survival of his Berlin experience.

At Easter a small event occurred in the little garrison,

During Holy Week Colonel von Falkenhein took a short leave of absence
in order to fetch his daughter Marie home from school at Neuchatel.
After Easter she was to come out into society.

Reimers debated whether he ought not to pay his respects to the
Falkenheins during the holidays. Most of the unmarried officers had
gone away on leave, and on Easter Monday he was alone in the mess-room
at the mid-day meal.

Finally he decided to pay his visit that afternoon.

He was not in the least curious about the young lady. He remembered her
as Falkenhein's little Marie, three years ago, before she went to
school; a pretty, rather slender little girl, with a thick plait of
bright gold hair down her back, blushing scarlet when one spoke to her
an