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:--

[Illustration: Reveille]

CHAPTER IX

"The bullets are all of iron and lead;
But it's not every bullet will strike a man dead."
(_Old Soldier-song._)

Klaere Guentz 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. Klaere 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