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 manoeuvres 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 my absence. 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 sorry
for 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