Part 13 (1/2)

CHAPTER V

”So pa.s.s the bottle about, hurrah!

Gaily sing and shout, hurrah!

Jolly artillerymen are we!”

(_Artillery song._)

Sergeant Schumann looked once more round the two rooms and the kitchen; no, nothing had been left behind. Only his overcoat and hat hung on the window-bolt, and his stick stood in the corner.

The civilian clothes did not please him at all. Every other minute his hand was up at his neck, feeling for a collar-band which seemed to be much too loose, but which, in reality, was not there at all.

His wife came in, busy as ever, in her hat and cloak, a little leather bag and an umbrella in her hand. She was to start at noon for the little mountain railway-station, where she would get the house ready for the furniture, which should arrive during the day. The sergeant-major, or rather the station-master's a.s.sistant, had some money matters to settle in the garrison town, and would not follow her until the next morning.

Frau Schumann was quite out of breath. Those stupid gunners had been so disagreeable when she wished to have her flowers put in the furniture van. She began excitedly: ”Thank G.o.d, Schumann, the van is ready. Here are the keys. It's quite time for me to go to the station, isn't it?”

Schumann looked at his watch and growled: ”Certainly, quite!”

”Then I'll be off,” said the little woman.

But she remained standing in the middle of the room, seemingly unable to tear herself away.

”Dear, dear!” she said, ”for years I have wished to leave this place, and now that we are really going I feel quite sad; don't you, Schumann?”

The sergeant-major muttered something unintelligible. If it had depended on him the house would not now have been empty and the furniture-van before the door. It was his wife who had worried him into it, and yet now probably she would begin to snivel.

Indeed, she had just taken her handkerchief out of her pocket and raised it to her eyes, when suddenly her face changed: ”Good gracious!

our bean-poles are still in the garden! I'm not going to leave them behind. Fancy it's only occurring to me now!”

She was hurrying out. But the sergeant-major got in the way and held up his watch in her face.

”Look here!” he said. ”If you don't stir your stumps you'll miss your train.”

She was alarmed: ”Good heavens, yes, of course! I'm going. Good bye, Schumann! Look after everything, and--and--good bye.”

Standing on tiptoe she reached up for a kiss from her husband and was quickly out of the door.

Schumann drew a long breath. She was his dear wife, but now that he had to say farewell to the battery he preferred to be alone, without her.

He stood still in the doorway.

A driver had just brought two horses out of the stable and was harnessing them to the furniture van.

Schumann had not taken much to do with the horses of late years; he knew that they were thoroughly well cared for under Heppner's superintendence, and the deputy sergeant-major was rather apt to resent any interference with his department. But he would have failed in his duty if he had not, in spite of this, kept himself informed of all that concerned the horses; if, in fact, he had not been individually acquainted with each one of them.

Sergeant Schumann went down the steps. He must begin his leave-taking--so he would first say good-bye to the horses.

Slowly he pa.s.sed between the stalls. At that moment the strong smell of the stable seemed to him more delicious than the most fragrant scent, more delicious than the resinous forest breeze which blew through the valley where the little station of the mountain railway lay surrounded by pine woods.

There stood the beautiful creatures side by side in splendid condition and with coats like satin. Nearly all of them were dark bay, and according to temperament they stood stolidly staring before them, or pawed impatiently at the straw, or playfully bit and teased each other.