Here was a fine piece of gossip, and strange to say, in this, too, things were as before; it was not the first time that Major Schrader and Frau von Gropphusen had afforded material for conversation.

Dr. von Froben continued: "But you must not think, Reimers, that in such matters I am a bigoted moralist. Ideas of morality are subject to just the same fluctuations as----"

And he dealt out what remained in his memory of a newspaper article, the writer of which had entirely misunderstood Nietsche.

After the toast of "The King," a momentary silence fell upon the company, contrasting strangely with the clatter of voices which had preceded it.

During this lull in the conversation the word "China" was spoken somewhere near the colonel, and all eyes involuntarily turned to Madelung.

He sat there stiffly with his cold face, a cynical smile on his thin lips. "Dangers!" he cried in his hard voice, which had the shrillness of a musical instrument that has lost its resonance, "Dangers! I knew nothing about them."

He laughed drily.

Captain Heuschkel, who was always worrying about his fat horses, inquired: "Well, against such an opponent, surely cover had to be considered most of all. Wasn't it so? that cover was of more importance than action? Ten thousand of those yellow fellows were not worth a single trained soldier, surely?"

"Or one of my horses," he added in his own mind. He would probably have committed suicide if he had seen one of his horses shot by a dirty Chinaman.

"Surely it was a question of good cover, wasn't it?" he insisted.

"No," answered Madelung in a loud voice. "It was a question of keeping your fingers out of your mouth."

"What on earth had that to do with it?" put in Captain von Stuckardt, rather hesitatingly.

Madelung bowed with ironical politeness.

"Infection with the typhus bacillus," he replied, "was the princ.i.p.al danger in China, Captain von Stuckardt."

After a little pause the shrill voice continued: "We had a senior-lieutenant in our cantonment, belonging to some Prussian grenadier regiment, a gay fellow, and, indeed, quite a useful officer besides."

Madelung paused a moment, and again his dry, mocking laugh resounded.

Then he continued: "He had a queer fad. He cultivated one of his finger-nails, that of the little finger of his left hand, with the greatest care. Just like a Chinese mandarin. At last the nail was fully a centimetre long, and made holes in all his gloves. Now, whenever a speck of dirt lodged in this nail, he was in the habit of removing it with his teeth. It wasn't exactly a nice thing to do; but, you see, he had a pa.s.sion for that nail. I often said to him, 'My dear fellow, do keep your finger away from your mouth--it's just swarming with typhus bacilli.' He did try, but sometimes he forgot; and so in the end he was caught."

Every one looked inquiringly at Madelung, and he added: "He died of typhus."

He sipped his wine, and continued, rather more gently: "I firmly believe that it required greater self-control in that senior-lieutenant to refrain from putting his little finger into his mouth than to lead his men under the heaviest fire against one of those Chinese clay and mud walls."

Then he raised his voice again, as if ashamed of the rather gentler tone of his last words, and concluded, harshly and shrilly: "Besides, it really is a bad habit, putting one's fingers in one's mouth."

And again he sat silent and stiff, twirling the little silver wheel of the knife-rest.

The feast then took the usual course.

After the table had been cleared some of the officers remained in the mess-room sitting over their wine, while others went off to the reading or smoking-rooms with a _schoppen_ of Pilsener. In the mess-room the talk became more and more noisy, while in the adjoining rooms quieter conversation was the rule. A couple of inveterate card-players started a game of skat; and in the billiard-room Captain Madelung amused himself alone, making cannon after cannon. At his first miss he put down his cue and waited impatiently for the colonel's departure, that being the signal for the official close of the festivity. Madelung left almost immediately after Falkenhein, and the majority of the married men followed his example.

At last only lieutenants remained, except Major Schrader and Captain von Gropphusen. The one other senior officer, Captain Mohr, did not count. He had not quitted his seat the whole evening, and still went on persistently drinking with the a.s.sistant-surgeon, an exceedingly stout man, with a face scarred by students' fights. The scars were glowing now as if they would burst.

The subalterns could feel quite at their ease, for Schrader and Gropphusen were no spoil-sports.

Manitius now sang his "Behuet dich Gott," rather unsteadily, accompanied by Frommelt, who was quite tipsy. The song was a great success, for the young _avantageur_ was overcome by emotion, and began blubbering about a certain Martha whom he loved prodigiously, and whom he must now abandon, because he would never be permitted to marry a barmaid. On this Schrader suddenly tore open his uniform and offered him nourishment from his hairy breast, and the boy sank weeping into his arms.

At last the comedy grew wearisome. The _avantageur_ was sent off to bed, and Frommelt had to play a cancan, to which Gropphusen and Landsberg danced. Gropphusen was supple and agile, and, with his pale, handsome, rather worn face, looked a perfect Montmartre type.

Landsberg, on the contrary, cut a grotesque figure, kicking up his long shoes in the air, and as he did so almost choking in his unduly high collar.

The company became smaller and smaller, and at last only two groups were left.

In the card-room half-a-dozen men still sat awhile at one of the tables, and in the mess-room Captain Mohr and the junior surgeon continued drinking. They had long ago given up conversation; but occasionally one of them would say "Prosit!" and then they would both drink. When at last they left their seats they found the orderly in the ante-room half-asleep, half drunk, fallen from his chair, and lying snoring on the ground.

Growling "d.a.m.ned swine!" the a.s.sistant-surgeon kicked the man till he rose, and with an effort stood upright.

When the last two officers had left the mess-house he locked the doors, drank the end of a bottle of champagne, and lay down to sleep on the sofa in the smoking-room.

The sofa-cover was a sacred relic, a present to the mess-house from an officer in the East African forces, who had formerly belonged to the regiment. It was a magnificent specimen of Oriental art. The orderly found the thick gold embroidery very uncomfortable to his cheek; but then it certainly was a fine thing to scratch his head with!

When Reimers, who had left early, reached his quarters, he was surprised to find his servant waiting up for him.

"Why on earth are you not in bed?" he inquired.

Gahler answered respectfully, "Beg pardon, sir, on such occasions the count used sometimes to need me; he often went out again."

"Well, I don't. So remember that in future," enjoined Reimers.

Gahler still waited, and asked, "Would you like some tea, sir?"

Reimers looked up. Not a bad idea that! He was too much excited to sleep, for he had been obliged to pledge his comrades far too often, and a cup of tea would be just the thing. After that he would read a few pages, and only then try to go to sleep.

"Yes, make me some tea," he a.s.sented, "but not too strong."

He put on a comfortable smoking-jacket. Gahler brought his tea almost immediately, and with it a plate of anchovy sandwiches.

Reimers smiled. It certainly paid to have for one's servant the quondam groom of an elegant cavalry officer. He gave Gahler a friendly nod, and said, "I think, Gahler, that we shall get on capitally together."

The gunner stood at attention.

"Any other orders, sir?" he asked.

"No. Good-night."

"Good-night, sir."

Reimers ate a few mouthfuls as he walked up and down the room; then he carried the green-shaded lamp to his writing-table, and took down a volume of the official history of the great Franco-Prussian War.

He spread out the marvellously accurate maps, and began, as he had done so often before, to follow the various phases of his favourite battle, the three days' fight on the Lisaine. That was the only great defensive battle of the campaign, clearer and easier to follow than any other in its simple tactics, almost suggesting the typical example of a textbook, and yet what a living reality! Almost at the same moment when the German Empire was being proclaimed at Versailles, Bavarians were fighting shoulder to shoulder with East Prussians, regiments from Schleswig next those from Upper Silesia, soldiers from the Rhine-provinces side by side with soldiers from Saxony: a glorious demonstration of the newly achieved unity.

His admiration for the valiant defenders was no greater than his pity for the tragic fate of the attacking army, which, almost dying of starvation, had fought with the wild courage of despair, and had deserved a more honourable reward than to be driven along that terrible path of suffering to the Swiss frontier. Not less tragic was the fate of its commander; a fate, indeed, which Bourbaki shared with the other military leaders of the Republic. All those generals, Aurelle de Paladines, Chanzy, Faidherbe, Bourbaki, who at the brave but somewhat futile summons of the Committee of National Defence tried to arrest the victorious advance of the German army, were inevitably doomed to defeat; and even the inspiration of a military genius could not have got over the fundamental mistake that had been made, of considering the impossible possible.

Reimers looked up from the book with a glowing face. He had followed the French army as far as Pontarlier. That was the moment in which the German forces commanded the largest area. In the west the Rhinelanders were gazing astonished at the winter waves on the ca.n.a.l, while to the east, Pomeranians greeted the sentinels of the Swiss frontier.