He heard the key turn in the lock without realising what was happening. Then the steps retreated from his door, once more the great bunch of keys jingled, another door was opened, creaked unwillingly on its hinges, and was slammed to and locked.
The voices of the non-commissioned officers resounded in the stone-paved corridor as they returned to the guard-room.
"What have the fellows done?" asked the soldier on guard.
The answer was almost lost behind a corner of the passage: "Murder--Sergeant Keyser."
The reservist still stood motionless beside the stool. He was trying in vain to think why he was here. What was he doing here, when it was to-day that he was at last released from the hated discipline? He passed his hand over his eyes, as if to remove something that was covering them, and mechanically he pressed down the latch of the door.
It was indeed true; he was locked in.
Again the key sounded in the lock, and the corporal on guard entered. Behind him a gunner brought a jug of water into the cell, set it down, and at once retired.
"Why haven't you changed yet?" asked the corporal.
The reservist stared at him blankly, without comprehension.
"Damnation!" thundered his superior. "Change your clothes this moment, do you hear?"