Albina sighed. What sort of show could one make with a husband like that? It was fortunate that he kept out of the way so much.
But the time began to hang very heavy on her hands. From sheer ennui she took to having her hair curled.
The barber who shaved the sergeant-major every morning had already offered his services, commenting in a most flattering manner on the magnificent hair which he said she did not show off to the best advantage.
Albina had hitherto passed him proudly by. She despised barbers. But now she began to observe him more closely. He appeared to her a polite, agreeable, young man; he was good-looking too, even elegant. And he was entertaining. He could tell her the most interesting things about all sorts of people.
"You see, madam," he used to say, "a barber is one of the family almost. He sees people in déshabille, as it were. And sometimes one learns all manner of strange things. Of course the honour of the profession forbids gossiping. But there is no harm in repeating little trifling occurrences. Don't you think so? It amuses one's clients; and that is quite permissible."
Albina entirely agreed with him.
Here was at least a man with whom one could have some rational conversation.
During the exercises one morning the captain came riding up to the sergeant-major.
"You must go back home at once, Heimert," he cried. "The major wants the regulations that were in force at the last manœuvres. Look them out, and send them over to the division at once, will you?"
"Now, at once?" asked Heimert.