"Keep your hair on, brewer!" said Count Plettau to Truchsess; and putting on a superior tone: "We don't understand all this, you see! this is the higher kind of patriotism! Lieutenant Brettschneider ought to have a medal, instead of being blamed by such as you!"
He also was beside himself with rage over the exasperating piece of folly he had witnessed. Hang it all! if he had not been so seriously concerned to get to the end of his long years of service he would certainly have put a spoke in the wheel of this young gentleman, the senior-lieutenant. But no; that would be too foolish. Only a few days more and he would be free at last; he could not play tricks with his chances.
Suddenly he laughed aloud.
"You keep your mouths shut, boys!" he said, "otherwise you may get into trouble yourselves. But don't worry! When I have got over the next few days I'll give the senior-lieutenant the lesson he wants!"
The turnpike-keeper, Friedrich August Vogt, was gazing in surprise on a letter which the postman had just pushed in at the little window. The superscription was in the hand-writing of his son, but the post-mark bore the name of the capital.
What was the boy doing there? He had written nothing as to any prospective change. Well, the letter itself must explain.
At first the old man could not understand the written words. He read them through a second and a third time. At last he comprehended what had happened. He sat on his chair as if paralysed, and read the last page of the letter over and over again without attaching any meaning to it.
His son wrote from the prison where he was now detained as a prisoner awaiting trial. He related all that had passed straightforwardly and without excusing himself.
"To-day I have been shown the charge against me," he concluded. "It is a case of wilful disobedience before all the other men. I believe it is an offence that is rather severely punished, and I know, too, that I am not without blame. But perhaps, dear father, you will not condemn me altogether; perhaps you will be able to imagine what my feelings must have been. For your sake alone I ought to have been able to control myself, and I beg you to forgive me for not having done so."
The turnpike-keeper jumped up suddenly from his chair. He flung the letter violently down on the table and struck it with his fist. He felt full of uncontrollable anger against this boy, who had brought shame upon him in his old age at the end of an honourable and blameless life. And why? because my gentleman did not choose to obey orders! because he had chosen to feel injured! A soldier to feel himself "injured" by the blame of his superior! So these were the new-fangled times of no discipline and no respect for one's betters!