The results of the election were known in the village by seven o'clock. One hundred and fifty-three votes had been registered: seventy-seven for the social-democrats, seventy-six for the conservatives. It was the first time there had been a socialist majority in this place. The social-democrats had, therefore, every reason for rejoicing. They sat in the little inn at the end of the village, which was only able to maintain itself through the political disagreements of the villagers, and drank success to their party in the ultimate result of the election throughout the whole constituency. The peasants in the bar of the big inn were not less hopeful; they comforted themselves by declaring that the result in such a small place was of no real consequence. Nevertheless, it was a disgrace to think that there were now in the village more red revolutionists than loyal subjects.
The morning of August the 10th dawned bright and glorious; the day on which Plettau, after so many long years, came once more under the jurisdiction of civil law. It was one of those mornings when it is a joy to be a soldier; when every wearer of the uniform feels heartily thankful that his day's work is to be done out in God's free open world of nature, and not behind a desk or in some overheated factory.
The inspection of the battery was fixed for half-past seven. Lieutenant Brettschneider had had his men out since six, and had already robbed them of their last remnants of good temper. Here he had discovered a helmet the polish of which was not bright enough to please him, there a coat the sleeves of which were too long; or he had waxed wroth over some head of hair that he considered insufficiently cropped. And all this, while "stand at attention" was the order; so that the men got cramp in their legs, and sneezing fits from staring the whole time in the face of the morning sun.
At last the battery was drawn up on the parade-ground, and Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider was ready to do himself credit. The colonel was seen slowly approaching, accompanied by Major Schrader on one side, and by Captain von Wegstetten on the other. Brettschneider hastened towards them to report that the battery was in position.
The colonel received his announcement graciously. "Let the men stand at ease," he commanded. And when Brettschneider had called out the order, he returned to his place to begin the parade.
Then occurred something very startling.
A shout was heard: "Holdrio, hoho!" And then again: "Holdrio--yoho-hoho o!" And again a third time: "Holdrio--yoho--yoho--hoho--o--o!"
The yodel was evidently sounding from the slope of the opposite hill. Every one looked that way; and, behold, on the hillside appeared the figure of Count Egon Plettau, still dressed as for his discharge, in the grey drill trousers and much-patched coat.
He waved his cap to the battery; then he lowered his hands, while the eyes of the onlookers followed in suspense his every movement.
He let down the grey drill trousers; and there in the full blaze of the morning sunshine he went through a certain performance which even the Scythians--suggesting though they did to Greek art the original conception of the centaur--could certainly not have achieved without descending from horseback.