When he saw the others praying he set down his burden. His toothless mouth stammered out his words with difficulty.
"What are you praying for?" he said. "That the Lord will grant her eternal rest? Look at her, then! Isn't eternal rest written on her face?"
Reimers reached the practice-camp again when his brother-officers were at mess.
It was only on alighting from the carriage that he remembered Frommelt's commission. He was staggered a little at this neglect; but after all what did such trifles matter? He smiled to himself that he should trouble about it now.
In his own room he threw himself upon the hard camp-bed. The bare place felt stifling, although the window was wide open. The white-washed walls seemed narrowing about him, and he felt as if he would be suffocated.
He shut his eyes wearily. Then the troubled vision disappeared, and he had a feeling of freedom and deliverance, a grateful sensation of release from the limitations of matter, as though borne aloft into the unconfined regions of cosmic space.
The mounted sentry patrolling the forest passed by the window. The man had settled himself comfortably on horse-back, and his hanging bugle and accoutrements jingled. As he came near the creaking of the saddle could be heard. By degrees the sounds subsided, though the metallic tinkling was perceptible for a long time.
Perhaps, however, that gentle sound was but the prelude to some illusion of the senses.
Then voices sounded from the mess-room: the high crowing tones of Wegstetten and the mellow bass of Major Lischke, The little captain was grumbling about the food.
"No, no, major," he piped. "The mess-steward sets disgusting stuff before us, and that's the truth. Now, to-day beef and potato-soup? Pah! It was lean old cow, as tough as shoe-leather! And soup? hot water and Liebig!"