At the door he gave a last look round the bare barrack-room. Once these grey walls had seemed almost home-like to him; once, when the faithful Klitzing had the locker next his own. But that was long ago.
He went down the steps and out towards the back-gate, In the drill-ground the battery, just returned from exercise, was drawn up.
Vogt pulled off his hat and the captain slightly touched his cap. The greeting looked almost embarrassed.
This was a topsy-turvy world. Wegstetten's eyes chanced to rest on Gustav Weise, who was in his place in the right wing as corporal in charge of the first column. It would be unjust to complain of him; Weise did his work very well. But the captain would have preferred to see a Corporal Vogt in his stead.
In front of Weise stood Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider as leader of the first column. With his stiffened neck and proudly erect carriage he gave the impression of wishing to point out what an immense gulf separated him from the men. Between this officer and his subordinates there was no kind of sympathy.
And at that sight the commander of the battery looked still more glum. Brettschneider might have been quite brilliant at the Staff College in tactics and military history, but he was of no real use as an officer; still less could he instil into the men either military efficiency or convinced patriotism.
When Vogt arrived at the station the train he had meant to take had already gone.
Well, that couldn't be helped. He must wait for the next.
The dull February day was drawing towards its close when he stepped out upon the road that led to his native village. Joylessly he saw the familiar details of the neighbourhood appearing out of the fog, and he gave a casual, uninterested glance over the fields that bordered the highway.
Before the turnpike-keeper's cottage he stood still a moment. The dusty windows looked strange and dead; and the closed door over the well-worn threshold seemed to warn him off.