Towards nine o’clock in the evening Röse was aroused from his sombre reflections by a rattling of keys at his door. The key turned in the lock, and in stepped the officer on duty, making his round, behind him the guard.
Röse jumped up, assumed a rigid military posture, and reported himself.
“Private Röse, sentenced to a fortnight’s confinement for neglect of duty while on guard!”
The officer cast a searching glance into the dark cell, trying to make out whether he could discover a forbidden object in it beside the blanket and the water-pitcher, and then he turned to go. But Röse hesitatingly and in humble tones said:
“Will the Herr Lieutenant permit me to make a respectful request?”
“Ask the guard if you want anything,” answered the officer shortly, and then descended the stone steps, his sword clanking.
The corporal on guard then turned and went back to Röse’s cell.
“What is it you want?” he asked, with a show of good-nature.
“I should like to know, Herr Corporal, whether a letter from home has arrived for me, and whether I could not have it!” answered Röse, shyly.
“Well, my boy,” laughed the corporal, “strictly speaking, that is something not permitted—first serve your sentence, then you can find out.”