"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. By the way, have you heard," went on the Uhlan, "what is said to have happened in a line regiment at a festival dinner? A fellow—I don't like to use the word comrade in such a connection—well, as I was saying, a fellow made a fool of himself, and in his drunkenness—for I must call his condition by that name—he gave an ensign a sounding box on the ears at the dinner-table because the latter, in his opinion, did not jump up quickly enough when the besotted beast pledged his health."
"It's incredible!"
"Nevertheless it is true."
"Do you know what will happen next?"
Baron Gersbach shrugged his shoulders. "What can happen? They cannot fight a duel, for it is impossible for an ensign to challenge his superior."
"Yes, that is so," agreed the other.
"There are only two possible ways of settling the thing: either the lieutenant, if he should ever become sober again, must beg the ensign's pardon in the presence of the officers and all those who witnessed the affair, or the lieutenant must flee, and then the ensign must settle with himself whether he will go on living with the blow on his cheek unavenged. But in any case his career is all over—at any rate in our regiment. An ensign who had suffered such a box on the ears would not be made an officer."
Both were silent for a moment, then the signal was given to fill the glasses. The two officers drank each other's health, and the Uhlan continued: "One can't help feeling very sorry for the unfortunate ensign; he is said to have been entirely blameless in the whole affair, and to attack an ensign is really far worse than to insult one's equal. But these things happen to-day because they are not more careful in the choice of men who are going to be officers. To-day, anybody who has the necessary cash, and belongs to a family that has not come into conflict with the police, can become a lieutenant."
The other acquiesced. "Alas, it is such a pity that the necessity of increasing our army forces us to choose officers from the middle class."