"There on the chapel steps, crouched a human form, in the attitude of one who has fled to God with a great burden.
"We stretched him out on the snow. His limbs cracked gruesomely. His hands were hard as stone: he must have been dead for hours. The cold moon shone on his face. It was old and wrinkled, the frost of frozen tears glimmered on his cheeks and around his mouth. The dead drawn mouth kept the expression of weeping.
"'It's the poor devil who came to us yesterday morning in the Riding-School,' said Erich, and bowed his head reverently.
"'Better so,' muttered Schmied, in a shaky voice. 'Better for him.' The little peasant-count kneeled in the snow, rubbing the stiff hands and sobbing.
"'We had better take ourselves off. We can't do any good here, and there will be trouble with the police.'
"It was Zwilk who spoke, standing by with white, strangely smiling face: his voice was hoarse and hurried.
"Then Toni sprang to his feet. 'You hound!' he cried, and struck him across the face with a riding-whip."
The speaker paused a few seconds, then went on quietly.
"Of course Zwilch left the army. He and Toni fought with pistols. Zwilch came off extremely well, and Toni extremely ill, being badly wounded in the hip. He lay in bed six months, but during that time he was reconciled to his family, and shortly after he got well he married a pretty little cousin. He lives in the country, overseeing an estate of his father's. He has grown steady, has a great many children and preserves the most touching affection for his old comrades.
"We gave the poor old stranger a grand funeral, which the whole officer's corps attended. We buried him in St. Peter's Churchyard, and put him up a fine monument.