“Since the manœuvres last year I’ve been suffering with rheumatism.” “But you didn’t tell me about that, Schmitz, at the time, and considerably over a year has elapsed since then.” “Well, I didn’t report it then because I did not want to disturb the run of things by my absence. I knew the captain was bothered a good deal at the time.” “Yes, yes, that is all very well. I will report your statement at once to the regiment, but I’m afraid it will be too late. Meanwhile you had better deliver up all the regimental property.” So then Schmitz went up to his room, packed all his things, and put his private belongings in a small trunk. But before doffing his uniform he went to the neighboring city and purchased for himself a civilian’s suit, a collar, and a hat. These took about all the money which had been paid him. Then he carried everything of the government’s outfit to the quartermaster, to whom he likewise sold some of the private regimentals he had bought with his own money. The sabre he kept as a memento. And then came the hardest of all,--the farewell from his comrades and his horses. Every one had a friendly word for him, for he had been a good comrade and had never been puffed up with his own importance. Many a mute pressure of the hand told him that they all felt sorry for him, and that they, as much as he himself, thought the treatment to which he had been subjected an act of injustice. The privates, too, pressed up to him to say a word of good-bye. Often he had berated them soundly, but they all knew him as a decent fellow, and as one who had never badgered them unnecessarily. As the noon service drew towards its close, Schmitz went into the stable. What a pang for him! Never in his life had a thing seemed so hard to him. All the beasts he loved so well turned and craned their necks towards him, leaving the savory hay and their oats for a moment as soon as they heard his voice, and gazing at him with such intelligence as if they appreciated his woe to the full. The sense of desolation almost overpowered him. He had filled his pockets with sugar, and he began with “Clairette,” feeding the sweet morsels to all his quadruped friends. “Clairette” lifted her forefoot, begging for one more piece. He laid his head against the velvety neck of the animal, stroking caressingly the silky nostrils and around the fine eyes, then kissing her on the white spot just below. The mare seemed to understand him. She whinnied softly, and gave him a sad glance of parting. Next came old “Marie.” How much longer would she be able to stand the service? And thus he visited them, one by one, in token of farewell. The last one was “Napoleon”; but even he showed to-day no trace of his accustomed ill temper. He gave the strange man in civilian clothes a long look of doubt and forbearance. A last, lingering glance to his hundred darlings, and then he painfully suppressed a tearful sob, and climbed up to his late quarters to get his trunk.