She dragged herself along by the bed carefully. With trembling steps she crossed the threshold and went into the sitting-room. The feeble light of breaking day struggled in, just clearly enough to enable her to distinguish things. The room looked dreary, clothing was strewn about, the chairs were out of their places, and the remains of the evening meal were still on the table. A moist heat pervaded this scene of disorder. The suffocating air seemed laden with a sense of the horrible, unnatural crime. The sick woman staggered. There was a mist before her eyes. But with an effort she pulled herself together and moved towards the bed. Her sister was asleep, her face hidden by her loosened hair and pressed into the pillow. Suddenly she stirred, and as she stretched herself slowly the coverlet fell rustling to the ground. In the dim light her white skin gleamed. The woman fixed her burning eyes on this beauty. Suddenly a mad smile distorted her lips, and she raised the knife. She would plunge the blade into her sister's adulterous bosom; and thus deal out justice, measure for measure. But there came a rush of blood to her throat that choked her. She swayed, and grasped at the empty air with clutching fingers. The knife slipped from her relaxing hand and clanged on the floor. The dying woman collapsed with a dull thud. The sleeping girl turned over lazily. "Be quiet, Otto!" she murmured. Suddenly she gave a shriek of horror, rushed into the bedroom, and shook the man, who could hardly be aroused from his sleep. He followed her, still half dazed. Julie Heppner lay dead, bathed in her own blood. The husband and sister gazed at her horror-stricken, and shuddered as they saw the knife lie gleaming near the corpse. Death had passed over them. Outside the trumpeter on duty blew the joyful fanfare of the reveille:-- [Illustration: Reveille] CHAPTER IX "The bullets are all of iron and lead; But it's not every bullet will strike a man dead." (_Old Soldier-song._) Kläre Güntz was nursing her child. Through the thick drooping branches of the pear-tree the sun shone on the mother's breast and on the infant's little round head. She bent over him with a happy smile, and held him close. Sheltered on one side by a high wall, and on the other by the thick leafage, the little garden seemed a haven of joy and peace far removed from all turmoil and tumult of the outside world. The stillness of the summer morning reigned unbroken. A few more sucks, and then, sleepy and satisfied, the little head sank back on its cushion. Kläre laid the baby-boy in his perambulator.