At last the battery was drawn up on the parade-ground, and Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider was ready to do himself credit. The colonel was seen slowly approaching, accompanied by Major Schrader on one side, and by Captain von Wegstetten on the other. Brettschneider hastened towards them to report that the battery was in position. The colonel received his announcement graciously. "Let the men stand at ease," he commanded. And when Brettschneider had called out the order, he returned to his place to begin the parade. Then occurred something very startling. A shout was heard: "Holdrio, hoho!" And then again: "Holdrio--yoho-hoho o!" And again a third time: "Holdrio--yoho--yoho--hoho--o--o!" The yodel was evidently sounding from the slope of the opposite hill. Every one looked that way; and, behold, on the hillside appeared the figure of Count Egon Plettau, still dressed as for his discharge, in the grey drill trousers and much-patched coat. He waved his cap to the battery; then he lowered his hands, while the eyes of the onlookers followed in suspense his every movement. He let down the grey drill trousers; and there in the full blaze of the morning sunshine he went through a certain performance which even the Scythians--suggesting though they did to Greek art the original conception of the centaur--could certainly not have achieved without descending from horseback. If Plettau, like Janus, had had eyes in the back of his head, down below in the parade-ground he would have seen an array of wide-open eyes and gaping mouths. After a short interval he arose, picked up a big piece of white cardboard from the ground, and pointed to it as he brandished it in the air. Then he laid it down again, and once more he yodelled gaily: "Holdrio--yoho--yoho--hoho--o--o!" He then bowed politely, and vanished precipitately among the bushes. Down on the parade-ground every one was speechless. The men looked sheepish; they longed to burst into peals of laughter, but were afraid of getting into trouble. So they took great pains not to commit themselves, and tried to look as if something perfectly ordinary had been happening. Wegstetten was beside himself with anger and resentment. "I beg you will allow me, sir," he said to the colonel, "to send a couple of non-commissioned officers to arrest that fellow. This is an unheard-of insult to the whole army--a scandal a disgrace!" Falkenhein's lips twitched. He, too, thought this piece of impudence quite beyond a joke. But he held the same opinion as did the Grand Duke of Oldenburg concerning _lêse-majesté_: that the insult of a fool is no insult. "Be calm, my dear Wegstetten," he said. "Let your count take himself off. But you had better just send some one up there--one of the non-coms, upon whom you can rely--to fetch down that placard before any of the men can get hold of it. Who knows what impertinence the fellow may not have scrawled?"