He shut his eyes wearily. Then the troubled vision disappeared, and he had a feeling of freedom and deliverance, a grateful sensation of release from the limitations of matter, as though borne aloft into the unconfined regions of cosmic space. The mounted sentry patrolling the forest passed by the window. The man had settled himself comfortably on horse-back, and his hanging bugle and accoutrements jingled. As he came near the creaking of the saddle could be heard. By degrees the sounds subsided, though the metallic tinkling was perceptible for a long time. Perhaps, however, that gentle sound was but the prelude to some illusion of the senses. Then voices sounded from the mess-room: the high crowing tones of Wegstetten and the mellow bass of Major Lischke, The little captain was grumbling about the food. "No, no, major," he piped. "The mess-steward sets disgusting stuff before us, and that's the truth. Now, to-day beef and potato-soup? Pah! It was lean old cow, as tough as shoe-leather! And soup? hot water and Liebig!" "But, my dear Wegstetten," Lischke tried to appease him, "think of the difficulties of transport! A two-hours' drive, and we're not to run up the expenses!" Wegstetten's reply was lost in the passage. Reimers rose quickly from the bed. He was afraid that Frommelt might seek him out, and that he would have to invent some kind of excuse. He took his little revolver out of the drawer and examined the chamber; it was loaded with five cartridges. He had often thought of unloading the weapon, but had then said to himself: "Why? Who knows if it might not be wanted?" He hastened down the steps of the officers' quarters and ran quickly along the camp-road to the gate. The sentry stared after him in surprise; he had not expected to have to present arms at such an hour. Then he stepped into his place beside the sentry-box, and performed the neglected salute; for so the regulations prescribed. At a little distance from the camp Reimers moderated his pace; at last he walked quite slowly. His footsteps were hesitating, as if groping in the dark. He could not hear his tread upon the ground, and his eyes gazed into space like those of a sleep-walker. Everything seemed to him far remote: the sandy path beneath his feet, the dark forest, and the blossoming heather beside the way. And he felt strangely light, as if he were floating or flying. Night was beginning to sink over the ruins of the deserted village. Reimers found his way among the dilapidated dwellings and into the courtyard of the big house where he had lingered the previous day. The white roses of the creeper on the wall still glimmered faintly through the gloom. He bent aside a straggling piece of a box-tree and sat down on the broken masonry of the smoke-blackened wall. Somewhere in the corner of the ruins a screech-owl shrieked. The cry sounded quite close.