Last he came to his own riding-horse in the loose box, a pretty creature with four white fetlocks, who was rather nervous, and unusually tender-mouthed. Baldwin shrank from the man in the dark brown suit, and it was only when the sergeant-major spoke that the animal recognised him. Even then he was shy, and sugar and bread failed to re assure him. Schumann called him by his pet name, rubbing his cheek against the velvet nostrils, and then only did the horse become quiet. The sergeant-major could have shed tears. But he wanted to make an end of it, and clear out from these barracks, where he no longer had his place. Lingeringly he quitted the stable, and going out on to the parade-ground, stood once more before the battery's memorial tablet. The sixth was one of the oldest batteries; there were therefore a goodly number of skirmishes and battles engraved upon the tablet. Sedan was the most disastrous and at the same time the most glorious day--the day on which the battery had fired nearly eight hundred shots, so that by evening the gunners had become so deaf that they could hardly understand the orders which were shrieked into their ears. Oh yes, it had been an honour to belong to the battery, and it was only right that in times of peace also the sixth should always have been an example for others. "To commemorate the fallen; to inspire the living!" he read softly. He nodded in earnest assent; then turned round suddenly and re entered his house. He put on his overcoat hastily, and seized his hat and stick. Then he locked up, and knocked at the deputy sergeant-major's door, in order to give up the keys. Frau Heppner was alone. "Are you just going, Herr Schumann?" she asked softly. The sergeant-major nodded, and said: "I am putting the keys here, in front of the looking-glass." Then he went up to the sofa on which the invalid was lying and took her hand. "Good-bye, Frau Heppner." "Good-bye," answered the woman; and whispering softly she added: "And as we shall not meet again, I must thank both you and your wife." "But what for?" The invalid was silent for a moment, then she replied: "Well, when one's own house has always been a perfect hell, one learns to appreciate the peace and quiet of others. At least, it helps one to see there is something better than one's own lot." The sergeant was silent. What could he say to the unhappy woman? "So, good-bye, Herr Schumann!" she went on. "I sincerely wish you well!" Schumann breathed more freely as the door closed behind him. He felt deeply for the poor woman, and was relieved to have got over the parting from her. With the giving up of the key the last cord was loosened which had bound him to the battery and to the military life as a whole. Everything else had already been done.