He kissed her hair tenderly, a lifelong farewell, turned the corner, and fled from her. CHAPTER XV JOINING THE REGIMENT At a quarter to seven, Jean Oberlé, wearing a jacket and round cap, walked by the stable of the old French barracks of St. Nicholas, built on the site of a convent, now called by the Germans "Nikolaus Kaserne." He reached the iron gate, saluted the officer, exchanged a few words with him, and advanced towards a group of about a dozen young men, volunteers for a year's service, who were standing at the end of the courtyard, under the clock. Cavalry men in undress--light blue tunic with yellow braid, black trousers, and flat caps--moved here and there over vast, level, dusty grounds. A detachment of cavalry, lance at shoulder, had taken up their station to the left by one of the stables, waiting their officer's command to take the road. "Herr Sergeant," said Jean, approaching the non-commissioned officer, carefully dressed, but of vulgar appearance, who, with a protecting and pretentious manner, was waiting for him by the group of volunteers. "I am one of the volunteers for the year." The sergeant, who had very long black moustaches, which he never ceased twirling between the thumb and first finger, asked his christian and surname, and compared them with the names and surnames on the list he held in his hand. Meanwhile, secretly intimidated by the supposed wealth of those he received, eager to please them, but anxious lest they should discover it, the sergeant looked the volunteer up and down, as though seeking some physical defect, anything in fact which might make this Alsatian civilian ridiculous in the eyes of a non-commissioned officer. "Join the others," he said, when his examination was finished. The others were for the most part Germans, who, judging by the different types, had come from all parts of the Empire. They had dressed carefully, so as to show their comrades, volunteers like themselves, and the soldiers in the barracks, that in civil life they were men who belonged to wealthy families. They wore patent leather shoes, kid gloves, yellow or tan, elegant ties, valuable neck-pins. Each man introduced himself to his future comrades. "Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Furbach, my name is Blossmann." Jean knew none of them. He merely bowed without giving his name. What did it matter to him who was to be their comrade for this one day only? He took his place to the left of the group, his mind far away from the St. Nicholas barrack, while the whispered question, "Who is he--an Alsatian?" went the round of his comrades. The easy-going smiled amiably, others put themselves on the defensive, and with the rivalry of racial instinct, drew themselves up and fixed their hard blue eyes upon the new-comer with an unflinching stare.