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Sergeant-major Heppner, who was riding behind the last gun, growled out: "I tell you, it's downright mountain artillery, this!" and he trotted a few steps on in front to find out how the Turk was getting on. The light bay was panting with exhaustion and dripping with sweat. Heppner scratched his head: little more could be expected of the poor beast that day. But worse was to come.
He thought that if there really was a secret understanding between them they would betray themselves in a moment of thoughtlessness. So he invited Heppner to drop in now and then, in a neighbourly way, for a cigar and a bottle of beer. The sergeant-major accepted. Once or twice he brought Ida with him; then, as the time for her lying-in approached, he came alone.
"Good God, man! so " but he swallowed the sentence and continued more mildly: "Look here, Schumann. I'm not asking you for any gossip about your comrades; I only speak in the interest of the service. What is all this about Heppner? Is it that story about his wife and his sister-in-law?" "No, sir, that's his private affair. But he won't do for the office, or to to assist in money matters."
He could never manage to go over a hurdle with his hands placed on his hips; at every jump they snatched at the horse's mane. Heppner raged over this cowardice; but storm and shout as he would, Frielinghausen's hands were for ever clutching at his only means of safety. At last the sergeant-major left the long-limbed youth alone in his incompetence.
As Schumann entered he could hear through the door the rough, blustering voice of Heppner. That was the worst of these quarters; the thin walls and doors let the faintest sound through, to say nothing of rows and quarrelling. Unless one positively whispered, one's neighbours could overhear everything one said, even though they were not intentionally listening. The Heppners were always noisy.
At the gate it suddenly occurred to Heppner that it would be much pleasanter to walk the half-mile to the town in company, and he decided to fetch the trumpeter. Sergeant Henke was a lively young fellow, with a fresh, rosy face, a flowing black beard and curly hair, rather beyond the regulation length.
Heppner, on the other hand, had only put on his best undress uniform. He was in a very good temper and very talkative, whereas Heimert walked beside him depressed and silent. They arrived at Grundmann's very opportunely. They were the only guests, and the landlord had no objection to Albina's sitting at their table with them.
"You would have nothing to reproach each other with in the way of beauty!" One day in passing he looked into the neighbouring quarters, and found the deputy sergeant-major gazing at a cabinet photograph of his betrothed. Heimert, startled, tried quickly to hide the portrait; but Heppner begged to see it.
Captain von Wegstetten sometimes took himself to task. He could not but be pleased with his sergeant-major, and yet he could not quite overcome the antipathy he had hitherto felt for Heppner. The certain degree of intimacy that otherwise might be expected to arise from their common care of the new recruits appeared to him quite impossible.
He would become perfectly furious if the many-coloured penholder which Heppner had used were offered him, and he strictly forbade the corporal ever to put it on his desk. Käppchen would sometimes for fun hand him this penholder "by mistake" if a signature were wanted in a hurry. The sergeant-major looked so comic with his blazing eyes and crimson face, his nose shining reddest of all.
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