But in the day of battle, when Wilhelm with his company stood for the first time in the line of fire, the “Fraulein” was perhaps the firmest of them all.  The hissing balls made apparently no more impression on him than a crowd of swarming gnats, and the only moment his courage left him was when he thought he might be thrown into a ditch, which the rains had turned into a complete puddle.  He remained standing when all the others lay down, and the captain at last called out to him, “In the devil’s name, do you want to be a target for the French?” making him seek shelter behind a little mound, which left him nearly as uncovered as he was before.  And after hours of solid exertion, straining nerves and muscles to the utmost, when peace came with night, Wilhelm began a tiring piece of work with sticks and brushwood, out of pity for a weary comrade.

On the strength of these first days before the enemy his position as a soldier was established.  A few harmless jokes were made on the march and in the camp on Wilhelm’s anxiety as to the removal of mud on his clothes, and on the example he set in going out at night to save the dead and wounded enemy from plunder, but the whole company loved and admired the “Fraulein.”

The officers, however, did not entirely share this feeling.  This lieutenant was not smart enough.  They did full justice to his courage, but thought that he was wanting in alertness and initiative.  He lacked the proper campaigning spirit, and they found it chilling that he should be so distant in his manners after so long a time together.  Another said that Lieutenant Eynhardt went into action like a sleep-walker, and his calmness had something uncanny about it.  The captain was not pleased with him, because he had no knowledge of business; as far as example went he was the worst forager in the whole regiment.  If a peasant’s wife complained to him, he would leave empty-handed a house whose cellars were stocked with wine, and larders with hams one could smell a hundred yards off.  It was all the more provoking as he could speak French perfectly, an accomplishment which no one else in the regiment could, to the same extent, boast of.  It came even to a scene between him and the captain, who said angrily to him after a fruitless search in a new and well-to-do village in Champagne:  “A good heart is a fine thing to have, but you are an officer now, and not a Sister of Mercy.  Our men have a right to eat, and if you want to be compassionate, our poor fellows want food just as much as those French peasants.  Deny yourself if you like, but take care that the soldiers have what they need.  If ever you get back to Berlin, then in God’s name you can please yourself by distributing alms, and buy a place for yourself in heaven.”