“You are an officer in the Reserve?” asked the lieutenant haughtily.

“Yes.”

“I hope you understand that we shall bring the case before the notice of the regiment?”

“You are perfectly free to do so.”

The lieutenant stuck his eyeglass into his right eye, looked hard at Wilhelm for several seconds, then, with an expression of deep disgust, he spat on the floor, noisily turned round, and without a word or sign, retired, his sword and spurs clanking as he went.

Oh, how hard it was to overcome the instinct of the wild beast!  How furiously it tugged at its chain!  How it tried to spring after the lieutenant, and clutch his throat in its claws!—­but Wilhelm conquered the new cravings of his instinct and stood still.  He experienced a great self-contentment at last, and admitted to himself that he would not have been nearly so glad if he had wounded a dozen of the enemy in single combat.

Three days later he received in writing, an order to present himself at eleven o’clock the morning but one following to the Commandant of the 61st Regiment.  He took the journey the following evening, and at the appointed hour he was shown into the commandant’s private room, where he found also his old captain, raised to the rank of major.  He spoke kindly to Wilhelm and held out his hand, while the commandant contented himself with a nod, and a sign to be seated.

“I suppose you know that you have been ordered to come here about the affair with Lieutenant von Pechlar?” he said.

“Certainly, sir.”

“Will you relate what occurred?”

Wilhelm answered as he was desired.  His recital was followed by a short silence, during which the commandant and the major exchanged glances.

“And you will not fight?” asked the first.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because my principles do not allow me.”

The commandant looked at the major again and then at Wilhelm, and went on

“If I take the trouble to discuss the matter with you quite unofficially, you have to thank the major, who has spoken warmly in your favor.”

Wilhelm thanked the major by a bow.

“We know that you are not a coward.  You showed great bravery on the battlefield.  It is because of that, I feel sorry.  You are a faddist, you proved that by your refusal of the Iron Cross, which is the pride of every other German soldier.  We are not willing to condemn a mode of procedure, the meaning of which you evidently do not understand, and which all your views of life tend to destroy.  I am not speaking now as your superior officer, but as a man—­as your father might speak to you.  Believe what I say.  Fulfill your duty as a man of honor.”

“I cannot follow your advice,” answered Wilhelm gentle, but firmly.

He was painfully conscious that his answer sounded more roughly and harshly than he intended, but he knew it was impossible to go into a long philosophical discussion, kind and well-meaning as the commandant was.