“A smothered assent was heard around the room. We felt that Šetina was acting with dignity.
“This approbation fired Martini even more.
“‘Lieutenant, I remind you once more that behind that idea I stand,’ burst out Šetina, likewise angered.
“‘Take that back,’ roared Martini.
“‘I’m not afraid of you,’ answered Šetina, and looked icily into his eyes.
“We all arose. Šetina was the favorite of all the officers of the battalion. His complexion was as fair as a girl’s. He had blue eyes and a blond moustache. In the service he was without a flaw. As a companion he was always pleasant and ever a perfect friend. Here in Prague he had an aged mother and a sweetheart. He was only waiting for the end of the campaign, when he was to be made a first lieutenant, and then he intended to marry. He always wrote to his mother once a week and to his sweetheart every other day. This letter he always wrote regularly, even if it were only a few lines in length. Sometimes there was something impressively funny about it. I had often seen him writing on the very battle-field. He would sit in the snow warming his rigid right hand on a cigarette, and would write on a piece of paper held on his knee.
“Martini wasn’t much liked among us. He was a cynic, feared for his dexterity at fencing and for his sure aim with the revolver. He liked to mock, with special malevolence, at every sacred feeling known to man. He himself had not an atom of sentiment. Of
