Yes, all four. Just for the evening. But if the officer asks? He will not ask. What are four soldiers? So it was all arranged; and at evening the officer came. He brought his own rations, so hunger came no nearer. Hunger just lay down outside the door and did not notice the officer. A this supper the officer began to talk. The Kaiser himself, he said, was at the Schartzhaus. “So,” said Herr Schnitzelhaaser; “just over the way.” So close. Such an honour. And indeed the shadow of the Schartzhaus darkened their garden in the morning. It was such an honour, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser too. And they began to praise the Kaiser. So great a War Lord, she said; the most glorious war there had ever been. Of course, said the officer, it would end on the first of July. Of course, said Frau Schnitzelhaaser. And so great an admiral, too. One must remember that also. And how fortunate we were to have him: one must not forget that. Had it not been for him the crafty Belgians would have attacked the Fatherland, but they were struck down before they could do it. So much better to prevent a bad deed like that than merely to punish after. So wise. And had it not been for him, if it had not been for him... The old man saw that she was breaking down and hastily he took up that feverish praise. Feverish it was, for their hunger and bitter loss affected their minds no less than illness does, and the things they did they did hastily and intemperately. His praise of the War Lord raced on as the officer ate. He spoke of him as of those that benefit man, as of monarchs who bring happiness to their people. And now, he said, he is here in the Schartzhaus beside us, listening to the guns just like a common soldier. Finally the guns, as he spoke, coughed beyond ominous hills. Contentedly the officer went on eating. He suspected nothing of the thoughts his host and hostess were hiding. At last he went upstairs to bed. As fierce exertion is easy to the fevered, so they had spoken; and it wears them, so they were worn. The old woman wept when the officer went out of hearing. But old Herr Schnitzelhaaser picked up a big butcher’s knife. “I will bear it no more,” he said. His wife watched him in silence as he went away with his knife. Out of the house he went and into the night. Through the open door she saw nothing; all was dark; even the Schartzhaus, where all was gay to-night, stood dark for fear of aëroplanes. The old woman waited in silence. When Herr Schnitzelhaaser returned there was blood on his knife. “What have you done?” the old woman asked him quite calmly. “I have killed our pig,” he said. She broke out then, all the more recklessly for the long restraint of the evening; the officer must have heard her. “We are lost! We are lost!” she cried. “We may not kill our pig. Hunger has made you mad. You have ruined us.” “I will bear it no longer,” he said. “I have killed our pig.” “But they will never let us eat it,” she cried. “Oh, you have ruined us!”