The village and the country round about had been in an uproar; but now that the troops had left, everything was wonderfully quiet. Rothfuss was right; for if we had not seen the occasional remains of a camp-fire, we would not have known that the soldiers had been there. The old meadow farmer, who had been pensioned off by his son, and whom the departure of the troops had aroused, sat at his door, and seemed to enjoy watching the little pigs that were disporting themselves in the gutter. A little coach stood before him, in which lay a child that he had to feed with milk; for his son wanted to get all he could from his father. He thought of nothing but the increase of his property, and acted meanly towards his father. He made him presents of the cheapest kind of tobacco, so that he should not buy an expensive sort; but the old man saw through the trick, and gave the tobacco money away, so that his son should not inherit it. I gladly avoided all intercourse with these people. As I approached the house, the old man beckoned to me to come to him, and, like a child, told me of his latest pleasure. "I kept them locked up in my room as long as the soldiers were here. Soldiers have a great liking for such tender morsels. I used to be so myself." I knew, of course, that he was talking about his pigs, and he added as a sort of consolation: "Yes, yes, Mr. Ex-Burgomaster"--he gave me my title--"yes, yes, you are also retired at last, and squat by the stove. Yes, yes, we are old fellows and must stick at home, while the young ones are out yonder, fighting the enemy." The old man kept on steadily smoking his pipe, and talked of war times, and particularly of the Russian campaign, of which he was a survivor. But on this day I could not listen to him, and while walking home I began thinking, am I really fit for nothing but to observe from afar the great deeds that are now being wrought? Just as I was turning away from the old man, his son, the meadow farmer, came along with a large load of hay, and said in a mocking manner, "The French let us gather our hay; our houses will burn so much the better when they come to set them on fire." Then he added with malicious pleasure, "Your house is insured, but there is no insurance on your woods." Here he laughed aloud. When troubles are on us, a man's true nature shows itself. After telling me his fears, he repeated them more fully to Rothfuss. The latter shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, and asked, "What would you give not to suffer any damage?" "How? what do you mean? "They won't hurt my house; my father has the cross of St. Helena. And I have no cash. I can swear that I haven't a farthing in the house." He spoke the truth, for he had buried his money. "You need no money; it's something else. Do you know the story of the dragon of Rockesberg?" "What do you want? What do you mean?" "Why, to quiet the dragon, they had to sacrifice a maiden."