The dragoon for whom they yearned, was sitting in the tavern, and through the window they could see his padded helmet. His horse was tied to a post before the door. So they began to pay court to him, as it were, not without some self-confidence, considering that they were not just ordinary boys, but cadets, in uniforms with gold buttons, and Gerold even had grenades on his buttons. They could boast a sword and a cartridge box, and hence were really fellow-soldiers. The dragoon would certainly vouchsafe them a greeting and perhaps he might even give them a word of approval. The difficulty was simply to attract his attention.
They strutted up and down before the window, as soldier-like as possible, threw out their chests and walked on their toes, coughing a little, then humming a little tune.
"Show your sword," Hänsli advised. "That may impress him."
Gerold drew his sword and saluted before the window. But as this had no effect either, Hänsli climbed up on the window ledge to show off his shako with its black horse-hair tassel. An ill-tempered old woman, sullen and forbidding, tottered out of the main door, looking angry and suspicious, and asked them what they were about.
"We only wanted to look at the dragoon," Hänsli answered crestfallen.
"Then go inside like well-behaved boys," she barked, "and order mug of wine, instead of hanging around like beggars."
"We do not drink wine."
"Then get away from the window." And she disappeared with a black look angry and scornful.
The boys next turned their attention to the horse, hoping
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