"Imperialists here—in Odenzee—on this side of the Belt?"
"They are in every region but the Infernal, I believe, which should be their proper quarter. Is it possible that you do not know that a regiment of German musketeers occupy the old castle on the Cape of Helnœsland, about six Danish miles from this?"
"No, and sure I am that M'Farquhar, our lieutenant-colonel, knows nothing of it either."
"'Tis nevertheless true, though. Count Merodé, with his regiment, have ensconced themselves there, and have been playing some pretty pranks among the wives and daughters of our boors for a week past."
"Merodé!" I exclaimed, in a breathless voice, alike thunderstruck, and overjoyed by this intelligence. "Tell me, if there are any ladies with him."
"How should I know, my comrade?" asked the major waggishly, as he filled the beer cans again. "Is one—is that pretty one in the caleche, not enough for you? But doubt not, that wherever the Merodeurs are, a large assortment of the weaker vessels are always to be found."
"Ah, Heavens! Ernestine, be joyful! Think of what I have just heard!" said I, rushing from the major to the door of the caleche, where Ian had dismounted and was conversing with her; "our dear Gabrielle is in yonder castle on the promontory—not two cannon-shots distant."
"What the devil is all this about?" said Fritz, with a perplexed air, as he switched his capacious boots; "'pon my soul, 'tis highly dramatic!"
The eyes of Ernestine were filled with tears.
"Dioul! are you sure of this?" said Ian, whose hand wandered about the hilt of his long claymore.