“Captain Lory, Lieutenant d’Ahlefeld has been devoured alive.”
The two captains looked each other in the face; and Randmer, startled for an instant, suddenly burst out laughing.
“Oh, Captain Bollar, I see you are as fond of a joke as ever! But you can’t fool me in that way, I warn you.”
And the lieutenant, folding his arms, gave way to mirth, swearing that what amused him the most was to see how readily Lory swallowed all Bollar’s ridiculous stories. As for the story, he said it was a capital one; and it was a most clever idea to pretend that Frederic, who took such dainty, such absurd care of his complexion, had been swallowed raw.
“Randmer,” said Bollar, seriously, “you act like a fool. I tell you d’Ahlefeld is dead; I have it from the colonel,—dead!”
“Oh, how well you play your part!” rejoined the baron, still laughing; “what a funny fellow you are!”
Bollar shrugged his shoulders, and turned to old Lory, who quietly asked the particulars.
“Oh, yes, my dear Captain Bollar,” added the irrepressible mocker; “tell us who ate the poor devil. Did he serve as breakfast for a wolf, or supper for a bear?”
“The colonel,” said Bollar, “received a despatch just now, informing him, in the first place, that the Wahlstrom garrison is retreating toward us, driven back by a large party of rebels.”
Old Lory frowned.