“In the second place,” resumed Bollar, “that Lieutenant Frederic d’Ahlefeld, having gone into the mountains three days since to hunt, was captured near Arbar ruins by a monster, who carried him to his lair and there devoured him.”
At this, Lieutenant Randmer’s merriment increased.
“Oh, how our good Lory swallows your stories! That’s right; keep up a sober face, Bollar. You are wonderfully amusing; but you don’t tell us what this monster, this ogre, this vampire was, that carried off and ate up the lieutenant like a week-old kid!”
“I will not tell you,” impatiently answered Bollar; “but I will tell Lory, who is not such an incredulous fool. Lory, my dear fellow, the monster who drank Frederic’s blood was Hans of Iceland.”
“The leader of the rebels!” exclaimed the old officer.
“Well, Lory,” rejoined the scoffer, “do you think a man who handles his jaw so ably needs to know how to shoulder a musket?”
“Baron Randmer,” said Bollar, “you are very like d’Ahlefeld in character; beware lest you meet with the same fate.”
“I declare,” cried Randmer, “that Captain Bollar’s immovable gravity amuses me beyond expression.”
“And Lieutenant Randmer’s inexhaustible laughter alarms me more than I can say.”
At this moment a group of officers, engaged in eager conversation, approached our three speakers.