"Who is making so free with the name of Waldenmeer?" cried a voice in the French tongue but with a strong German accent; and half a dozen Prussian officers came riding out of the wood, the fresh-fallen snow flying from the evergreen branches like white down as their horses drove through them.
They circled round the group by the carriage, drawing their animals up with a suddenness that threw them on their haunches.
"Who is it that claims the friendship of von Waldenmeer?" repeated one of the number, this time speaking in German. He was a young man about twenty-two, with short, dark red hair, and a small mustache. He rode a black horse that pranced and curvetted nervously.
"These people, my colonel," said the lieutenant, growing suddenly polite. "I was about to tell them"—
"Never mind what you were about to tell them, Lieutenant Saueraugen," replied the colonel haughtily, "but inform me as briefly as possible what has occurred."
Confused by the thought that possibly he had been rude to friends of General von Waldenmeer, the lieutenant stammered through a recital which was far from clear.
While the lieutenant was speaking, the young Prussian colonel was slapping his boot sharply with his riding-whip, or checking the impatient pawing of his horse.
"Potstausend!" he exclaimed, interrupting the unhappy lieutenant in the middle of his story. "I cannot make head or tail of your account, Saueraugen. Broken harness, and French spies, closed carriage, and injured horses." Then, turning to Tournay, he addressed him in French:—
"I understand you are on your way to find General von Waldenmeer,—he is in the field, quartered at present at Falzenberg. You can accompany me there."
"We are bound for General von Waldenmeer's castle at Hagenhof," replied Tournay politely, "and with your permission we will proceed there."