“Yes, you may laugh,” continued the captain. “It will be very funny, no doubt, to cross swords with scurvy pickaxes, and pikes with pitchforks! Here are worthy foes indeed! My brave Drake would have scorned to snap at their heels!” The captain was still giving free vent to his indignation, when he was interrupted by the arrival of an officer, who ran up to them all out of breath,-- “Captain Lory! my dear Randmer!” “Well?” asked both at once. “My friends, I am faint with horror! D’Ahlefeld, Lieutenant d’Ahlefeld, the lord chancellor’s son! You know, my dear Randmer, that Frederic--such a dandy! such a fop!” “Yes,” replied the young baron, “a great dandy! Still, at the last ball at Charlottenburg my costume was in much better taste than his. But what has happened to him?” “I know whom you mean,” said Lory; “you mean Frederic d’Ahlefeld, lieutenant of Company Three. The men wear blue facings. He neglects his duty sadly.” “You will not have to complain of him again, Captain Lory.” “Why not?” said Randmer. “He is garrisoned at Wahlstrom,” coldly added the old officer. “Exactly,” said the new-comer; “the colonel has just received a message. Poor Frederic!” “But what has happened? Captain Bollar, you alarm me.” Old Lory added: “Nonsense! The popinjay was absent from roll-call, I suppose, and the captain has sent the lord chancellor’s son to prison: that is the misfortune which distresses you so sadly; I am sure it is.” Bollar clapped him on the shoulder. “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.