Bob had heard little of an actual armistice signed, but he told all he knew of the troubled state of things in Russia. Then, in answer to Bertrand's eager questions, he told all the war news that the last six months could recall to his mind, ending by an account of America's great preparations, the story of his own service overseas and his capture inside the German lines.
Bertrand listened with rapt attention, for little news had filtered into the prison, and that little cut to a German pattern. At some of Bob's words he looked sadly downcast, but at everything relating to the preparations of America for the combat, he brightened perceptibly. At last he rose and again held out his hand.
"Our doors will be locked in a moment," he explained for his sudden departure. "This is the hour of exercise, though lately I cannot much avail myself of it."
"You mean we may walk in that little space in front at this time?" inquired Bob, disgustedly. "Won't they let us go anywhere else?"
"Sometimes they will. I myself am not sure, so you must ask," the Frenchman responded. "I am no longer able to walk far, and the little promenade before my door does well enough."
"You mean you are ill?" asked Bob, looking with sinking heart at the pale face of his companion.
"I have a sort of fever, I think. It comes and goes, but it is rather irksome. Thank you very kindly for your talk. It has given me food for new thoughts."
Bob held him back a second. "When may I see you again, Captain? I have such a lot to ask you about. You don't know how much it means having you here beside me."
"This evening, perhaps," was the rather doubtful answer. "My guard sometimes leaves the door unlocked at supper-time since I am alone here. It is to save himself trouble, I think. It was he who told me of the arrival of an American officer."
He bowed again, as he turned to go, with a bright smile that showed two rows of white, even teeth, and when his eyes lighted up Bob realized that he was a young man, in spite of the sobering effects of fever and privation.