The soldier looked puzzled, curious, and finally a light broke over his heavy countenance. He nodded and went out, saying something in reply which Bob did not understand, but in which the word "sergeant" occurred.
Becoming resigned by now to patient waiting, Bob sat down to find what he had for dinner. So far as he could make out with the help of the metal spoon, the bowl held a kind of cabbage soup, with a few shreds of vegetables lurking near the bottom. It did not look inviting, but he was much too hungry to be critical, and he emptied the bowl in five minutes, finding the soup not bad, with another chunk of black bread to accompany it. The chief trouble was there was not enough of it. He could have eaten a whole dinner afterward without any trouble. At thought of the people at home who would so gladly send him money and supplies if only they could reach him, he resolved to try hard to get them some news of his whereabouts.
Soon after he finished eating, the sergeant with the bristling eyebrows appeared, announcing that he had come to conduct the lieutenant to the canteen.
Bob got up with alacrity, put on his helmet and heavy coat, and followed his guide out into the cold air, along the wire lane past the watchful sentry, who turned and followed in their wake. Bob was mildly amused at the idea of his attempting to escape. He had about as much chance as if he were a wild animal in an iron cage, and would have received just as cordial a welcome throughout Prussia. Whichever way he turned his eyes met lines of high wire fencing, or the glistening bayonets of the sentries patrolling the camp in every direction.
The canteen was no more than a room just off the kitchen, fitted with shelves stocked with goods. A corporal in charge was seated behind a table. He rose at sight of a customer and made the usual slight bow, after a glance at Bob's shoulder-straps. Bob saw but a scant display of eatables on the shelves, but after a careful inspection he selected two cans of herring, a small loaf of black bread to supplement his two days' ration, and a jar of strange looking yellow marmalade. For these luxuries he paid three francs and felt that his captors had got the best of it.
The bargain concluded, the sergeant led him promptly back across the yard, where several hundred prisoners had gathered, carrying picks and shovels, and evidently starting out for an afternoon's work. Bob almost wished he might join them as he looked keenly around, trying to see if the companions of his journey from Petit-Bois were there. Two big Russians, looking about them with mild, patient eyes as they leaned upon their tools, stood close by the wire netting, and, as Bob passed by, a Frenchman pushed his head in between their shoulders with a friendly smile in his direction and a nod of recognition. Bob longed to stop and ask him how the wounded men were faring, and what sort of treatment they were receiving, but the inexorable sentry dogged his steps, and a nod and smile in return was all the communication possible.
There were no writing materials on sale at the canteen, so Bob demanded some of the sergeant. In answer he merely promised to obtain them from the Commandant, and Bob foresaw another delay.
After this short diversion he paced his floor restlessly until dark, which brought with it the guard, carrying another bowl of coffee, and a welcome armful of wood. The soldier lighted the lamp and went out, leaving the door open. In a second Bob swallowed the decoction in the bowl, hurriedly made his way out and approached his neighbor's door. It was closed, but yielded to his touch, and saying softly, "May I come in, Captain?" he put his head through the crack.
The room was dimly lighted and looked much the same as Bob's own. The cot was pulled like his before the feeble fire, and on it lay the French officer, who raised his head at sight of Bob to say warmly, though with little strength in his voice, "Come in, comrade!"