Lucy’s momentary fright and weakness had swiftly given way to a great burst of hatred and indignation at finding herself subject to the commands of these triumphant enemies. She was too angry to be afraid, and it was in a confident and defiant voice that she returned, “If you wish me to understand, you will have to speak more slowly.”
The German glanced up at her with an air of surprise, a faint smile at the corners of his mouth, but he only said, “Very well. Did you understand my question?”
“Yes,” Lucy answered, looking across at him with steady eyes. “I came here to see my father, who is badly wounded. I was going back to England when the town was taken.”
The officer nodded without comment, then, turning to the sergeant beside him, he ordered, “Bring in the prisoner.”
The junior officers in the room had taken seats about the table, with much clumping of boots and rattling of swords. The sergeant opened a door at the back of the room and, entering it, returned almost at once, preceded by a tall young fellow in the khaki of the British army. He was covered with dirt and dust, even his face was stained with mud and the grime of powder, through which his blue eyes shone oddly out, above his lean, sunburned cheeks. He looked desperately weary, almost done for, but he squared his shoulders and crossed the room with a firm step. Lucy bit her lip until it bled to force back the tears of sympathy that rushed to her eyes. The young officer was not more than twenty years old; and how terribly like Bob he seemed, with that close-cropped brown hair, and the still boyish curve about his lips. Just as Bob must have appeared when he too, tired and despairing, faced his German captors without a friendly face to look upon. She met the young Englishman’s weary but undaunted gaze with such a look of eager friendliness that he stopped short, and for a second the cold defiance left his face, and astonishment, confusion and a kind of welcoming light played over it. But it was hardly a moment. Room was made for him to stand before the table, and the German captain once more addressed Lucy, only this time with a frown of annoyance.
“As you know, few English or Americans speak German.” He paused as though this fact was strange enough to ponder over, then continued, “As it happens, we do not any of us speak English. For that reason, we have need of you.”
Lucy had already guessed that she was to act as interpreter, and this knowledge had relieved her vague fears of detention or imprisonment. But now her thoughts began to whirl again. Did she know enough German to fulfil her task to her captor’s satisfaction? More troubling still, would she be asked to put questions which the young Englishman would not answer? At this her heart leaped with a sudden confidence. If there was any game of wits to be played, she thought that she and this boy with the brave blue eyes and steady lips would be more than a match for their pompous questioner. To make sure of her powers she asked the captain suddenly in English, “Shall I translate for you?”
He stared frowningly at her, understanding not a word, nor did any signs of intelligence appear on the others’ faces. One little fair-haired lieutenant exclaimed, “Ach! English,” as though making a discovery, but could get no further, and the captain with a mutter of annoyance said sharply:
“Speak German, Fräulein.”
With a faint excuse for her forgetfulness, Lucy repeated the question, to which the captain nodded agreement, adding still more sharply, “Do your best, and keep your wits alert. The more he tells us, the better for him—you understand?”