She heard his footsteps go up the corridor, the lieutenant following him. "I will unpack," she thought, and from her knapsack drew what she had by chance brought with her. Upon the shelf she arranged a tin of singe—the French bully beef—a gilt box of powder, a toothbrush, a comb, a map, a packet of letters to be answered, and a magneto spanner.
There was an hour yet before dinner and she wandered out into the corridors to explore the citadelle. A soldier stood upon a ladder changing the bulb of an electric light.
Catching sight of her he hurried from his ladder, and passing her with a stiff face, saluted, and disappeared.
Soon she began to think that this was the busy hour in the fortress: the corridors rustled gently, the unformed whispering of voices echoed behind her. The walls seemed to open at a dozen spots as she walked on, and little men with bright, grave faces hurried past her about their duties.
"Perhaps they are changing the guard…."
Yet a face which had already passed her three times began to impress its features upon her, and she realised suddenly that it was curiosity, not duty, that called the soldiers from their burrows. The news was spreading, for out of the gloom ahead fresh parties of onlookers appeared, paused disconcerted as she wished them "good evening," nodded or saluted her in haste, then hurried by.
An officer with grizzled hair stepped into the passage from a doorway.
As she neared him she saw he wore the badges of a commandant.
"Who is this?" he asked in a low voice of the soldier who followed at his heels.
"J'n'en sais rien, mon commandant," The soldier stiffened as a watch-dog who sees a cat.
Fanny hastened nearer. "I drive a Russian officer," she explained. "I hope I have your permission to stay here."