"You have Russians in cells, too?"

"Those who won't work, yes. On bread and water. That one has been on
bread and water for five days. In my opinion he'll die."

"But why won't they work?"

"Work! He won't even clean his own cell out! They say it's because they
are Bolshevists, but I don't know about that. I talk a little Russian,
and I think they are convinced that if they make themselves at all
useful to us we shall never send them home. Some of them think they are
in Germany still. They're an ignorant lot."

An American came in rather hesitatingly, but without nodding to the
French.

"We've got bacon-chips in our camp," he said, addressing Fanny directly.
"I don't like to bring them in here, but if you'd just step
across ... it isn't a stone's throw."

She did not like to desert the French, but she was sick with hunger, and
rose. She knew she would have nothing from the guard-house meal, for
they probably had the same ration as she--one piece of meat, two potatoes,
and one sardine a man.

After all, food was more important than sentiment, and she followed him
out of the hut.

"You won't get anything from those skinflints," said the American, "so
we thought you'd better come and have some chips."