The car, which was fairly new and in good condition, drove off rapidly. It evidenced to Ruth either that reports of the scarcity of motor cars in Germany had been exaggerated or that Captain von Forstner was a person of sufficient importance to possess a most excellent vehicle from the vanishing supply. It followed a narrow but excellent road through forest for half a mile; it ran out beside cleared land, farm, and meadows, where a few cattle were grazing. A dozen men were working in a field—big, slow-moving laborers.
Von Forstner observed that Ruth gazed at them. "Russians," he explained to her. "Some of my prisoners."
He spoke as if he had taken them personally. "I have had, at various times, also French and English and Canadians; and I expect some Americans soon. I have asked for some; but they have not appeared against us frequently enough yet for us to have a great many."
"Still we have already not a few of you," Ruth returned quietly. Her situation scarcely could become worse, no matter what she now said; and, as it turned out, von Forstner was amused at this defiance.
"If they are much like the Canadians they will not be much good anyway," he said.
"For fighting or farm work, you mean?"
Von Forstner hesitated just a trifle before he returned, "They can stand nothing; they die too easily."
The car was past the fields where the Russians toiled and was skirting woodlands again; when fields opened once more quite different figures appeared—figures of women and of a familiarity which sent the blood choking
