For an hour in the skylight prison, they had waited for the step upon the stairs. When it came Fallows had an inspiration, and said softly:  
“Sing to 'em, Poltneck—The Lord Is Mindful of His Own—!”
 
As before, the song was on the wing at the word.... Throughout the hour the Germans had flooded into the little city, the main column moving rapidly on in pursuit of the Russians, a comparatively small force remaining to . As Boylan had out, the new enemy must have appeared in tremendous numbers thus to dare such a drive through the Russian east wing. Lornievitch was at the head of a force to the east; it was but the tip of the right wing that the Germans had cut off.
 
An old ranker had halted at the door, his platoon behind crowding the stairway. He was small and scarred, serious and decorous. Peter felt that the head under the helmet was shaven; that here was a man conscious of moving through the days of his life's stateliest fulfillment. Boylan was nearest; a little back from the rest Poltneck stood smiling, singing as he had never sung for the Little Father. It is a fact that the old ranker waited for the end of the .
 
“Who are you?”
 
Peter talked: “Four of the hospital service from Warsaw, and two American correspondents, until to-day with the Russian army—”
 
The platoon-officer ordered his men at rest and sent for his Captain.
 
“Prisoners, you may sing,” he said.
 
They heard the voices of the in the street as Poltneck sang on, and presently the of a sword in the stairway. A young officer, not the Captain, appeared. There was a quick appeal in the veteran's and his whisper. The old head bowed affectionately, too, as to a son of finer blood than he.
 
“Two American correspondents,—these two,” he reported. “The others are of the hospital service of the enemy.”
 
Poltneck had finished.
 
“Why are you here?” the officer asked.
 
“They were at work all night,” said Peter, “and were here for a little rest. The change this morning was effected before they were aware. We were .
 
“You were helping?” the officer repeated.
 
“There has been much to do in the hospitals. We have been in Judenbach—this is the fourth day.”
 
“We will look at your passports—yours and this gentleman's—”
 
The papers were produced. It was almost like a hand that came to Peter at this instant, though Berthe had not moved—the premonition that they were to be separated. He had planned nothing for this moment although it had been . There was a certain guilelessness about their whole presence together in the skylight prison, although Peter had tortured the facts a little—to avoid complication of making known their revolutionary parts. He had become so identified with his new friends, in the past three whelming days, that he had forgotten for the moment the great differen............