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 in Ruth's throat. They were French women and girls, or perhaps Belgians of the sort whom she had seen tilling free, French farms; but these were captives—slaves. And seeing them, Ruth understood with a flaming leap of realization what von Forstner had meant about the Russians. They were captives also, and slaves; but they had never known freedom.

But to see these women slaves!

Von Forstner himself betrayed especial interest in them. He spoke sharply to the driver, who halted the car and signaled for the nearest of the slaves to approach.

"Where are you from?" he questioned them in French. They named various places in the invaded lands; most of them had been but recently deported and had arrived during von Forstner's absence. Two of the group, which numbered eight, were very young—girls of sixteen or seventeen, Ruth thought. They gazed up at Ruth with wide, agonized eyes and then gazed down upon the ground. Ruth glanced to von Forstner and caught him estimating them—their faces, their figures, as he had estimated her own. She caught him glancing from them to herself now, comparing them; and her loathing, and detestation of him and of all that he was, and which he represented suddenly became dynamic.

He did not see that; but one of the French girls, who had glanced up at her again, did see; and the girl looked quickly down at once as though fearing to betray it. But Ruth saw her thin hands clenching at her sides and crumpling the rags of her skirt; and from this Ruth was first aware that her own hands had clenched and through her pulled a new tension.