Sylvia found Queenie in a state of agitation at her long absence; she did not tell her anything about Zozo at once, in the hope that he would not come to the Trianon on the first night of his arrival. She did think it advisable, however, to tell Queenie of her failure to secure the passport. "Then we can't be going to England?" Queenie asked. "Well, not directly from here," Sylvia answered. "But we'll move on as soon as we can into Bulgaria. We can get down to the Piræus from Dedeagatch. I don't think these neutral countries are very strict about passports. We'll manage somehow to get away from here." "But if we cannot be going to England why must we be going from Bucharest? Better to stay, I think. Yes?" "We might want to go," Sylvia said. "We might get tired of the Trianon. It wouldn't be difficult." "I shall never be going to England now," said Queenie, in a toneless voice. "Never shall I be going! I shall learn a new song and a new dance, yes?" Sylvia felt tired after her long afternoon and thought she would rest for an hour before getting ready for the evening's work. The mist gathered again at sunset, and the gardens of the theater, though they were unusually full, lacked any kind of gaiety. When they were walking down the narrow laurel-bordered path that screened the actors from the people sitting at their tables under the trees, Sylvia was sure that Zozo would be standing by the stage door at the end of it; but he was nowhere to be seen. After the performance, however, when they came out, as the custom was, to take their seats in the audience, the juggler made a dramatic appearance from behind a tree; Queenie seemed to lose all her fairy charm and become a terrified little animal. "I don't think there's room at our table for you," Sylvia said. "There are plenty of chairs," Maud insisted, stridently; she had followed the juggler into the lamplight round the table. "I'm quite sure there's no room for you," said Sylvia, sharply; and, taking advantage of Queenie's complete limpness, she dragged her away by the wrist and explained quickly to the manager, who was walking up and down by the entrance gate, that Queenie was ill and must go home at once. "Ill!" he exclaimed, skeptically. "Well, I shall have to fine you both your evening's salary. Why, it's only half past eleven!" Sylvia did not wait to argue with him, but hurried Queenie to a carriage, in which they drove back immediately to their hotel. "I said to you that it was going to bring me bad luck when you said to that priest my real name. _Ach!_ what shall I be doing? What shall I be doing now?" Queenie wailed. "You must pay no attention to him," Sylvia told her; but she found that Queenie did not recover herself as she usually did at the tone of command. "What can he do to you while you're with me?" she continued.