"Anybody without protection may be denounced as a spy. Probably nothing would follow from it except expulsion, but expulsion would be unpleasant." "I wonder what is the fundamental reason for spy-mania," said Sylvia. "Is it due to cheap romanticism or a universal sense of guilt? Or is it the opportunity for the first time to give effect to vulgar gossip? I think it's the last, probably. It must be very unpleasant to glorify the meanest vice with the inspiration of a patriotic impulse." "I said that justice was subordinated to military efficiency." "Yes, and even slander has a temporary commission and is dressed up in a romantic uniform and armed with anonymous letters. Bullets are not the only things with long noses." "I suppose you can get away? You have money?" Philidor asked. "Oh, I'm rich," she declared. "And your little friend, how is she?" "She's waiting for me at Avereshti." Sylvia gave an account of her adventures, and Philidor shook his head. "But it has all ended satisfactorily," he said. "I hope so." "It only shows how right I was to warn you of the spy danger--the double danger of being made the victim of a genuine agent and the risk of a frivolous accusation. You may be sure that now, when you go back to the hotel with money, you will be accused everywhere of being a spy. If you have any trouble telegraph to me at Bralatz. Here's my address." "And here's Avereshti," Sylvia said. "Good-by and good luck. _Et vive la Roumanie!_" She waved her hand to him and walked quickly from the station to the hotel. It was good to see the waiter on the threshold and to be conscious of being able to rule him with the prospect of a tip. How second-rate the hotel looked, with money in one's pocket! How obsequiously it seemed to beg one's patronage! There was not a single window that did not have the air of cringing to the new arrival. "Lunch for two at once," Sylvia cried, flinging him a twenty-franc note. "For two?" the waiter repeated. "For myself and Mademoiselle Walters--my friend up-stairs," she added, when the waiter stared first at her and then at the money. "What's the matter? Is she ill? _Crétin_, if she's ill you and your master shall pay." "The lady who was staying here with _madame_ left this morning with a gentleman." "_Crapule, tu mens!_" "Madame may look for herself. The room is empty." Sylvia caught the waiter by the throat and shook him. "You lie! You lie! Confess that you are lying. She was starved by you. She has died, and you are pretending that she has gone away." She threw the waiter from her and ran up-stairs. Her own luggage was still in the room; of Queenie's nothing remained except a few pieces of pink tissue-paper trembling faintly in the draught. Sylvia rang the bell, but before any one could answer her summons she had fainted.