"I thought I was in hell," said Sylvia, seriously. "When are my friends coming to see me?" The nun looked grave. "Your friends have all gone away," she said at last. "They used to come every day to inquire after you, but they went away when war was declared." "War?" Sylvia repeated. "Did you say war?" The nun nodded. "War?" she went on. "This isn't part of my delirium? You're not teasing me? War between whom?" "Russia, France, and England are at war with Germany and Austria." "Then Carrier has left Petersburg?" "Hush," said the nun. "It's no longer Petersburg. It's Petrograd now." "But I don't understand. Do you mean to tell me that everybody has changed his name? I've changed my name back to my real name. My name is Sylvia Snow now. I changed it when I was delirious, but I shall always be Sylvia Snow. I've been thinking about it all these days while I've been lying so quiet. Did Carrier leave any message for me? He was the aviator, you know." "He has gone back to fight for France," the nun said, crossing herself. "He was very sorry about your being so ill. You must pray for him." "Yes, I will pray for him," Sylvia said. "And there is nobody left? Those two funny little English acrobats with fair curly hair. Have they gone?" "They've gone, too," said the nun. "They came every day to inquire for you, and they brought you flowers, which were put beside your bed, but you were unconscious." "I think I smelled a sweetness in the air sometimes," Sylvia said. "They were always put outside the window at night," the nun explained. The faintest flicker of an inclination to be amused at the nun's point of view about flowers came over Sylvia; but it scarcely endured for an instant, because it was so obviously the right point of view in this hospital, where even flowers, not to seem out of place, must acquire orderly habits. The nun asked her if she wanted anything and passed on down the ward when she shook her head. Sylvia lay back to consider her situation and to pick up the threads of normal existence, which seemed so inextricably tangled at present that she felt like a princess in a fairy tale who had been set an impossible task by an envious witch.