"Excuse me, please! Excuse me, please! They told me there was being an English artiste on the train."
That voice reproduced so many times by Sylvia at the Pierian Hall was the voice of Concetta and, turning round, she saw her.
"Concetta!"
The girl drew in her breath sharply.
"How was you knowing me? My name is Queenie Walters. How was you calling me Concetta? Ah, the English girl! Oh, my dear, I am so content to see you."
Sylvia took her in her arms and kissed her.
"Oh, Sylvia! You see I remember your name. I can't get away from Jassy. I was being expelled from Moscow, and I had no money to come more than here, and the man I am with here I hate. I want to go to Bucharest, but he isn't wanting to let me go and gives to me only furs, no money."
"You're not still with Zozo?"
"Ach, no! He—how do you say—he shooted me in the leg three years from now and afterward we were no more friends. The man I am with here was of Jassy. I had no money. What else must I do?"
Sylvia had not much money, either; but she had just enough to pay Concetta's fare to Bucharest, whither at midnight they set out.