Nevertheless, when two months of living in the little dark flat had brought her no nearer the inside of the Di Bello house, where her husband continued to live in order to avert suspicion, she became impatient, disgusted. The few hours a week that he could steal from the shop to visit her were not the happiest in his life. She grew sullen and entertained him with fault-finding. Of his poverty she never lost an opportunity to twit him, and called him a cheat for marrying her. At last she declared that she would not stay there alone any longer. If a man took a wife and could not live with her and support her like a Christian he had better give her up. And he talked of money! Why did he not bring her good things from the grocery? For two months she had lived on bread and _salame_ half the time, with an occasional feast of lupine beans and veal that he brought her from Mulberry. And what veal! In Naples it would not be permitted to sell such young meat. Perhaps it was good enough for the wives of the Mulberry cattle, but it would not do for her to live that way. She had been a fool to put up with it as long as she had--a woman like her!--when she could go on the stage and live as a signora should. Yes, she could get a place on the stage, and it would not be an Italian theatre either. Goldoni the cornetist had left La Scala and was playing in the orchestra of a Broadway theatre, the great Titania. The other day she met him, and she did not let on that she was married. See how well she could keep a secret!--but she was a fool for doing so. Well, Goldoni was a man. He said that he could get her a place in the Titania without any trouble. In fact, the _impresario_ would be glad to engage her. She would be the finest shape in the company. It would be twelve dollars a week sure for a figure such as hers, Signor Goldoni had assured her. Why, then, should she remain at home nights waiting for a good-for-nothing of a husband, who never brought her anything better than bob veal? Bertino pleaded with her to be patient and all would end well. By the Feast of San Giovanni, if not before, it would be safe to reveal the secret of his marriage, when, he could promise her, his good-tempered uncle would forgive him, and invite them both to make their home in Casa Di Bello. As for his aunt, she would not be here to interfere. “Your aunt will not be here?” asked Juno, who recognised in Carolina her bitterest foe. “No. She has broken her leg, and will not return to America for a long time. The news came yesterday.” * * * * * When Bertino pressed the bell button of the flat a week afterward the electric lock of the street door did not click its customary “come in.” For several minutes he kept up a serenade. At length a thunderous voice sounded through the speaking tube: “She’s out. Get out!”