It was Juno’s first night on the stage of the Titania. She had taken the engagement without deeming it worth while to inform her husband. Bertino returned to Mulberry, at first greatly alarmed for her safety, but in turn filled with most dreadful imaginings as to the cause of her absence. The following night he got a similar response to his _sonata_ on the bell, but, instead of going away in a half-distracted state of mind, he lingered in the doorway, or paced to and fro before the house. To-night he was not merely a husband worried because his wife was missing. His alert eye and grimly patient air bespoke a more serious matter. Whether walking, standing, or sitting on the steps he was careful not to take one of his hands--the right--out of his coat pocket. It was after midnight when he caught sight of her. The white glare of an electric light brought her suddenly into view as she turned the corner. He tightened his grip on the thing in his pocket, but as she drew near and it was certain that she had no companion save a small valise, he came forth from the shadow in which he had crouched when the purpose of dealing her a deadly thrust was full upon him. She started back, but quickly regained her frigid calm. “You’ve had a fine wait,” she said. “Where have you been?” he demanded, for the first time speaking to her in a tone that smacked of authority. “Working and earning money,” she answered--“money that you ought to give me.” “Working? Where?” “In the theatre--the great Titania. Bah! You never even heard of it. Do you know where Broadway is?” He did not resent her scornful words. The motive for killing her having passed, he was again her blind worshipper. Producing her latchkey she opened the door. “Come in,” she said. “I have something to say to you.” And when they had entered the flat: “You must come to the theatre and walk home with me every night after the representation. At the stage door you must wait. There are beasts who will not let a woman be when she is alone at night. I have been annoyed enough.” “Who has annoyed you?” said Bertino, springing up and putting his hand in the stiletto pocket, now as eager to slay the offender as he had been to knife her a few minutes before. “No matter. To-morrow night and every night you be there at the stage door.” * * * * * Signor Di Bello sought in vain to get a trace of Juno. The _impresario_ of La Scala could not give him any clew. He visited all the concert halls and singing _caffès_ of Mulberry, as well as the Italian theatres of Little Italy in the Upper East End. Not a soul knew anything about her. One day he said to Bertino: “That woman Juno has flown like the bluebird that used to light on the Garibaldi statue. Do you know where she is?” “How should I know? You threaten to kill me if I do not keep away from her, and then ask me where she is!”