sent him at
Gambardella's suggestion. One of two things must happen, they thought,
for it was clear that Cucurullo would explain everything to her, if he
saw her. Either she would come with him to Santa Prassede, and there she
might wait with him all night, for all they cared; or else she would run
away as soon as he left the house, for they guessed that she would be
afraid. But things had turned out differently. When Cucurullo had
reached the apartment Pina was not there, for she had just gone down the
backstairs to get the evening supply of milk which the milkman left with
the keeper of the back door. Cucurullo, not finding her, had picked up
the lute, the case of manuscripts, and a small hand valise which was
already packed for the journey with necessaries belonging both to
Stradella and his wife, and he had gone off again before Pina had
returned.

She did not miss the things till Stradella came, and she carried the
lamp into the bedroom; but then she understood that some one had been in
the house during her short absence, and it flashed upon her that
Ortensia had already been carried off, though she could not have told
why she connected such a possibility with what she took for a theft
committed in the apartment. Insane terror took possession of her then,
with the vision of being left behind at the mercy of Don Alberto, and
she fled without hesitation, taking with her nothing that was not her
own, and only what she could easily carry for a journey. As for
Cucurullo, he had no time to waste, and thought that in any case she
would be safe enough from Don Alberto's men, whose only business would
be to seize her mistress. Being fearless himself, it never occurred to
him that she would run away out of sheer fright.

Stradella paced the flagstones under the archway, waiting for the
carriage, and as the time passed his anxiety grew steadily till it
became almost unbearable. The tall bearded porter stood motionless by
the entrance, resting both his hands on the huge silver pommel of his
polished staff. He could stand in that position for hours without
moving. At last Stradella spoke to him.

'Has Don Alberto come home yet, Gaetano?' he asked.

'No, sir.' The porter touched his large three-cornered hat respectfully,
for the musician had that morning given him a handsome tip preparatory
to leaving. 'His Excellency may not come home till very late,' he
vouchsafed to add, with a faint smile.

Stradella saw that he was in