I obstinately continued to shake my head. There must be some reason for his wanting it back, and I resolved to find this out before I parted with it. Thereupon my inner self ejaculated "Nonsense!" but the dealer's anxiety was too evident, and his liberality too unusual, not to be suspicious. "I must bid you good-morning," I said, in order to bring the matter to a crisis. "Stay a moment: I will explain, I will tell you all. A poor widow sold me the picture: it was a portrait of the husband of her youth. Yesterday she came to buy it back: she had saved the money for this purpose sou by sou. Monsieur will not be cruel, and I promise to divide the profits equally with him." "I can name my price?" I asked, stopping at the door. "Certainly, monsieur." "Tell the poor widow she had better spend her savings in buying a new husband instead of an old portrait. You can mention me as a pretender." With that I walked off, believing that I could come sooner to the truth by feigning indifference. Several times during the day I imagined some one was watching me, and returning home at night I was sure I was followed; which proved to be true, as on reaching my door the shock-headed boy from the shop passed and whispered, "Be careful! They are on your track;" then disappeared before I could ask an explanation. "I wonder if Sticks meditates a night-attack, and has sent the boy to reconnoitre?" said I to my confidential friend. "You had better bribe him to tell you," replied this ironical adviser. But nothing happened until morning, when a woman, the concierge of the house I live in, knocked at the door and asked if it would be convenient for me to pay my rent that day: it would oblige the proprietor. This was an unusual request, the rent not being due for a week to come; but I counted out the necessary sum, and handing it to her went on with my preparations to go out. Still she remained, and when I turned to see what detained her, I saw her eyes fixed on the portrait. "It is so like my son," she said, observing my regard. "Monsieur has not had it long?" "No, a few days only." "My poor son was killed," she continued, wiping her eyes: "he was a mason and fell from a scaffolding. If he had only been contented to be a street-paver, as I begged him, he would never have fallen." "Blessed are the lowly-minded, for being already down they cannot fall!" This voiceless remark I made to my other self as a warning. "It is such a broken-up portrait that monsieur cannot want it. I would like to buy it for a little sum if monsieur would sell it. My poor son! That hole in the forehead especially looks like Jean when I saw him last." Here she covered her eyes. "How much did that one-eyed man give you to come and buy that portrait?" asked I, guessing that this was an envoy of Sticks. "He?" she said, confused: "it was no _he_." Then recovering herself: "Monsieur is mistaken if he thinks I would take a bribe;" after which the lady withdrew.