"The next night I was telling the fellows some stories, they crowding about to listen, when Auguste whispered in my ear. I turned, and there he was again, his eyes watching every mouthful I swallowed, his ears taking in everything that was said. The other fellows had noticed him now, and had christened him 'Marny's Shadow.' One of them wanted to ask him his business, and fire him into the street if it wasn't satisfactory, but I wouldn't have it. He had said nothing to me or anybody else, nor had he, so far as I knew, followed me when I went out. He had a perfect right to dine where he pleased if he paid for it--and he did--so Auguste admitted, and liberally, too. He could look at whom he pleased. The fact is, that but for Auguste, who was scared white half the time, fearing the Government would get on to his cigarette game, no one would have noticed him. Besides, the fellow might have his own reasons for remaining incog., and if he did we all knew he wouldn't have been the first one. "A few days after this I was painting up the Zattere near San Rosario--I was making the sketch for that big Giudeeca picture--the one that went to Munich that year--you remember it?--lot of figures around a fruit-stand, with the church on the right and the Giudeeca and Lagoon beyond--and had my gondolier Marco posing some twenty feet away with his back turned toward me, when my mysterious friend walked out from a little _calle_ tins side of the church, looked at Marco for a moment without turning his head--he didn't see me--and stopped at a door next to old Pietro Varni's wine-shop. He hesitated a moment, looking up and down the Zattere, opened the door with a key which he took from his pocket, and disappeared inside. I beckoned to Marco, and sent him to the wine-shop to find Pietro. When he came (Pietro was agent for the lodging-rooms above, and let them out to swell painters--we couldn't afford them--fifty lira a week, some of them more) I said: "'Pietro, did you see the chap that went upstairs a few moments ago?' "'Yes, signore.' "'Do you know who he is?' "'Yes, he is one of my gentlemen. He has the top floor--the one that Signore Almadi used to live in. The Signore Almadi is gone away.' "'How long has he been here?' "'About a month.' "'Is he a painter? "'No, I don't think so.' "'What is he, then?' "'Ah, Signore, who can tell? At first his letters were sent to me--now he gets them himself. The last were from Monte Carlo, from the Hotel--Hotel--I forget the name. But why does the Signore want to know? He pays the rent on the day--that is much better.' "'Where does he come from?' "Pietro shrugged his shoulders. "'That will do, Pietro.' "There was evidently nothing to be gotten out of him.