'I have,' said Caper to me the other day, 'too much respect for the
public to tell them who the man with red hair and beard used to pose
for; but he has taken to drinking, and it's all up with him.'

Spite of fleas, rats, squalling cats, dog-fights, squealing of horses,
and braying of donkeys, lamp-smoke, and heat or cold, the hours passed
by Caper in Gigi's old barracks were among the pleasantest of his Roman
life. There was such novelty, variety, and brilliancy in the costumes to
be sketched, that every evening was a surprise; save those nights when
Stella posed, and these were known and looked forward to in advance. She
always insured a full class, and when she first appeared, was the beauty
of all the models.

Caper was sitting one afternoon in Rocjean's studio, when there was a
tap at the door.

'_Entrate_!' shouted Rocjean, and in came a female model, called Rita.
It was the month of May, business was dull; she wanted employment.
Rocjean asked her to walk in and rest herself.

'Well, Rita, you haven't any thing to do, now that the English have all
fled from Rome before the malaria?'

'Very little. Some of the Russians are left up there in the Fratina; but
since the Signore Giovanni sold all his paintings to that rich Russian
banker, _diavolo_! he has done nothing but drink champagne, and he don't
want any more models.'

'What is the Signore Giovanni's last name?' asked Caper.