wait till I got ready.

'"No matter," he said, "you are only going to leave this dismal cell for
a light one, quite new, where you can see half Venice through the two
windows; where you can stand upright; where----"

'But I cannot bear to write of it--I seemed to be dying. I implored
Laurent to tell the secretary that I thanked the tribunal for its mercy,
but begged it in Heaven's name to leave me where I was. Laurent told me,
with a burst of laughter, that I was mad, that my present cell was
execrable, and that I was to be transferred to a delightful one.

'"Come, come, you must obey orders," he exclaimed.

'He led me away. I felt a momentary solace in hearing him order one of
his men to follow with the armchair, where my spontoon was still
concealed. That was always something! If my beautiful hole in the floor,
that I had made with such infinite pains, could have followed me
too--but that was impossible! My body went; my soul stayed behind.

'As soon as Laurent saw me in the fresh cell, he had the armchair set
down. I flung myself upon it, and he went away, telling me that my bed
and all my other belongings should be brought to me at once.'

For two hours Casanova was left alone in his new cell, utterly hopeless,
and expecting to be consigned for the rest of his life to one of the
palace dungeons, from which no escape could be possible. Then the gaoler
returned, almost mad with rage, and demanded the axe and all the
instruments which the prisoner must have employed in penetrating the
marble pavement. Calmly, without stirring, Casanova told him that he
did not know what he was talking about, but that, if he _had_ procured
tools, it could only have been from Laurent himself, who alone had
entrance to the cell.

Such a reply did not soften the gaoler's anger, and for some time
Casanova was very badly treated. Everything was searched; but his tool
had been so cleverly concealed that Laurent never found it. Fortunately
it was the gaoler's interest not to let the tribunal know of the
discovery he had made. He had the floor of the cell mended without the
knowledge of the secretary of the Inquisition, and when this was done,
and he found himself secure from blame, Casanova had little difficulty
in making peace with him, and even told him the secret of the lamp's
construction.

Fortunately, out of the tribunal's allowance to the prisoner enough was
always left, after he had provided for his own needs, for a gift--or
b