that it had just struck five. He
said it was inconceivable to him how I could sleep in the situation we
were in. But that which was inconceivable to him was not so to me. I had
not fallen asleep on purpose, but had only yielded to the demands of
exhausted nature, and, if I may say so, to the extremity of my need. In
my exhaustion there was nothing to wonder at, since I had neither eaten
nor slept for two days, and the efforts I had made--efforts almost beyond
the limits of mortal endurance--might well have exhausted any man. In my
sleep my activity had come back to me, and I was delighted to see the
darkness disappearing, so that we should be able to proceed with more
certainty and quickness.

Casting a rapid glance around, I said to myself, "This is not a prison,
there ought, therefore, be some easy exit from it." We addressed
ourselves to the end opposite to the folding-doors, and in a narrow
recess I thought I made out a doorway. I felt it over and touched a lock,
into which I thrust my pike, and opened it with three or four heaves. We
then found ourselves in a small room, and I discovered a key on a table,
which I tried on a door opposite to us, which, however, proved to be
unlocked. I told the monk to go for our bundles, and replacing the key we
passed out and came into a gallery containing presses full of papers.
They were the state archives. I came across a short flight of stone
stairs, which I descended, then another, which I descended also, and
found a glass door at the end, on opening which I entered a hall well
known to me: we were in the ducal chancery. I opened a window and could
have got down easily, but the result would have been that we should have
been trapped in the maze of little courts around St. Mark's Church. I saw
on a desk an iron instrument, of which I took possession; it had a
rounded point and a wooden handle, being used by the clerks of the
chancery to pierce parchments for the purpose of affixing the leaden
seals. On opening the desk I saw the copy of a letter advising the
Proveditore of Corfu of a grant of three thousand sequins for the
restoration of the old fortress. I searched for the sequins but they were
not there. God knows how gladly I would have taken them, and how I would
have laughed the monk to scorn if he had accused me of theft! I should
have received the money as a gift from Heaven, and should have regarded
myself as its master by conquest.

Going to the door of the chancery,