My first task was to change my clothes. Father Balbi looked like a
peasant, but he was in better condition than I, his clothes were not torn
to shreds or covered with blood, his red flannel waistcoat and purple
breeches were intact, while my figure could only inspire pity or terror,
so bloodstained and tattered was I. I took off my stockings, and the
blood gushed out of two wounds I had given myself on the parapet, while
the splinters in the hole in the door had torn my waistcoat, shirt,
breeches, legs and thighs. I was dreadfully wounded all over my body. I
made bandages of handkerchiefs, and dressed my wounds as best I could,
and then put on my fine suit, which on a winter's day would look odd
enough. Having tied up my hair, I put on white stockings, a laced shirt,
failing any other, and two others over it, and then stowing away some
stockings and handkerchiefs in my pockets, I threw everything else into a
corner of the room. I flung my fine cloak over the monk, and the fellow
looked as if he had stolen it. I must have looked like a man who has been
to a dance and has spent the rest of the night in a disorderly house,
though the only foil to my reasonable elegance of attire was the bandages
round my knees.

In this guise, with my exquisite hat trimmed with Spanish lace and
adorned with a white feather on my head, I opened a window. I was
immediately remarked by some lounger in the palace court, who, not
understanding what anyone of my appearance was doing there at such an
early hour, went to tell the door-keeper of the circumstance. He,
thinking he must have locked somebody in the night before, went for his
keys and came towards us. I was sorry to have let myself be seen at the
window, not knowing that therein chance was working for our escape, and
was sitting down listening to the idle talk of the monk, when I heard the
jingling of keys. Much perturbed I got up and put my eye to a chink in
the door, and saw a man with a great bunch of keys in his hand mounting