"What a pity! I told M. Cavalli that he had almost killed you with his
books, and he has commissioned me to take them back, and to give you
Boethius; and here it is."

"I am much obliged to you. I like it better than Seneca, and I am sure it
will do me good."

"I am leaving you a very necessary instrument, and some barley water for
you to refresh yourself with."

He visited me four times, and pulled me through; my constitution did the
rest, and my appetite returned. At the beginning of September I found
myself, on the whole, very well, suffering from no actual ills except the
heat, the vermin, and weariness, for I could not be always reading
Boethius.

One day Lawrence told me that I might go out of my cell to wash myself
whilst the bed was being made and the room swept. I took advantage of the
favour to walk up and down for the ten minutes taken by these operations,
and as I walked hard the rats were alarmed and dared not shew themselves.
On the same day Lawrence gave me an account of my money, and brought
himself in as my debtor to the amount of thirty livres, which however, I
could not put into my pocket. I left the money in his hands, telling him
to lay it out on masses on my behalf, feeling sure that he would make
quite a different use of it, and he thanked me in a tone that persuaded
me he would be his own priest. I gave him the money every month, and I
never saw a priest's receipt. Lawrence was wise to celebrate the
sacrifice at the tavern; the money was useful to someone at all events.