bound manuscripts which I had in my possession. I shewed him where they
were, and this incident opened my eyes. I saw now, clearly enough, that I
had been betrayed by the wretch Manuzzi. The books were, "The Key of
Solomon the King," "The Zecorben," a "Picatrix," a book of "Instructions
on the Planetary Hours," and the necessary incantations for conversing
with demons of all sorts. Those who were aware that I possessed these
books took me for an expert magician, and I was not sorry to have such a
reputation.

Messer-Grande took also the books on the table by my bed, such as
Petrarch, Ariosto, Horace. "The Military' Philosopher" (a manuscript
which Mathilde had given me), "The Porter of Chartreux," and "The
Aretin," which Manuzzi had also denounced, for Messer-Grande asked me for
it by name. This spy, Manuzzi, had all the appearance of an honest man--a
very necessary qualification for his profession. His son made his fortune
in Poland by marrying a lady named Opeska, whom, as they say, he killed,
though I have never had any positive proof on the matter, and am willing
to stretch Christian charity to the extent of believing he was innocent,
although he was quite capable of such a crime.

While Messer-Grande was thus rummaging among my manuscripts, books and
letters, I was dressing myself in an absent-minded manner, neither
hurrying myself nor the reverse. I made my toilette, shaved myself, and
combed my hair; putting on mechanically a laced shirt and my holiday suit
without saying a word, and without Messer-Grande--who did not let me
escape his sight for an instant--complaining that I was dressing myself
as if I were going to a wedding.

As I went out I was surprised to see a band of forty men-at-arms in the
ante-room. They had done me the honour of thinking all these men