volume, and thus to convey it to the monk, but when I saw the book I
found the tool to be two inches longer.

My correspondent had written to tell me that his cell was covered with
pictures, and I had communicated him my idea about the Bible and the
difficulty presented by its want of length. Happy at being able to
display his genius, he rallied me on the poverty of my imagination,
telling me that I had only to send him the pike wrapped up in my fox-skin
cloak.

"Lawrence," said he, "had often talked about your cloak, and Count Asquin
would arouse no suspicion by asking to see it in order to buy one of the
same kind. All you have to do is to send it folded up. Lawrence would
never dream of unfolding it."

I, on the other hand, was sure that he would. In the first place, because
a cloak folded up is more troublesome to carry than when it is unfolded.
However, not to rebuff him and at the same time to shew him that I was
the wiser, I wrote that he had only to send for the cloak. The next day
Lawrence asked me for it, and I gave it folded up, but without the bar,
and in a quarter of an hour he brought it back to me, saying that the
gentleman had admired it very much.

The monk wrote me a doleful letter, in which he confessed he had given me
a piece of bad advice, adding that I was wrong to follow it. According to
him the pike was lost, as Lawrence had brought in the cloak all unfolded.
After this, all hope was gone. I undeceived him, and begged him for the
future to be a little more sparing of his advice. It was necessary to
bring the matter to a head, and I determined to send him the bar under
cover of my Bible, taking measures to prevent the gaoler from seeing the