experience that in important schemes action is the grand requisite, and
that the rest must be left to fortune. If I had entrusted Father Balbi
with these deep mysteries of moral philosophy he would have pronounced me
a madman. His work was only toilsome on the first night, for the more he
worked the easier it became, and when he had finished he found he had
taken out thirty-six bricks.

On the 16th of October, as I was engaged in translating an ode of Horace,
I heard a trampling noise above my head, and then three light blows were
struck. This was the signal agreed upon to assure us that our
calculations were correct. He worked till the evening, and the next day
he wrote that if the roof of my cell was only two boards thick his work
would be finished that day. He assured me that he was carefully making
the hole round as I had charged him, and that he would not pierce the
ceiling. This was a vital point, as the slightest mark would have led to
discovery. "The final touch," he said, "will only take a quarter of an
hour." I had fixed on the day after the next to escape from my cell at
night-time to enter no more, for with a mate I was quite sure that I
could make in two or three hours a hole in the roof of the ducal palace,
and once on the outside of the roof I would trust to chance for the means
of getting to the ground.

I had not yet got so far as this, for my bad luck had more than one
obstacle in store for me. On the same day (it was a Monday) at two
o'clock in the afternoon, whilst Father Balbi was at work, I heard the
door of the hall being opened. My blood ran cold, but I had sufficient
presence of mind to knock twice-the signal of alarm--at which it had been
agreed that Father Balbi was to make haste back to his cell and set all
in order. In less than a minute afterwards Lawrence opened the door, and
begged my pardon for giving me a very unpleasant companion. This was a