“If he really said I was in the right, that is sufficient.”

“He said it, sure enough.”

“Then he must do me justice, and as to my style everyone has a style of their own.  I am furious, and I wrote furiously.  Look at this place; I have no bed, the floor is covered with filth, and I am obliged to sleep on a narrow bench.  Don’t you think it is natural that I should desire to eat the hearts of the scoundrels who have placed me here?  If I do not leave this hell by tomorrow, I shall kill myself, or go mad.”

Manucci understood the horrors of my situation.  He promised to come again early the next day, and advised me to see what money would do towards procuring a bed, but I would not listen to him, for I was suffering from injustice, and was therefore obstinate.  Besides, the thought of the vermin frightened me, and I was afraid for my purse and the jewels I had about me.

I spent a second night worse than the first, going to sleep from sheer exhaustion, only to awake and find myself slipping off the bench.

Manucci came before eight o’clock, and my aspect shocked him.  He had come in his carriage, bringing with him some excellent chocolate, which in some way restored my spirits.  As I was finishing it, an officer of high rank, accompanied by two other officers, came in and called out,—­

“M. de Casanova!”

I stepped forward and presented myself.

“Chevalier,” he began, “the Count of Aranda is at the gate of the prison; he is much grieved at the treatment you have received.  He only heard about it through the letter you wrote him yesterday, and if you had written sooner your pains would have been shorter.”

“Such was my intention, colonel, but a soldier . . . .”

I proceeded to tell him the story of the swindling soldier, and on hearing his name the colonel called the captain of the guard, reprimanded him severely, and ordered him to give me back the crown himself.  I took the money laughingly, and the colonel then ordered the captain to fetch the offending soldier, and to give him a flogging before me.

This officer, the emissary of the all-powerful Aranda, was Count Royas, commanding the garrison of Buen Retiro.  I told him all the circumstances of my arrest, and of my imprisonment in that filthy place.  I told him that if I did not get back that day my arms, my liberty, and my honour, I should either go mad or kill myself.

“Here,” I said, “I can neither rest nor sleep, and a man needs sleep every night.  If you had come a little earlier you would have seen the disgusting filth with which the floor was covered.”

The worthy man was taken aback with the energy with which I spoke.  I saw his feelings, and hastened to say,—­

“You must remember, colonel, that I am suffering from injustice, and am in a furious rage.  I am a man of honour, like yourself, and you can imagine the effect of such treatment on me.”