The count was very much in the way, but he behaved with great friendliness and generosity. He freely shared with his companion the rich and liberal fare sent in to him, and when he discovered the hole in the floor, promised to keep the secret inviolable; more, to assist the fugitive in making his escape by lowering him through the hole when completed and afterward pulling up the rope. Eight days later the count was set at liberty, and by that time the last plank was perforated so that Casanova, on applying his eye to the first small hole made, saw plainly that his conjecture had been right and that he was looking down into the hall of the Council of Ten. But he found the passage was blocked by an intervening beam of the ceiling below, and he was obliged to enlarge the aperture to get beyond it. Everything at last was ready, it only remained to fix the day and hour of departure. He settled for the 27th of August, the eve of the Feast of St. Augustin, when there would be no council meeting and no one about. Carefully closing the aperture lest its existence might be betrayed, Casanova patiently awaited the supreme moment, but, unhappily, on the 25th he was overwhelmed by a crushing blow. Laurent came to him at midday and bade him prepare for good news. “You are to come with me,” he said. “Let me dress properly,” cried Casanova, overjoyed, taking for granted that he was to be set free. “There is no need for that,” replied the gaoler, “you are not going far, only to another chamber better and brighter than this, with two windows from which you can see half Venice, and in which you can stand upright.” The poor prisoner, astounded, sank fainting into a chair. “Give me vinegar to smell,” he whispered almost inarticulately, “and beg the secretary to leave me where I am.” At which Laurent laughed in scorn. “Have you gone mad? What! You refuse to move out of hell into paradise? Come, come,--orders must be obeyed. Get up, and I will help you with your books and belongings.” So the fruit of months of labour must be lost irretrievably and, worse than all, the hole in the floor must be discovered. Yet in the midst of all this misery and disappointment, one crumb of consolation remained--the crowbar, concealed in the armchair, went with him into his new quarters. There was a terrible uproar when the hole was laid bare, and much seeking and poking among mattresses and cushions, but the precious weapon escaped notice. Nevertheless, nothing could be done with it. The new cell which was deliciously cool and fresh, had clean walls which would show the slightest scratch on the surface. Escape seemed farther off than ever.