Casanova, overjoyed at being alone, trudged on into the next village, Valdobbiadene by name, and here he made cautious inquiries as to the names of residents and the houses they occupied. One of the most important pointed out to him was that of the chief of police of the district, and to this with rare effrontery he at once proceeded. Some secret voice told him that he would run no danger, and on knocking at the door he heard that the man he had so much reason to dread was absent for some days. “He is helping in the search for two notorious prisoners,” said the wife who answered. “They have just escaped from the Piombi; one is called Casanova.” “Dear me, I am sorry not to find him, I am his old friend and comrade. I have come a long distance from hunting in the mountains (in silk stockings and a coat of taffety!); will you give me shelter for the night?” The warmest welcome was accorded him; he was given a good supper, his sore feet were dressed, and he slept all round the clock in a luxurious bed, and waking refreshed and restored, went on his way rejoicing. This was not the only good luck of the sort that fell to him by the way. He found food and lodging in another hospitable house, the master of which was absent, and ran into one or two people who knew him but did not interfere with him. One last escapade must be told exhibiting his bold and desperate temper. Reaching the house of a friend of his, he entered and claimed assistance, offering to give him a draft on Signor Bragadino as security for a loan of sixty sequins. The recreant friend refused, fearing to offend the Council of Ten, and declined to give him even a glass of water. The man was under great obligations to Casanova, who fiercely resented this cruel treatment and at once adopted a menacing tone, crowbar in hand. The coward threw his keys on the table and bade Casanova help himself from a drawer. “I will take six sequins,” he said. “It is true I asked for sixty, but that was as a loan from a friend. Now let me go in peace, or I will come back and burn your house over your head.” The rest of the journey to the frontier, which he reached safely, was made without contretemps. Sometimes Casanova walked, sometimes he rode a donkey; the last stage he travelled in a cart with a couple of horses. At Valstagna he found Balbi in the place indicated, and the monk frankly told him he never expected to see him again. Casanova would indeed have gladly separated from him there and then, for Balbi proved a drag on him for some time to come. In the end he was recommitted to prison, was released from his vows and died in Venice a pauper, debauched and dissolute to the last.