I found Leoni in a horrible condition, haggard, pale as death and almost mad. It was the first time that want and suffering had really taken hold of him. Hitherto he had simply seen his wealth vanish little by little, while seeking and finding means to replenish it. His disasters in that respect had been great; but card-sharping and chance had never left him long battling with the privations of poverty. His mental power had always remained intact, but it was overcome when physical strength abandoned him. I found him in a state of nervous excitement which resembled madness. I gave securities for his debt. It was easy for me to furnish proofs of my responsibility, for I had them upon me. So I entered his prison only to set him free. His joy was so intense that he could not endure it, and he had to be carried, unconscious, to a carriage. I took him to Florence and surrounded him with all the comforts I could procure. When all his debts were paid, I had very little left. I devoted all my energies to making him forget the sufferings of his prison. His robust body was soon cured, but his mind remained diseased. The terrors of darkness and the agony of despair had made a profound impression upon that active, enterprising man, accustomed to the enjoyments of wealth, or to the excitement of the adventurer's life. Inaction had shattered him. He had become subject to childish terrors, to terrible outbreaks of violence; he could not endure the slightest annoyance; and the most horrible thing was that he vented his wrath on me for all the annoyances that I could not spare him. He had lost that will power which enabled him to face without fear the most precarious prospects for the future. He was terrified now at the thought of poverty and asked me every day what resources I should have when my present means were exhausted. I was appalled myself at the thought of the destitution which was impending. The time came at last. I began to paint pictures on screens, snuff-boxes and other small articles of Spa wood. When I had worked ten hours, my earnings amounted to eight or ten francs. That would have been enough for my needs; but for Leoni it was utter poverty. He longed for a hundred impossible things; he complained bitterly, savagely, because he was not richer. He often reproached me for having paid his debts and for not having fled with him and with my money too. To calm him, I was obliged to convince him that it would have been impossible for me to get him out of prison and commit that piece of rascality. He would stand at the windows and swear horribly at the rich people driving by in their carriages. He would point to his shabby clothes and say with an accent that I cannot possibly imitate: "_Can't_ you help me to obtain a better coat? _Won't_ you do it?" He finally told me so often that I could rescue him from his distress, and that it was cruel and selfish of me to leave him in that condition, that I thought that he was mad and no