When the worst of my fever had subsided, the difficulty was to obtain any nourishment suitable to my state.  The good doctor, who had suggested beefsteak and Marsala when I was incapable of taking anything at all, ruled me severely in the matter of diet now that I really began to feel hungry.  I hope I may never again be obliged to drink goat’s milk; in these days it became so unutterably loathsome to me that I had, at length, to give it up altogether, and I cannot think of it now without a qualm.  The broth offered me was infamous, mere coloured water beneath half an inch of floating grease.  Once there was a promise of a fowl, and I looked forward to it eagerly; but, alas! this miserable bird had undergone a process of seething for the extraction of soup.  I would have defied anyone to distinguish between the substance remaining and two or three old kid gloves boiled into a lump.  With a pleased air, the hostess one day suggested a pigeon, a roasted pigeon, and I welcomed the idea joyously.  Indeed, the appearance of the dish, when it was borne in, had nothing to discourage my appetite—­the odour was savoury; I prepared myself for a treat.  Out of pure kindness, for she saw me tremble in my weakness, the good woman offered her aid in the carving; she took hold of the bird by the two legs, rent it asunder, tore off the wings in the same way, and then, with a smile of satisfaction, wiped her hands upon her skirt.  If her hands had known water (to say nothing of soap) during the past twelve months I am much mistaken.  It was a pity, for I found that my teeth could just masticate a portion of the flesh which hunger compelled me to assail.

Of course I suffered much from thirst, and Dr. Sculco startled me one day by asking if I liked tea.  Tea?  Was it really procurable?  The Doctor assured me that it could be supplied by the chemist; though, considering how rarely the exotic was demanded, it might have lost something of its finer flavour whilst stored at the pharmacy.  An order was despatched.  Presently the waiter brought me a very small paper packet, such as might have contained a couple of Seidlitz powders; on opening it I discovered something black and triturated, a crumbling substance rather like ground charcoal.  I smelt it, but there was no perceptible odour; I put a little of it to my tongue, but the effect was merely that of dust.  Proceeding to treat it as if it were veritable tea, I succeeded in imparting a yellowish tinge to the hot water, and, so thirsty was I, this beverage tempted me to a long draught.  There followed no ill result that I know of, but the paper packet lay thenceforth untouched, and, on leaving, I made a present of it to my landlady.