But at length he began to make out what they were saying; they were
all exclaiming and talking about him. "Look at him! look at him!"
they cried. "Who is he? What, Martin--this Martin? Never. No, no, no!
Yes, yes, yes! Martin himself--Martin with nothing on! Not a
shred--not a thread! Impossible--it cannot be! Nothing so strange
has ever happened! _Naked_--do you say that Martin is naked? Oh,
dreadful--from the crown of his head to his toes, naked as he was
born! No clothes--no clothes--oh no, it can't be Martin. It is, it is!"
And so on and on, until Martin could not endure it longer, for he
had been naked for days and days, and had ceased to think about it,
and in fact did not know that he was naked. And now hearing their
remarks, and seeing how they were disturbed, he looked down at
himself and saw that it was indeed so--that he had nothing on, and
he grew ashamed and frightened, and thought he would run and hide
himself from them in some hole in the ground. But there was no place
to hide in, for now they had gathered all round him in a vast
crowd, so that whichever way he turned there before him they
appeared--hundreds and hundreds of dark, excited faces, hundreds of
grimy hands all pointing at him. Then, all at once, he caught sight
of an old rag of a garment lying on the ground among the ashes and
cinders, and he thought he would cover himself with it, and picking
it hastily up was just going to put it round him when a great roar
of "No!" burst out from the crowd; he was almost deafened with the
sound, so that he stood trembling with the old dirty rag of cloth in
his hand. Then one of the little men came up to him, and snatching
the rag from his hand, flung it angrily down upon the floor; then as
if afraid of remaining so near Martin, he backed away into the crowd
again.