Chicot had the faculty of waking quickly, and with all his senses about
him, so he jumped out of bed and got hold in an instant of his purse and
his sword. It was quite dark, but it seemed to him that the whole room
was being torn to pieces by the four winds of heaven; for the chairs
were falling, and the table breaking more and more under the weight of
the drawers. As he could do nothing against the gods of Olympus, he
contented himself with standing in one corner, with his sword held out
before him, so that if any of these mythological personages approached,
they would spit themselves upon it.

At last he profited by a momentary cessation in the uproar to cry
loudly, "Help! help!"

He made so much noise that it seemed to quiet the elements, as if
Neptune had pronounced the famous _Quos ego_, and, after six or seven
minutes, during which Eurus, Notus, Boreas and Aquilo seemed to beat a
retreat, the host appeared with a lantern and enlightened the scene,
which looked deplorably like a field of battle. The great chest of
drawers was overturned on the broken table; the door was held only by
one of its hinges, and the bolts were broken; three or four chairs were
on the floor with their legs in the air, and, to crown all, the
crockery, which had been on the table, lay in bits on the floor.

"This is a regular pandemonium," cried Chicot, recognizing his host.

"Oh! monsieur," cried the host, clasping his hands, "what has happened?"

"Are there demons lodging here?" asked Chicot.