"Oh! what weather," replied the host pathetically.

"But the bolts do not hold; this house must be made of card-board. I
would rather go away;--I prefer the road."

"Oh! my poor furniture," sighed the host.

"But my clothes! where are they? They were on this chair."

"If they were there, they ought to be there still," replied the host.

"What! 'if they were there.' Do you think I came here yesterday in this
costume?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur," answered the host, with embarrassment, "I know you
were clothed."

"It is lucky you confess it."

"But--"

"But what?"

"The wind has dispersed everything."

"Ah! that is a reason."

"You see."

"But, my friend, when the wind comes in it comes from outside, and it