She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. I ought never to have thought of it.
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