Decked out as I was, I walked towards a cottage, from whose chimney smoke rose. However, I hardly got within pistol shot of the place before I found myself surrounded by a mob of completely naked men, who seemed surprised to see me. I don't think they'd ever seen someone dressed in bottles, whose feet barely touched the ground; with my every movement, the dew in my remaining bottles caught the Sun's rays and made me bob up and down. Had I more of them, I am sure I'd have risen up into the air before them. I would have spoken with them, but in a twinkling they were gone, like birds scattering among the trees. However, I caught one whose legs had doubtless failed his heart, and with a deal of difficulty - the forest was suffocating - I asked him how far we were from Paris, and since when the people of France went about in the total nude, and why he'd fled in such obvious terror? He was an old, olive-skinned man, who sank before me and joined his hands behind his ...