How they are crying!" He looks out of the window.
"No, no one is here.

It is the wind.

The wind feels weary, and it plays all by itself.

It has seen many shipwrecks, and now it is inventing.

The wind itself is crying; the wind itself is scolding and sobbing; and the wind itself is laughing--the rogue! But if you think that this rag with which I have covered the window is a sail, and that this ruin of a castle is a three-masted brig, you are a fool! We are not going anywhere! We are standing securely at our moorings, do you hear ?" He pushes the sleeping man cautiously.
"Get up, Noni.