The stores were closed, the doors, the windows.

In the streets, not even a dog could be seen.

It seemed the Village of the Dead.
Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: "Someone will surely answer that!" He was right.

An old man in a nightcap opened the window and looked out.
He called down angrily: "What do you want at this hour of night ?" "Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread?
I am hungry." "Wait a minute and I'll come right back," answered the old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those boys who love to roam around at night ringing people's bells while they are peacefully asleep.
After a minute or two, the same voice cried: "Get under the window and hold out your hat!" Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, and over his whole body.
He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from weariness and hunger.
As he no longer had any strength left with which to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet on the stove to dry them.
There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden feet began to burn.
Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ashes.
Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were not his own.

At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door.
"Who is it ?" he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
"It is I," answered a voice.
It was the voice of Geppetto..