And when you don't want it you try to push it back again, and then the whole thing tumbles over, and the girl throws her hands up to Heaven and says, "Mon Dieu!" and screams for the cook and the _femme journee_, and they all three say "Mon Dieu!" and fall upon it with buckets of water.

By the time everything has been extinguished you have made up your mind to substitute for it just the ordinary explosive stove to which you are accustomed.
I am considered Cold and Mad.
In your own house you can, of course, open the windows, and thus defeat the foreign stove.

The rest of the street thinks you mad, but then the Englishman is considered by all foreigners to be always mad.

It is his privilege to be mad.

The street thinks no worse of you than it did before, and you can breathe in comfort.