Why, Hello.

Why, hello, Miss Headsworth, why don't you step inside my humble abode. I am so happy that you received my missive, and happier still that you decided to join me here in Chateau du Fart.

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It means "House of the Fart."
No, it doesn't mean something else in French.

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Haha. Do not let my home's outward appearance deceive you--the look of a stack of stained cardboard boxes is but a glamour--an illusion if you will. I am, you see, something of a wizard.

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Yes, of course, the inside has also been magically altered to appear as a stack of boxes.

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Enough questions about the boxes!

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My apologies, I was quite short with you. Please, let's just not talk about the boxes. Here, have a seat. Not there, I don't know what that is. Yes, there.

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I would like you to know that your feet smell like a dead cat... No, please, madame, do not leave! In my country of Ancient Egypt, cats are revered for their ability to see into the afterlife. To say that your feet smell like a dead cat is to say that they majestically straddle the waking and sleeping worlds. Speaking of sleeping cats, please pay my guardcat, Neumenos, no mind, he has been fed recently.

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Yes, I am aware that he is dead.
But where are my manners? Here, please have a glass of wine.

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The vintage? Well, forgive my pride but it is from my own vineyard.

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Look, I said can we drop all the questions about the boxes?
As to the wine, I am something of an amateur vintner. The sweetwine you are drinking is made from a bag of ketchup and raisins that I have been curing in the tank of one of the public library's toilets. But shhhh... if the janitor were to hear of my actions, there shan't be any more toilet liquor for you and I when we next meet.

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You would not wish to meet with me again? That is preposterous! I am a famous surgeon, and you, a lowly schoolteacher, shan't afford me courtship?

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Well, no, I didn't go to medical school per se, but there is a very highly regarded physician who lives in the adjacent apartment building, and I eat a large portion of his garbage, so I feel like we have had virtually identical levels of training.

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No, I don't see a difference, as a matter of fact.

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Madame, if you do not hold your incessant questions about the boxes, I will be forced to rap you upon the head and feed you to Neumenos.
Now please. Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up? Do you have children? Would you like to see a dead body?

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To be honest, madame, I find your false disbelief quite ridiculous. I made it very clear in my letter that I was a handsome, wealthy wizard-doctor who lived in a cardboard mansion with a dead cat and made toilet wine, and who may know the whereabouts of a dead body. If this is somehow confusing, please enlighten me.

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I promised no such thing, nor have I ever heard of "one thousand dollars," or whatever it is you said. Now please just relax and drink your poison.

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Wine. That is what I said. Why, what did you hear?

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Preposterous.

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The restroom? But of course. We must remain fresh, yes? It is in the East wing, past the grey Maytag refrigerator box.

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Yes, the pickle jar. Please remove the pickle before you use the toilet jar, or you will have soiled our dinner.

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What is that tearing sound? Madame, please do not leave! Neumenos, attack!

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*sigh*
Well, Neumenos, yet another one has run away, do not beat yourself up terribly for allowing her to escape. Now there will be more pickle to go around between the two of us.