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At the top we shouted into the crater and heard distinct echos after two seconds, which proves that the mouth of the crater reflected the sound at the depth of about 1,000 or 1,100 feet! From Pompeii I returned to Naples and spent the night there. The temperature was 90 degrees in the shade, in the afternoon.
She heard her husband's voice softly humming: "Petit rocher de la haute montagne, Je viens finir ici cette campagne. Ah, doux echos, entendez mes soupirs; En languissant je vais bientôt mourir!" Trembling, she entered the room, with a cry on her lips. "Ah! Pat, mon ami, what is it? How camest thou here?"
In a bulky book, of uneven irregular pages, where the singer with the minute conscientiousness of a child, had preserved everything the newspapers of the globe had written about her, Rafael found echos of her stormy ovations.
Nay, Gabriel had left at home on his little farm near the village a young wife of a fortnight. And so his lip quivered as he sang: "Petit Rocher de la Haute Montagne, Je vien finir ici cette campagne! Ah! doux echos, entendez mes soupirs; En languissant je vais bientot mouir!"
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