"This way! Come! Come!"
(Echo repeats: Come! Come! he lets his arms fall, stupefied.)
"What shame for me! Alas! poor Anthony."
(And all of a sudden he hears a whisper:—"Poor Anthony"!)
"Who is there? Speak!"
(The wind passing through the intervals between the rocks, makes modulations; and in those confused sonorities he distinguishes Voices, as though the air itself were speaking. They are low, insinuating, hissing.)
The First: "Dost thou desire women?"
The Second: "Great heaps of money, rather!"
The Third: "A glittering sword?" (and)