Pleyel rallied him with great levity on his behaviour.

He listened to his friend with calmness, but without any relaxation of features.
"One thing," said he with emphasis, "is true; either I heard my wife's voice at the bottom of the hill, or I do not hear your voice at present." "Truly," returned Pleyel, "it is a sad dilemma to which you have reduced yourself.

Certain it is, if our eyes can give us certainty that your wife has been sitting in that spot during every moment of your absence.
You have heard her voice, you say, upon the hill.

In general, her voice, like her temper, is all softness.

To be heard across the room, she is obliged to exert herself.