At last they exchanged greetings.
"Good morning, Silvere." "Good morning, Miette." They were surprised by the strange sound of their voices, which became singularly soft and sweet in that damp hole.

The sound seemed, indeed, to come from a distance, like the soft music of voices heard of an evening in the country.

They understood that it would suffice to speak in a whisper in order to hear each other.

The well echoed the faintest breath.

Leaning over its brink, they conversed while gazing at one another's reflection.