"Fine day, isn't it ?" "Did you hear it ?" whispered the concierge, as a dull boom, like that of a distant cannon, made the windows rattle in their casements.
"Of course," replied Mr.Merrick, carelessly.

"Old Vesuve seems on a rampage.

But never mind that now.

We've just come from America, where the mountains are more polite, and we're going to stop at your hotel." The concierge's eyes wandered from the man to the three girls who had entered and grouped themselves behind him.

Then they fell upon the driver of the carriage, who burst into a torrent of vociferous but wholly unintelligible exclamations which Uncle John declared "must be an excuse--and a mighty poor one--for talking." The whiskered man, whose cap was elaborately embroidered in gold with the words "Hotel du Vesuve," seemed to understand the driver.