The abbé signalled the driver. The car stopped before a little inn. The innkeeper appeared.
"Bring the driver a cognac!" ordered the priest. "Give Monsieur a glass of rum. You may pour me out a glass of aniseed cordial."
"Aniseed cordial!" thought Fandor. "That is a liqueur for priests, youths, and women!"
"In an hour," said the abbé, "we shall be at Rouen. We shall pass through the town; a few kilometres further on, at Barentin, we shall halt for the night.... I know a very good little hotel there!"
Fandor refrained from comment. What he thought was:
"A fig for Barentin!... If I see the least sign that this little fellow is going to give me the slip, leave me for a minute—if it looks as though he were going to warn the authorities—I know someone who will take to flight ... and how!"...