Kilometres succeeded kilometres in endless procession. Ceaselessly the landscapes unrolled themselves like views on a cinema film. Swiftly, regularly, relentlessly, the car sped forward. Again the priest, with half-closed eyes, snuggled into his cushions.
Fandor felt strangely drowsy. This was due, he thought, to the long journey in the open air, and to a nervous fatigue induced by the tense emotions of the day.
"The nuisance is," thought he, "that no sooner shall I lay my head on the pillow to-night than I shall be snoring like the Seven Sleepers."
The car continued to advance.
After a sharp descent, the car turned to the right: the road now wound along the side of a hill, bordered by the Seine on one side, and on the other by perpendicular cliffs. High in the grey distance, dominating the countryside, rose the venerated sanctuary of Rouen—Nôtre Dame de Bon Secours.
"We have only six more kilometres to cover," remarked the abbé.
Soon they were moving at a slower pace through the outskirts of Rouen.
Jolted on the cobbles of the little street, thrown against each other every time the car side-slipped on the two rails running along the middle of the roadway, Fandor and the little abbé were knocked wide awake.
"We are not going to stop?" asked Fandor.
"Yes. We must recruit ourselves: besides, I have to call at a certain garage."