“Ha!” exclaimed I, “it appears then that some people do grow old there.”
All at once the vehicle made a sudden turn, which changed the scene. Now I saw the towers of Notre Dame rising through the mist of Paris.
“Those who have a place in the tower where the flagstaff is will have a good view,” thought I.
I think that it was about this time that the priest began talking again. I let him go on without interruption; my ears were filled with the noise of the wheels, the horses’ hoofs, and the coachman’s whip—what mattered a little more noise?
I listened then to this flow of words, which soothed my feelings, like the murmur of falling water, when the sharp voice of the usher broke the silence.
“Well, Abbé,” exclaimed he, “what news have you to-day?”
The chaplain, who had never ceased talking to me, made no reply.
“Hé, hé!” resumed the usher, raising his voice to drown the sound of the wheels, “what an infernal carriage this is!”
Infernal, indeed, for I found it so.
He continued: “It is the jolting and the rumbling, no doubt, that prevents your hearing me—what was I saying? Ah! your reverence, have you heard to-day’s news that is exciting all Paris?”