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."

"Attention!" said Fandor to himself. "The doings of this little priest are likely to have a peculiar interest for me! At the least sign of danger, my Fandor, I give thee two minutes to cut and run!"

Our journalist knew Rouen well. He knew that to reach Barentin, the car, passing out of the great square, surrounded by the new barracks, would follow the quay, traverse the town from end to end, pass near the famous transshipping bridge, and join the high road again.

"If we pull up at one of the garages along the quays, all will be well," thought Fandor.... "In case of an alarm, a run of a hundred yards or so would bring me to one of the many electric tramways.... I should board a tram—devil take them, if they dared to chase and catch me!"

The car had reached the bridge which prolongs the rue Jeanne d'Arc across the Seine. They were now in the heart of Rouen. The chauffeur turned:

"Can I stop, Monsieur? I need petrol and water."

The priest pointed to a garage.

"Stop there!"

The chauffeur began to supply the wants of his machine with the help of an apprentice. The priest jumped out and entered the garage. Fandor followed on his heels, saying:

"It does one good to stretch one's legs!"

The abbÉ seemed in no wise disturbed. He walked up to the owner of the place.

"Tell me, my friend, have you, by chance, received a telegram addressed to the AbbÉ Gendron?"

"That is so, Monsieur. It will be for you?"...

"Yes, for me. I asked that a message should be sent to me here, if necessary."

Whilst the priest tore open his telegram, Fandor lit a cigarette.... By hook or by crook, he must see the contents of this telegram which his travelling companion was reading with frowning brows. But Fandor might squint in the glass for the reflection of the message, pass behind the abbÉ to peep over his shoulder while pretending to examine the posters decorating the garage walls: he had his pains for his reward: it was impossible to decipher the text.... He must await developments.

When the car was ready to start he decided to speak.

"You have not received vexatious instructions, I hope, Monsieur l'AbbÉ?"

"Not at all!"

"There is always something disquieting about a telegram!"

"This one tells me nothing I did not know already—at least, suspected! The only result is that instead of going to Havre we shall now go to Dieppe."

"Why this change of destination?" was Fandor's mental query. "And what did this precious priest suspect?"

The abbÉ was giving the chauffeur instructions.

"You will leave Rouen by the new route.... You will draw up at an hotel which you will find on the right, named, if my memory does not play me false, The Flowery Crossways."

"A pretty name!" remarked Fandor.

"A stupid name," replied the abbÉ. "The house does not stand at any cross-roads, and the place is as flowerless as it is possible to be!" There was a pause. "That matters little, however, Corporal: the quarters are good—the table sufficient. You shall judge for yourself now: here is the inn!"

Under the skillful guidance of the chauffeur, the car turned sharply, and passed under a little arch which served as a courtyard entrance. The car came to a stand-still in a great yard, crowded with unharnessed carts, stablemen, and Normandy peasants in their Sunday best.

A stout man came forward. His head was as hairless as a billiard ball. This was the hotel-keeper. To every question put by the little abbÉ he replied with a broad grin which displayed his toothless gums. His voice was as odd as his appearance, it was high-pitched and quavering.

"You can give us dinner?"

"Why, certainly, Monsieur le CurÉ."

"You have a coach-house where the car can be put up?"

With a comprehensive sweep of his arm, mine host of The Flowery Crossways indicated the courtyard. The carts of his regular clients were left there in his charge: he could not see why the motor-car of these strangers could not pass the night there also.

"And you can reserve three rooms for us?" was the little abbÉ's final demand.

This time the face of mine host lost its jovial assurance.

"Three rooms? Ah, no, Monsieur le CurÉ—that is quite impossible!... But we can manage all the same.... I have an attic for your chauffeur, and a fine double-bedded room for you and Monsieur the corporal.... That will suit you—I think?"

"Yes, quite well! Very well, indeed!" declared Fandor, delighted at this opportunity of keeping his queer travelling companion under his eye.

The little abbÉ was far from satisfied.

"What! You have not two rooms for us?" he expostulated. "I have a horror of sharing a room with anyone whatever! I am not accustomed to it; and I cannot sleep under those conditions!"

"Monsieur le CurÉ, it's full up here! I have a wedding party on my hands!"

"Well, then is there no hotel near by, where I can."...

"No, Monsieur le CurÉ: I am the only hotel-keeper about here!"

"Is it far to the parsonage?"

"But, my dear AbbÉ!" protested Fandor: "I beg of you to take the room! I can sleep anywhere ... on two chairs in the dining-room!"

"Certainly not!" declared the little priest. He turned to the hotel-keeper: "Tell me just how far the parsonage is from here?"

"At least eight kilometres."

"Oh, then, it is out of the question! What a disagreeable business this is!... We shall pass a dreadful night!"

The abbÉ was greatly put out.

"No, no! I will leave the room to you!" again protested Fandor.

"Do not talk so childishly, Corporal! We have to be on the road again to-morrow. What good purpose will it serve if we allow ourselves to be over-fatigued and so fit for nothing?... After all, a bad night will not last forever!... We must manage to put up with the inconvenience."

Fandor nodded acquiescence. Things were going as he wished.

"Dinner at once!" ordered the abbÉ.

An affable Normandy girl laid their table in a small room: a profusion of black cocks with scarlet combs decorated the paper on its walls. The effect was at once bewildering and weirdly funereal.

Meanwhile the abbÉ walked up and down in the courtyard; to judge by his expression he was in no pleasant frame of mind.

When he came to table, Fandor noticed that he forgot to pronounce the Benedicite. He was still more interested when the ecclesiastic attacked a tasty chicken with great gusto.

"This is certainly the 1st of December, therefore a fast day according to the episcopal mandate, which I have read ... and behold my little priest is devouring meat! The hotel-keeper offered us fish just now, and I quite understood why, but it seems fasting is not obligatory for this priest—unless this priest is not a priest!"

Whilst the abbÉ was enjoying his chicken in silence, with eyes fixed on his plate, Fandor once again subjected him to a minute examination. He noted his delicate features, his slim hands, his graceful attitudes: he was so impressed by this and various little details, that when the abbÉ, after dessert and a last glass of cider, rose and proposed that they should go up to their room for the night, Fandor declared to himself:

"My head on a charger for it! I bet that little abbÉ is a woman, then more mystery, and a probable husband or lover who may come on the scene presently! Fandor, my boy, beware of this baggage! Not an eye must you close this night!"

The priest had had the famous package taken upstairs and placed at the foot of his bed.

Fandor and the abbÉ wished each other good night.

"As for me," declared Fandor, unlacing his boots, "I cannot keep my eyes open!"

"I can say the same," replied his companion.

Fandor's next remark had malice in it.

"I pity you, Monsieur l'AbbÉ! No doubt you have long prayers to recite—especially if you have not finished your breviary!"

"You are mistaken," answered the abbÉ, with a slight smile: "I am dispensed from a certain number of religious exercises!"

"A fig for you, my fine fellow!" said Fandor to himself. "The deuce is in if I do not catch you out over one of your lies!"

The little abbÉ was seated on a chair attending to his nails.

Fandor walked to the door, explaining:

"I have a horror of sleeping in an hotel bedroom with an unlocked door!... You will allow me to turn the key?"

"Turn it, then!"

Locking the door, Fandor drew the key and threw it on to the priest's lap.

"There, Monsieur l'AbbÉ, if you like to put it on your bedside table!"

Fandor's action had a purpose. Ten to one you settle the sex of a doubtful individual by such a test. A man instinctively draws his knees together when an object is thrown on them: a woman draws them apart, to make a wider surface of the skirt for the reception of an article and thus prevent its fall to the ground.

Fandor was not surprised to see the little priest instinctively act as would a woman.... But, would not a priest, accustomed to wear a cassock, act as a woman would? Fandor realised that, in this instance, the riddle of sex was still unsolved.

Fandor-Vinson began to undress: the priest continued to polish his nails.

"You are not going to bed, Monsieur l'AbbÉ?"

"Yes, I am."

The ecclesiastic took off his shoes; then his collar. Then he lay down on the bed.

"You will sleep with all your clothes on?" asked Fandor-Vinson.

"Yes, when I have to sleep in a bed I am not accustomed to!... Should I blow out the candle, Corporal?"

"Blow it out, Monsieur l'AbbÉ."

Fandor felt sure the little priest was a woman disguised. He dare not take off his cassock because he was she!

Wishing his strange companion a good night's rest, Fandor snuggled under the bedclothes. Determined to keep awake and alert, he tried to pass the dark hours by mentally reciting Le Cid!