a pair of goggles. First there came a
shivery chuggetty-chug, as if the beast was shaking himself loose. Next
a noise like the opening of a bolt in an iron cage, and then the Inn
of William the Conqueror--the village-beach, inlet--wide sea, streamed
behind like a panorama run at high pressure.

The first swoop was along the sea, a whirl into Houlgate, a mad dash
through the village, dogs and chickens running for dear life, and
out again with the deadly rush of a belated wild goose hurrying to a
southern clime. Our host sat beside the chauffeur, who looked like the
demon in a ballet in his goggles and skull-cap. The Man from the Quarter
and I crouched on the rear seats, our eyes on the turn of the road
ahead. What we had left behind, or what might be on either side of us
was of no moment; what would come around that far-distant curve a mile
away and a minute off was what troubled us. The demon and the Sculptor
were as cool as the captain and first mate on the bridge of a liner in
a gale; the Man from the Quarter stared doggedly ahead; I was too scared
for scenery and too proud to ask the Sculptor to slow down, so I thought
of my sins and slowly murmured, "Now I lay me."

When we got to the top of the last hill and had swirled into the
straight broad turnpike leading to Lisieux, the Sculptor spoke in
an undertone to the demon, did something with his foot or hand or
teeth--everything with which he could push, pull, or bite was busy--and
the machine, as if struck by a lash, sprang into space. Trees, fences,
little farmhouses, hay-stacks, canvas-covered wagons, frightened
children, dogs, now went by in blurred outlines; ten miles, thirty
miles, then a string of villages, Liseau among them, the siren shrieking
like a lost soul sinking into perdition.

"Watch the road to the right," wheezed the Sculptor between his breaths;
"that is where the Egyptian prince was killed--" this over his shoulder
to me--"a tram-car hit him--you can see the hole in the bank. Made that
last mile in sixty-five seconds--running fifty-nine now--look out
for that cross-road--'Wow-wow-oo--wow-wow'" (siren). "Damn that
market cart--'Wow-wow-o-o-wow.'" "Slow up, or we'll be on top of that
donkey--just grazed it. Can't tell what a donkey will do when a girl's
driving it." 'Wow-oo-w-o--.'

Up a long hill now, down into a valley--the road like a piece of white
tape stretching ahead--past school-houses, barns, market gardens; into
dense woods, out on to