a quarter to twelve
The trees and houses on either side of the line disappeared in the grey light with the fleetness of vague visions , whilst the distant hills , enveloped in mist , vanished more slowly , with the gentle rise and fall of a swelling sea . Between Beaugency and Les Aubrais the train seemed to slacken speed , though it still kept up its rhythmical , persistent rumbling , which the deafened pilgrims no longer even heard . At length , when Les Aubrais had been left behind , they began to lunch in the carriage . It was then a quarter to twelve , and when they had said the `` Angelus , '' and the three `` Aves '' had been thrice repeated , Pierre took from Marie 's bag the little book whose blue cover was ornamented with an artless picture of Our Lady of Lourdes . Sister Hyacinthe clapped her hands as a signal for silence , and amidst general wakefulness and ardent curiosity like that of big children impassioned by the marvellous story , the priest was able to begin reading in his fine , penetrating voice . Now came the narrative of Bernadette 's sojourn at Nevers , and then her death there . Pierre , however , as on the two previous occasions , soon ceased following the exact text of the little book , and added charming anecdotes of his own , both what he knew and what he could divine ; and , for himself alone , he again evolved the true story , the human , pitiful story , that which none had ever told , but which he felt so deeply .