‘ “Mean? Mean that I’m galloping headlong to perdition! Drinking! drinking! drinking!”

‘ “But didn’t I tell you to count the drops?”

‘ “And haven’t I counted them? Yes, by the cupful! Three bottles a night! No mortal can stand it! Gaucher has washed his hands of the soul-perilling mixture.”

‘The Chapter looked glum.

‘ “Would you ruin us?” said the Treasurer, brandishing his ledger excitedly.

‘ “Would you send me to perdition?”

‘The Prior intervened.

‘ “Reverend Fathers,” he said, deprecatingly spreading out his lily-white hand on which glittered the pastoral ring, “I have a way out of the difficulty. It is in the evening, is it not, when the Tempter assails you?”

‘ “Yes, Monseigneur, in the evening and every evening. As night approaches a clammy perspiration comes over me like that which assailed Capitou’s ass when he saw the saddle brought out.”

‘ “Fear nothing, my dear boy! Henceforth at Evensong we will put up on your behalf the orison of St. Augustine, which carries plenary indulgence. Whatever happens you will be safe. Commission and absolution will synchronize.”

‘ “Thanks unspeakable, Monseigneur!”

‘Father Gaucher asked no more. He returned to his alembics carolling like a lark.

‘Faithful to compact, the officiating priest never failed to put up after Compline an intercessory prayer for the tempted Father who was risking his soul for others’ good.

‘Looking into the chapel at Evensong, we see the white-hooded monks kneeling in grateful devotion, as the orison steals over their heads like a night-breeze over St. Bernard’s snows. And in the stillness there is wafted from the red-lit distillery the sonorous fortissimo of Father Gaucher:

‘I’ve come to the end of my yarn,’ said the Abbé. ‘Luckily none of my parishoners have been present.’

Translated by Edward Harris.