And without asking for more, Father Gaucher went happily back to his stills, walking on air.
Actually, from that moment, every evening, at the end of the last service of the day, the celebrant never forgot to add:
—Let us pray for our unfortunate Father Gaucher, who is sacrificing his soul for the benefit of the community…. Pray for us, Lord….
And while, on all the white hoods of the Brothers, prostrated in the shade of the naves, the prayer fluttered like a slight breeze on snow, elsewhere, at the back of the monastery, behind the flickering reddened glass of the distillery, Father Gaucher could be heard singing at the top of his voice,
In Paris, there was a White Canon,
Who went all the way with a black nun….
* * * * *
… Here, the good priest paused, horrified:
—Mercy me! If my parishioners could only hear me!