"Thursday. The men. We'd better cut that short.
"Friday. The women. I will tell them, not to build up their parts!
"Saturday. The miller. A day mightn't be enough for him.
"And, if we've finished by Sunday, we'll have done very well.
"Look, my children, when wheat is ripe, it must be harvested, when the wine is drawn, it must be drunk. We've had enough of dirty washing, what matters now is to wash it, and to wash it well.
"May you all receive God's loving grace. Amen!"
* * * * *
He was as good as his word. The washing was duly done.
From that memorable Sunday, the sweet smell of Cucugnanian virtue was heady for many kilometres around.
And the good priest, Monsieur Martin, happy and full of joy, dreamt one night that he was followed by all his flock, as he ascended in a candle-lit, resplendent procession, clouded in fragrant incense, with choir boys chanting the Te Deum. They were all following the light to the City of God.