Father Benedict—Make way!
Pierre—O Father! Father!
(In his snow-white chasuble, the priest appears pushing his way through the throng about the door. In his hand he has a silver communion plate with the bread upon it.)
Father Benedict—Why all this clamor?
This is the Sabbath and the hour of mass.
Pierre—It's done! It's done!
Father Benedict— (Descending the steps.)
How dare you cry out on this holy morn?
Pierre—Oh, last night, Father, last night in the dark
White angels, oh, white angels in the storm—It
tore their wings and blew them from the sky,
And then—and then—O father, then the fiends—He
saw them in the stones and—screamed and—Oh,
They did a deed of horror in the dark!
(He presses his hands into his eyes as if to shut out the sight of it.)
Oh! Oh! Oh!
Father Benedict—What is this?