“‛Whatever is the matter with our Father Gaucher?... Whatever is the matter with our Father Gaucher?’
“Twice the prior impatiently let his crosier fall on the pavement to command silence.... Down at the end of the choir the psalms still went on; but the responses lacked animation....
“Suddenly, in the middle of the Ave verum, lo and behold, Father Gaucher flung himself back in his stall, and sang out at the top of his voice:
“‛In Paris there dwells a White Father,
Patatin, patatan, tarabin, taraban....’
“General consternation. Every one rose. There were cries of:
“‛Take him away!... He’s possessed!’
“The canons crossed themselves. His Lordship flourished his crosier.... But Father Gaucher saw nothing, heard nothing; and two sturdy monks had to drag him out by the side-door of the choir, struggling like a demoniac and going on worse than ever with his ‛patatins’ and ‛tarabans.’
“Next morning, at daybreak, the unfortunate man was on his knees in the prior’s oratory, owning his fault with a torrent of tears.
“‛It was the elixir, my lord; it was the elixir that overcame me,’ he said, beating on his breast.