ne go, almost without
tasting them. Oh! How he would have loved to drink the health of that
twenty first drop! To escape temptation, he had to lose himself in
prayer kneeling at the far end of the laboratory. Unfortunately, the
still warm liqueur was still releasing a hint of aromatic fumes, which
swirled around him, and led him on regardless towards the vats.... The
liqueur was of such a lovely golden green colour.... Poised above it,
his nostrils aquiver, he stirred it very gently with his pipette, and
in the twinkling eddies, which were spreading throughout the emerald
ambrosia, he thought he saw the sparkling, laughing eyes of aunty Begon
looking back at him....

--Oh! Alright! Just one more drop!

One drop, yes. And then another. And another, and another, and another,
until his goblet almost overflowed. By now, his struggle was over, and
he collapsed into a large armchair, his body cast off, his eyelids half
closed, in pleasure--and in pain--as he continued to sip his sinful cup
and said with sweet remorse:

--Oh! I'm damned if I do.... I'm damned if I don't....

But the worst was still to come. As he reached the end of the
diabolical liqueur, he recalled, by who knows what spell, some of the
dirty songs of aunty Begon: _In Paris there was a White Canon_ ... and
so on....

Imagine the fuss the next day, when his neighbouring cell mates joked
to him knowingly:

--Hey! Hey! Father Gaucher, you were well off your head last night when
you went to bed.

It all ended in tears, recriminations, fasting, the hair shirt, and
chastisement, of course. But nothing, nothing could defeat the demon of
the drink, and every evening, at the same time, the same story.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, the orders were flooding into the abbey, and it was a
blessing. They came from Nimes, Aix, Avignon, Marseilles.... Day by day
the monastery was gradually turning into a factory. There were Brother
packers, Brother labellers, Brother accountants, and even Brother
wagoners. The service to the Lord, though, was getting well and truly
lost, despite the odd peal of bells. But, I can reveal to you that the
poor folk of the area weren't losing out by it....

And then, one fine Sunday morning, as the Treasurer was reading out his
end of year report before the whole chapter, and the good Brothers,
wide eyed and smiling, were listening, Father Gaucher rushed into the
meeting shouting:

--It's all over.... I am doing no mor