wo at a time, bumps into the lecterns, knocks off
birettas, and ceaselessly shakes the small bell harder and harder,
faster and faster.

Those present are completely confused. Obliged to base their actions on
the priest's words not one of which they understand, some stand up,
while others kneel; sit down, while others stand. The Christmas star,
yonder on its journey across the heavens towards the stable, pales in
horror at the confusion which is happening....

--The father is going too quickly ... we can't follow him, murmurs the
old dowager as she distractedly plays with her hair.

Master Arnoton, his large steel-framed glasses on his nose, looks in
his prayer book to see where on earth they might be in the service. At
heart, none of these dear people, who are also thinking of the feast to
come, are at all bothered that the mass is going at such a rate; and
when Dom Balaguere, face beaming, turns towards the congregation
shouting as loud as possible: _The mass is over_, it is as with one
voice they make the response, so joyously and lively there in the
chapel. You would think that they are already sitting at the table for
the opening toast of the Christmas Eve feast.

III

Five minutes later, all lords, with the chaplain in the middle, are
seated in the great hall. Everything is lit up in the chateau, which
resounded with singing, shouting, laughter, and buzzing. The venerable
Dom Balaguere is plunging his fork into a grouse wing and drowning his
sinful remorse under a sea of wine and meat juices. The poor holy man
eats and drinks so much that he dies in the night suffering a terrible
heart attack, with no time to repent. So, the next morning, he arrives
in a heaven full of rumours about the night's revelries, and I leave it
for you to judge how he is received.

--Depart from me, you dismal Christian!, the sovereign judge, Our Lord,
says to him. Your error is gross enough to wipe away a whole life of
virtue.... Ah! You have stolen a midnight mass from Me.... Oh, yes you
did! You will pay for your sin three hundred times over, in the proper
place, and you will enter paradise only when you will have celebrated
three hundred midnight masses, in your own chapel, in front of all
those who have sinned with you, through your most grievous fault....

Well, that's that, the true story of Dom Balaguere as told in the land
of the olive. The chateau of Trinquelage is no more, but the chapel
still remains in a copse of gr