Faith

     Père Philippe was in the sacristy, sweeping out the dried leaves that had blown in since he opened the window this morning.  Today there would be a larger turnout than usual for the Mass celebrating the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven.  The paintings of the life of the Virgin that framed all sides of the altar have particular significance today, thought the priest: Mary being educated by her mother, Saint Anne; Mary betrothed to Joseph, each one of them kneeling in the presence of the other; Mary giving birth to Jesus; Mary ascending into Heaven; Mary's mercy presiding over the world.

     Père Philippe put his white alb on over the simple black robe of the Passionists.   Pulling the white hood over his head, he then put on the chasuble, then the stole.  There came a knock to the sacristy door just as he finished putting on the vestments.  It was Delphine.

     Père Philippe had tried to counsel Delphine many times.  Whether he was succeeding never seemed obvious.  Delphine, while sincerely loving Christ and his saints, was a prodigal.  Her manias could only be controlled by medication, but Delphine tended to think the elated moods were divinely, rather than genetically, ordained.  The dangers of that thinking were obvious to many, Père Philippe included; but Delphine was an adult and beyond the reach of the authorities until something she did required them to intervene.  That had never happened: Delphine in her mania hitchhiked, or, if she could not get a ride, walked the roads, all perfectly legal actions, however, questionable.

     Delphine looked radiant, Père Philippe observed to himself.  "What was she up to?"  It would be like her to do something dramatic on today, of all days.  She entered the sacristy moving in the direction of the chair in which parishoners made their confessions.  Before she reached it, she knelt down facing Père Phlippe, who was standing diagonally opposite, by the long table on which he kept his books.

     "Père, I have a gift to make in the name of the most Blessed Virgin, in honor of this day, the anniversary of her Assumption--".  And she reached into the pocket of her white dress, taking out a man's cowhide wallet.  From it, she removed two hundred denomination Euro bills, putting the wallet back into her pocket.

     "Here, Father-- Like a Magdalene repentant, I offer you this--"  And she stretched out her hands to Pére Phlippe, her head bowed in a gesture of submission.

     Just then, the curtain which separated the sacristy from the chapel was drawn back and the man in the red T-shirt, the smoker, penetrated the sanctuary.  Eyeing Delphine he did not hesitate.

     "You bitch!  You thieving little bitch!"  With that, he took out a small pistol and aimed it at the kneeling figure.

     Père Philippe did not hesitate: instinctively he walked into the line of fire, feeling the bullet burn into his chest.

     Delphine looked up, startled.  Outside, in the chapel, the parishoners gave a collective gasp, and several of the men entered, including Jean La Croix.  The man in the red T-shirt was wrestled to the floor and knocked out cold --by Cibiche.