himChristmas was but a week away and the Abbey Saint Victor was looking forward to this most important time in the Christian calendar. Readings and chants celebrating the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ brought thanks and happiness into church observances and the brothers wore cheerful faces. But it was within this context that contrary sad news reached every corner of the abbey: Abbot Henri’s health was now in serious decline and the worst was imminent.
“How is he?” Baudet asked Prior Ferrand when they met in the cloisters.
“Not good, I’m sorry to say. He’s confined to his bed and, in increasingly rare moments of lucidity, he complains of the cold, despite a fire that would put the Devil’s flames to shame. Prior Delbert and myself share a bedside vigil. He can drink only water, in sips,
