At the welcome mass when all were gathered, his mother was mentioned time after time in the prayers of thanksgiving. It filled him with feelings that he couldn't quite understand, which he at once decided to confess. He feared that he had been struck by pride.

In the weeks before Father Henri's reinstallation as prior at Varnhem, which Archbishop Stéphan himself would attend on a visitation, Brother Guilbert and Arn worked feverishly along with a couple of local lay brothers to get the water supply fixed. The big millpond had silted up and had to be dredged; the aqueduct that was supposed to carry the water to the large and small drive wheels was in disrepair, so that the flow was diminished to a mere tenth of its potential power. The mill wheel and gear system also needed numerous repairs. The water stream was both the cloister's motor and its cleansing soul, just as important in the lavatorium and cookhouse as it was as a power source for the bellows, mills, and hammer-anvil. Because of the great importance of this repair work, the small group in charge of the water was relieved of attending all the day's masses and study hours. Arn fell into bed after vespers and slept dreamlessly until morning mass. One workday followed another until he began to have the feeling that time had stopped and the hours flowed together into one long work shift.

   But on the day that the archbishop and his retinue came riding in through the cloister gates of Varnhem, new fresh water was purling through the lavatorium and cookhouse, and the guest rooms stood newly whitewashed and clean. In one of the smithies the clang of hammer on anvil was already heard.

   After the installation mass the archbishop preached to the brothers about the victory of good over evil, and how the Cistercian order now held such a strong position that no outside threat was to be found in this corner of the world. What remained, however, was the constant threat that always existed inside each human being, that his own sins, pride or sloth or indifference, might bring down on him God's righteous wrath. And for this reason no one could take his rest or lean back in gorged contentment; each man had to continue his work in God's garden with the same assiduous perseverance as always.

   After the thanksgiving meal, Archbishop Stéphan and Father Henri retired to the place out in the arcade where they always used to sit together in the past, near the garden plot that was now clearly overgrown. They had a long talk about something they didn't want the other brothers to hear, speaking so low that the brothers working in the garden could hear only an occasional word when one of the reverends flared up, briefly and intensely like a dry piece of tinder, and then quickly returned to more subdued tones.

   After about an hour the two men seemed to have reached a reconciliation, and then they summoned Arn, who was already hard at work in one of the smithies where the mechanisms that were supposed to drive the bellows had completely broken down.

   Arn went to the lavatorium and washed his whole body clean, wondering whether he ought to shave his tonsure, which he had not done in recent weeks after he was relieved of all his duties except work on the water lines. When he ran his hand over his scalp he felt half an inch of stubble—no state in which to meet an archbishop. On the other hand, he could not be late now that they had summoned him.

   Feeling a bit abashed, Arn went out to the arcade, knelt before the archbishop and kissed his hand, asking forgiveness for his unkempt appearance. Father Henri hastened to explain that Arn was one of those who had been assigned special work duties in recent weeks, but the archbishop simply waved off such a minor concern and asked Arn to sit down, which was an astonishing concession.

   Arn sat on a stone bench facing the two venerable men but felt no peace with the situation. He could not understand why they wanted to speak with him in particular, since he was but a young lay brother. He would never have guessed what was now to become of him, since he no doubt believed that his life had already been given a fixed path, just as predictable as the stars' movement across the firmament.

   "Do you happen to remember me, young man?" asked the archbishop kindly, surprisingly speaking in French instead of Latin.

   "No, monseigneur, I cannot honestly say that I do," replied Arn with embarrassment, looking at the ground.

   "The first time we met you tried to slap me, called me an old codger or something on that order, and said you didn't want to sit and read boring books. But I suppose you've forgotten that too?" the archbishop went on, with a sternness that was so clearly feigned that anyone on earth except Arn could have seen right through it.

   " Monseigneur, I truly beg your pardon, I can only defend myself by saying that I was a child and knew no better," Arn replied, blushing with shame as he imagined himself laying a hand on an archbishop. But then both the archbishop and Father Henri burst out laughing.

   "Now now, young man, I was trying to jest. I'm not actually here to demand vengeance for that tiny offense. I should be grateful, from what I've heard, that it's not today you choose to strike me. No, don't apologize again! Instead, you must listen to me. My dear old friend Henri and I have discussed your situation back and forth, as we also did when you came here as a child. You do know that it was a miracle that brought you to us, don't you, my son?"

   "I've read the account," Arn said quietly. "But I don't remember any of it myself; I only recall what I read."

   "But if Saint Bernard and the Lord did raise you up from the realm of the dead to bring you to us, what sort of conclusion would you draw from that? Have you contemplated that dilemma?" the archbishop asked in a new and more serious tone, as if he were now beginning the conversation in earnest.

   "When I was a little boy and fell from a high wall, the Lord showed mercy toward me and perhaps toward my mother and father as well for their fervent prayers. That's what is true, that much we can consider certain," replied Arn, still not daring to raise his eyes.

   "Certain, well, that's not saying too much, is it?" said Archbishop Stéphan with a scarcely perceptible hint of impatience in his voice. "But then don't we come immediately to the question of why?"

   "Yes," said Arn. "We do come to the question of why, but I've never been able to find an answer. When it comes to the grace of the Lord, it is many times beyond what humans can conceive. I'm not exactly the only one who cannot understand everything about the grace of God."

   "Aha! Now I'm starting to recognize the little rascal who tried to strike me and called me an old codger. That's good, young man! Just keep talking back, and I'm not being sarcastic; I like it when you talk back. So we haven't transformed you into some sort of passive vegetable in the garden; you have your free will and your mind intact, and we both think that is splendid. Henri has made a point of describing this characteristic of yours. By the way, I haven't spoken French in a long time, do you mind if we switch to Latin?"