“You can unlock this damned door, for one!” Achim shouted into the wide eyes peering through the grillwork. Once the bolt was thrown, he pushed by the black-robed figure to march down the walk, fling open the convent door, and stomp into the nuns’ communal living quarters demanding to see Sister Mary Frances. The mother superior appeared a few minutes later.

“What is this all about, Achim?”

“You must summon Mademoiselle Dufor, immediately!” he ordered.

“She is in bed.”

“Wake her up!”

“May she be told why?”

“Somebody has desecrated the mural! And on my watch, too.” Achim’s vocal rage thinned to a whine like a sail suddenly depleted of wind power. “She’s got to do something to repair it immediately before the Saturday crowd starts coming.”

“She will be in her nightgown.”

“I don’t give a fiddler’s…bow if she’s wearing her birthday suit. Get her down here right now.”

Sister Mary Frances turned calmly to one of her charges. “Pray be good enough to summon Mademoiselle Dufor, Sister.”

“And tell her to bring a paint cleaner!” Achim shouted to the nun’s retreating back.

Bridgette, shivering in her night-robe, considered the “desecrated” dragonfly and Achim’s assertion that “something different” had also been done to the painting that he couldn’t figure out.

“Achim, the only change I see is a thin white line of a medium I can’t identify drawn through a dragonfly, not enough to disfigure the mural. The stone is porous, so I must determine the correct cleaning product to remove it. Mineral spirits and turpentine will only smear it.”

“No they won’t. You primed the wall. I saw you. The mark should come off easily. Give me that turpentine and I’ll show you!” Achim reached to snatch the bottle of paint remover from Bridgette’s hand.

Bridgette whipped the container behind her back, heart pounding. The diagonal line must stay untouched. “No!” she said. “You’ll ruin the dragonfly. I will not be able to restore it as it once was. The mural is my work of art, not yours, Achim. You’re just upset because you think the mark is somebody’s way of thumbing their nose at you, but it’s just a tweak, mon ami, barely noticeable.” She put a hand on his arm and said quietly, “Be thankful it wasn’t worse. The fact that it wasn’t shows respect for the mural and for you. It was just a small prank done without malice, not likely to happen again.”