Philippe De Gaul called the number that Archbishop Galliano had given him. It was a number to a cell phone. He spoke as instructed, that the Archbishop told him he would help track down the individual who had performed the miracles on television earlier in the day or at the very least give him the name of the man he saved. The voice simply replied Damon Woods, Mount Sinai Hospital then abruptly cut the connection.

So who is this man that saved Damon's life? After speaking with that man on the phone Philippe had been certain that the key to solving this mystery was right there, at the hospital but his research had thus far yielded nothing of value. Philippe had spoken with Damon's doctor, who had told him about Damon's wounds or, as he said, lack thereof. Philippe asked the doctor about the man that Damon believed saved his life. The doctor recalled that Damon had mentioned seeing the man in his hospital room, although strangely enough, nobody else had. As Philippe asked other hospital workers, he realized that nobody had seen this illusive man. Disappointed, Philippe trudged through the main entrance on his way to the street.

How is it possible that nobody had seen him? The man who saved Damon's life had appeared on television so he was a real person. Somebody in this hospital must have seen him.

"Father De Gaul!" yelled a woman from behind.

Philippe turned around and saw Dorothy, one of St. Patrick's Cathedral's Sunday morning regulars, flailing her arms in the air by the elevator. "Father De Gaul!"

Philippe liked Dorothy. She was one of the few faithful who truly appreciated the meaning of kindness. For her, the Church wasn't just a place to ensure a good place in the hereafter by making up for the sins of the week. Every day she volunteered at this hospital, bringing happiness to patients of all ages with her joy of life and spellbinding stories.

"It is so nice to see you here Dorothy," said Philippe. "How are you today?"
"Father, I am fantastic," said an exuberant Dorothy. "The most incredible thing happened here today?"

Philippe was certain that he knew what Shirley was going to tell him. "If you are referring to the man who received the blow to the head, then I am already well aware of it."

"What man?" she asked confused.

"It doesn't matter," Philippe replied, realizing that he had been mistaken. "What is more important is the story you wanted to tell me. Please accept my apology for interrupting you."

"You never need to apologize to me," she kindly told him. "Come with me to the coffee shop and we'll talk. Can I buy you a danish?"

"I'll never refuse such a kind offer." Philippe looked at his portly stomach, generously overhanging from his belt. Another Danish won't make this thing any bigger, he thought. Philippe loved to eat, but not just anything, he craved sweet, baked delicacies. Enough so to even have him sit in a place of gossip.

Philippe took his seat and tried to block the conversations from the other booths.

A curly-haired elderly lady with a multi-coloured silk scarf wrapped around her fake fur coat was speaking rather loudly as if she wanted everyone to hear the outrageously sinful behaviour of the person she was speaking about. "Can you believe that Mrs. Rosensweig is wearing that outfit not three months since her beloved Jerry passed on?"

"I hear she's seeing that doctor Baker," replied her friend, eager to join in with news of her own.

"Isn't he married?"

"Not if Mrs. Rosensweig gets her way. You know that's how she got Jerry in the first place."

"It sounds like the poor shmuck is better off now that he's dead."

"That's a terrible thing to say, Ruthie."

Philippe couldn't take it anymore. This was exactly the reason that he avoided these places. Even he was getting upset at Mrs. Rosensweig and he had never even met her. Philippe had to recall a Proverb to calm himself, the words of a gossip are like choice morsels; they go down to a man's inmost part. He chastised himself for being so easily swayed to sin.

"Dorothy, wasn't there a story you wanted me to hear?" Philippe asked hoping that it would keep him from listening to any more idle chatter.

"The most precious little boy came into the emergency ward this afternoon
, just after lunch," she began. "He must have been no older than six. He was playing baseball with some friends when one of the older children thought it would be funny to throw the ball at him as hard as he could. The ball hit him flush in the face, completely shattering his eyeglasses. He had small pieces of broken glass lodged deep within both of his eyes. We were all terrified that this boy would be permanently blind. It was just horrible."

"It sounds horrible," Phillipe cut in. He paused to think about what he'd just heard. He could only imagine where this story was headed. He could only hope. "I'm sorry, please continue."

"Sue Ellen was looking after the boy while they were waiting for the ophthalmologist," she continued as if she hadn't been interrupted.

Some people just love to talk, Phillipe concluded.

"She had to leave him for just a moment to get some more bandages. When she came back in, the boy was sitting up on his bed with both eyes wide open. Can you believe it, Sue Ellen told me. His eyes were wide open! The ophthalmologist examined his eyes; well, they were red, and a bit swollen, but there was no glass. The boy could see perfectly."

Philippe's heart raced with excitement as he listened intensely to Dorothy. This was the missing part of the story. The link he was so desperately hoping for.

"What was the explanation?" asked Philippe, anticipating more revelations of truth that would place a royal seal of approval on his instinct.

"This is where the story becomes wonderful," Dorothy joyously continued. "The boy told Sue Ellen that right after she left the room somebody had put his hands on his face. He said they felt like fire. After the person removed their hands he was able to open his eyes. They didn't hurt anymore, he said."

Philippe's excitement glowed in his face. "Did the boy happen to see the person who had placed their hands on him?" he asked her.

"No. He said that when he opened his eyes, there was nobody in the room."
Philippe's joy once again was left unfulfilled but he refused to allow it to dampen his spirits. "That is a wonderful story, Dorothy."

Philippe De Gaul quickly went to the nearest pay phone and called Archbishop Galliano. He attempted to repeat to him everything that Damon's doctor and then Dorothy had told him.

"Do you understand the significance of everything you are telling me?" asked the Archbishop.

"Of course I do," said Philippe.

"Then I am sure you also understand the need for discretion. We must keep this to ourselves for the time being. People cannot be allowed to make their own assumptions."

Philippe was baffled. Did the Archbishop just hear what I told him? There are no other assumptions that people can make. Philippe would not allow even the Archbishop's skepticism to ruin this day. He accepted the fact that the Archbishop, with regard to certain issues, was a very cautious man.

"I understand," Philippe reluctantly told him.