It was Christmas Eve in 1815. (…) I had gone to Plouaret at an early hour, and while we were waiting for midnight mass, a few friends and I were drinking cider and playing cards at Cadiou’s inn. (…) Alanic Ar Floch, who was thirsty but who was also penniless (…), had often heard that on Christmas Eve, the water from the wells and fountains would change into wine. And he wanted to check it right away…