Quick to fill in the gap between languages, Malachi relayed Chéri's cheerful greeting for Francis. What the beggar said in return... well, the offensively exaggerated introduction really needed no translation, and the rest of it seemed less directed at the youth than it was at Richards and himself.

(He hadn't missed that look Father Richards shot him -- the poor man looked scandalized by just a name.)

"Chéri is--"

Aaaand there snapped Father Richards, like a string pulled too tight. Malachi's eyebrows lifted above the thin frames of his spectacles.

As much as he wanted to call out the younger priest's hypocrisy in drawing on that parable to snap at a homeless man, he kept his mouth shut. It would be wrong of him to disagree with Richards in front of them, and Francis in particular did not need any more reasons to question his fellow priest's authority. So, smoothing his surprise out of his face, Malachi cleared his throat and looked back to the guests.

"...Chéri just arrived in Whitby yesterday, and I did not wish for him to sleep out on the street. He is not staying here."