Franz asked fearfully, "What does he want, Anton?"
"That you must discover for yourself," Anton replied.
"Yes," Anton said quietly, "I will go with you."
Franz put on his skis and, with Caesar trailing, they went to the refectory. The boy's head reeled. His heart fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird. At the entrance to the refectory, he could go no farther.
"Come, little Franz," Anton urged gently.
Dressed in the habit of his order, the Prior sat before a pile of logs that smoldered in the huge fireplace. With him, and almost as hard to face, were two of the Canons, the Clavandier, whose task it was to watch over Hospice provisions, and two priests.
Franz clasped his hands behind him, so nobody could see them shake, and wished mightily that the floor would open up so he could sink through it.
"It is time we met, young _maronnier_," the Prior said. "I like to know all who share this work with me. But for some reason, we have never spoken."
"Y-yes, Most Holy Prior," Franz stammered.
"There is nothing to fear," the Prior said.
It was a very gentle voice and, when Franz took courage to look, he saw also that, though it was weather-scarred and storm-beaten, the Prior's was a very gentle face. The boy felt more at ease.
"That is good," the Prior approved. "I wear the Prior's habit and you are a _maronnier_, but, for all that, we are equal. I have received excellent reports of your diligence and industry. You are a credit to the Hospice."
"Thank you, Most Holy Prior," Franz said.
The Prior smiled, knowing that he should not be addressed in such a fashion but understanding why he was. He continued, "Now that we have finally met, I would that it were for a different reason. I fear that I have sad tidings for you."
"For me?" Franz's heart began to pound again.
"You have a dog," the Prior said, "a great dog that, according to our good Clavandier, eats a great amount of food. Yet, he does no work."
Franz whispered miserably, "That is true."
"Believe me, I understand what this dog means to you." The Prior was very gentle. "I hope to make you understand what the Hospice of St. Bernard means to wayfarers. Every ounce of food we have here is far more precious than gold. Without it, we could neither preserve our own lives nor provide for our guests. It is a harsh order that I must issue, Franz, but with the next travelers who are going there, your dog must be returned to your native village of Dornblatt."