Anton, who was entirely willing to let Franz clean the stable as long as
he kept it spotless, but who never permitted anyone except himself to
handle the cows or their products, began to groom his charges. He always
followed the same procedure. After the cows were clean as comb and brush
could make them, he would wash their udders with warm water. Then he
would milk, care for the milk and clean the cows all over again.
Franz impulsively asked a question that had long tickled his curiosity,
but that he had never dared ask before. "Why do you stay here, Anton?"
The huge man turned toward him, comb in one hand and brush in the other,
and for a moment his eyes were so terrible that Franz shrank before
them. The eyes softened the merest trifle.
"Why do you ask that?" Anton asked quietly.
"I--I've just wondered, and I--I'm sorry if I offended you," Franz
stammered.
Anton said, "You meant well and I will tell you. At one time, I lived in
Martigny, where I was famous for my strength. There was another man who
was neither bad nor good. He was much like the jay that always chatters
but seldom says anything worth the listening, and he was given to spasms
of rage. I saw him strike a child, a little boy, who should not have
been taunting him but was. I told the man that he must never again
strike a child. The man struck at me and--"
Anton's voice trailed off into a husky whisper. He stared for a moment
at the far wall of the stable, then continued, "I struck back and--I
killed him. I never meant to kill, and I knew I did not, for it is a
terrible thing to take the life of a fellow human. But the only others
who knew I never intended to kill were the Fathers at the Hospice. They
gave me refuge. They cared for my body as well as my spirit. They
restored my faith in God and in man. They made a man from what had been
a beast. That is why I am happy to serve them and why I shall never
leave this place!"
"I understand!" Franz exclaimed. "And I don't believe you ever intended
to kill either!"
"Thank you, little Franz." Anton's rare smile flashed. "Now, if you will
get your breakfast, I will care for my babies here."
Caesar at his heels, Franz left the stable and made his way to the
kitchen. Caesar sat down outside the door. Paul Maurat, the surly
_maronnier_ who presided over the kitchen, kept his domain as spotless
as Anton insisted the stable be kept. Certainly, he would never dream of
letting a dog invade his kingdom.
A tall, string-thin and apparently ageless man, he motioned Franz to a
chair, served him barley gruel, black bread, cheese, and milk and
apparently forgot all about him. Franz finished his meal and went
outside, where he was rejoined by Caesar, and the pair returned to the
stable.
"Back so soon?" Anton asked. "Would Paul not feed you?"
"He fed me very well," Franz declared, "but I have been thinking."
"And what has occupied your thoughts?" Anton asked.
"A very great man I knew in Dornblatt," Franz answered. "His name is
Professor Luttman, and he is a teacher, and it is in no way his fault
because I am too stupid to grasp what he tried to teach."
"Not everyone may understand the wisdom that is written in books," Anton
said.
"That I know," agreed Franz. "But I cannot escape a feeling that I
betrayed Professor Luttman. I am sure he knows I am just a _maronnier_
at St. Bernard Hospice. Father Paul, the village priest who acted on my
behalf in order that I might come here, would have told him. I am also
sure that, on the day he expelled me from his school, he knew I would
always hold a humble station."
"He is a wise man?" Anton questioned.
"Very wise," Franz replied.
"The wise do not have to be told that the world is made up of the humble
and the mighty," Anton said. "They know that much from their own wisdom.
Think no more about it."
"I cannot help thinking about it," Franz said in a troubled voice. "I
would like to prove to Professor Luttman that a _maronnier's_ is a good
life. Since I cannot, are you ready to have me start cleaning the
stable?"
"Today I clean the stable," Anton said. "It is not that you have failed
to do it very well, but you have worked hard and long. This shall be a
free day for you and Caesar."
"Oh, Anton!"
"Go along now." Anton's smile was pleased.
Caesar at his heels, Franz again left the stable. He braced himself
against the wind as soon as he was outside and paused to consider. It
was fine to have a free day, but in St. Bernard Pass, exactly what did
one do with it? The surrounding peaks invited him. But though the only
evidence of foul weather to be lay in an overcast sky, Franz had an
uneasy premonition that something besides an ordinary storm was in
prospect. It would never do to be caught on a mountainside while such a
storm raged.
Just then Father Benjamin came around a corner of the refectory. "Hello,
young Franz!"
"Father Benjamin!" Franz cried happily, then added, "Anton has given me
the day to spend as I wish."
"How very fine!" said Father Benjamin. "I am on my way to the inn at
Cantine. It isn't really necessary, since there seems to be little
likelihood of snow, but any travelers who await there may feel easier if
they have a guide. Do you want to come along?"
Father Benjamin, Franz and Caesar made their way down the rocky path and
found four people waiting to cross the mountain. They were an elderly
man, his middle-aged daughter, a boy about Franz's age and a girl not
yet in her teens.
Father Benjamin spoke reassuringly to them. "There is nothing to fear.
We will guide you to the Hospice, and after you have rested there, you
will be guided to the rest house on the opposite slope."
As they all started up the slope, Franz's uneasiness grew. The wind sang
a song of trouble. He comforted himself with the thought that Father
Benjamin was better able than he to judge what might happen.
They were halfway between the inn and the Hospice when a sudden,
blinding blizzard swept down upon them.