"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.
"Y-yes, Anton." Franz shivered.
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.
"I am not afraid," he said.
"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."