The next morning, Master Archimbaud called to him his second son:
“Listen, my son,” he said; “meditating here on my bed and reviewing the past—for, seest thou, in bed one has leisure for thinking—I remembered that once, in a fight, finding myself in mortal danger, I vowed to God to make the great journey to Rome.... Alas! I am old as earth! I can no longer go to the wars. Greatly I desire that thou wouldest in my stead make the pilgrimage to Rome.”
The second son replied:
“Father, in two weeks we shall have the hot weather! Then the fields must be ploughed, the vines dressed, the hay cut. Our eldest must take the flocks to the mountains; the youngest is nought but a boy. Who will give the orders if I go to Rome, idling by the roads? Father, eat, sleep, and leave us in peace.”
Next morning good Master Archimband called his youngest son:
“Espérit, my child, approach,” said he; “I promised the good God to make a pilgrimage to Rome.... But I am old as earth! I can no longer go to the wars.... I would gladly send thee in my place, poor boy. But thou art too young, thou dost not know the way; Rome is very far, my God! should some misfortune overtake thee ...!”
“My father, I will go,” answered the youth.
But the mother cried:
“I will not have thee go! This old dotard, with his war and his Rome, will end by getting on our nerves; not content with grumbling, complaining and moaning the whole year through, he will send now this poor dear innocent where he will only get lost.”
“Mother,” said the young son, “the wish of a father is an order from God! When God commands, one must go.”