"Pat," she said, "if you will come with me to Paris you can be the great singer. It will not be tomorrow. It will be two years. Maybe three years. You must work. You must do what I say."
"When?" asked Pat trembling.
"In the week."
Peter said nothing, but he looked at Pat. The boy continued to stare at Maria.
"Pat," he said.
His son turned to him.
"I want to, Peter. I want to."
Peter mopped his forehead again.
"He wants to, Maria," he said. "I give up my year." Peter paused. "I give up all my years," he added in a low voice.
"But you must not give up the years," said Maria. "We will go to Paris, all three. It will be more and more. You must watch and listen. He is your son Peter."