"Oh, Franz, Franz," Father Paul sighed. "Would that I could teach you!"
"I've tried everything I know," the elder Halle said, a bit gruffly. "There simply is nothing more."
"You are too harsh," Father Paul chided him.
"I must be harsh," Franz's father said. "The boy will shortly be a man. Can he take his proper place among the householders of Dornblatt if he knows nothing except how to cut wood, run the forests and climb mountains? Do not condemn me, Father Paul. If I did not love the boy, would I care what happens to him? But I repeat, I can think of nothing more."
Father Paul said, "I can."
Franz's father and mother turned quickly toward him. His four sisters leaned eagerly forward in their chairs and even Franz was interested. An unreadable smile played on Father Paul's lips.
"Tell us," Franz's father pleaded.
"Very well," Father Paul agreed. "Had there been no news of Emil, I'd have had reason to come here, anyway. When I returned from Martigny, there was a message waiting—"
He stopped for a moment, and Franz's father begged, "Father Paul, please go on!"
Father Paul smiled. "It was a message from the Prior of St. Bernard Hospice. Franz has been chosen as a maronnier, and he is to report as soon as possible."