"Let us hope so," Franz agreed.
He felt a pang of sorrow. Father Benjamin, who always took Caesar with him when he went down to the rest house, had not even told Franz he was going. But it was not his place, Franz reminded himself, to tell the Fathers what they should or should not do. If Father Benjamin had not asked for Caesar, it was because he did not want him.
Anton Martek stood up respectfully and said, "Good afternoon, Father Mark."
"And to you, Anton." Father Mark noted the half-finished ski pole. "Busy as usual, I see. Well, they do say Satan finds work for idle hands."
Anton said, "I fear he has found enough for mine."
"Tut, tut," Father Mark reproved. "You must not be gloomy on a day so fine. The Prior would speak with you."
"At once," Anton said.
He slipped into his skis and departed with Father Mark. Franz stared wistfully after them. He himself had seen the Prior, in the chapel or from a distance, but he had never dared even think of speaking with him. On those few occasions when their paths would have crossed, and they could not have avoided speaking, Franz had fled as swiftly as possible. Winter in St. Bernard Pass inspired awe, but it was not nearly as awe-inspiring as the Prior of St. Bernard Hospice.
Franz picked up and inspected the ski pole Anton was fashioning, and he tried to fix each detail exactly in his mind. Making proper skis or ski poles was more than just a craft. It was a very precise art, and one that Franz hoped to master some day. Good was not enough. In the Alps, who ventured out on skis took his life in his hands and must have perfection.
A few minutes later, Anton returned alone. He did not look at Franz when he said, "The Prior would talk with you."