"Emil Gottschalk?" Franz asked bewilderedly.
"The same," Jean said. "It was only two weeks ago that he was able to leave the hospital at Martigny and return to Dornblatt. He has lost one of his feet, but that seems to make small difference, for he has found his heart. His first act was to send for the Widow Geiser and say to her that she may discharge her debt to him at her own will and in her own time. That she will be able to do, since she has such a very fine farm and is shortly to marry Raul Muller. His second act—"
Jean lapsed into silence while Franz's bewilderment grew. Of all the people of Dornblatt who might have sent him a message, Emil Gottschalk was farthest from his thoughts. But the former greedy miser of Dornblatt must surely have come home a changed man. That he had given the Widow Geiser time to pay her debts when he might have foreclosed on her farm was evidence enough of that.
"His second act," Jean went on, "was to compose a message to you. It was a most important message, that must be entrusted only to a most important messenger."
"Who was the messenger?" Franz asked.
Jean answered, "Professor Luttman."
Franz reeled like a bullet-stricken chamois. Professor Luttman was one of the finest men in Dornblatt. He was a great and kind teacher, one who had struggled hard to teach even a stupid Franz Halle. If he and his knowledge were lost, then all the boys and girls of Dornblatt who might learn stood a fine chance of growing up to be ignorant indeed. There would be no one to teach them.
Jean Greb closed his eyes to hide the tears that sprang into them. He said bitterly, "Would that it were I, and not Professor Luttman, who lies beneath the snow!"
Franz suddenly forgot that the mountains might tumble if he spoke to the Prior. He flung himself before the supreme authority of St. Bernard Hospice.
"Let us go!" he begged. "Let Caesar and me go with whoever searches for Professor Luttman!"