Stanislaus left the room and the house. He walked quickly to the
Jesuit church, where he heard Mass and received Holy Communion. At
Mass he met a young Hungarian, with whom he had been very intimate.
He beckoned him aside and whispered:
"Wait for me a minute. I just want to say a word to Father Antoni."
Then he hurried away, but was back shortly at his friend's side, eyes dancing, lips smiling, hand outstretched.
"I have just bid Father Antoni good-by," he said, with a little excitement. "I am running away. I am going to Augsburg' to ask admission into the Society of Jesus. I told Paul yesterday that I should not stay with him, and I have written a letter and put it in a book. Do not tell any one what I tell you now. But after a few days, please go and point out the letter to Paul."
His friend listened with wonder. Going away!' Going to Augsburg!
"But how?" he asked. "Not on foot?"
"On foot, to be sure," answered Stanislaus gayly. "Do you think I have a horse secreted about me? Or could I take one of ours and wake the house?"
"And you will be a Jesuit, and teach, and never ride a good horse again, and give up your people and your place in the world!"
"I shall be a Jesuit, if I can," said Stanislaus. "As for what I shall give up, well, I'd have to give it up when death came, wouldn't I? And since God wants it, I'd sooner give it up now."
But he had not much time for talk. Day was growing; he must be off. He got his friend's promise about the letter, bade him good-by heartily and cheerily, and turned his face towards the Augsburg road. What happened else that day we have already seen, and how Paul and Bilinski followed him, and how he got away, and how he did walk, bravely, gayly, in less than two weeks the four hundred miles to Augsburg.