"You are going away, Jean. You are going to college. You will be a priest." "Well, and why not, little one?" "I, I don’t like that at all. Do not be a priest, Jean. Please." "But, Gabrielle, it is a great vocation, that. See! I shall be curé of this parish, perhaps, and I will give you a lovely cross of gold, a pretty prayer-book and a rosary with beads of real pearls. And I will pardon all your sins, Gabrielle, if you have any, and not make you do any penance. Won’t that be fine?" "No, no, Jean. I don’t want any of those things. What good would they be to me if you were not here?" Whereupon Gabrielle began to cry, more than ever, and would not stop until Jean promised, half in jest, half in earnest, that he would never be a priest, never in his life. Then Gabrielle’s tears disappeared, and she began to dance, and danced all the way home and into the house, chanting in joyful tones: "Jean will not be a priest! Jean will not be a priest! He will stay with us! He will stay with us! Always! Always!" "What is that you say, Gabrielle, mignonne?" said Madame Taché. "Jean told me so, truly. He doesn’t want to be a priest, any more. And I, I am so happy." "Be still, Gabrielle," said her mother, seriously. "That is too foolish. Jean will be a priest, of course, a bishop, too, perhaps, some day. Who can tell?" Meanwhile Jean went along the road toward his home with brisker step and lighter heart than he had known for some days. He saw the blue sky, the fleecy clouds, the dancing water of the river, the greens and purples of the mountains, the greens and reds and yellows of the fields. He heard the sound of the rapids, the song of the birds, the rustling of the leaves, the joyous chirping of many insects. He took long breaths of the pure mountain air, faintly scented with the fragrance of sweet-brier and wild strawberry. The very dust of the road seemed pleasant underfoot. The joy of living was his once more, and as he went he sang a song of life and youth, gay and free in the spring-time of the world. "Dans les prisons de Nantes, Dans les prisons de Nantes, Ya-t-un prisonnier, gai faluron, falurette, Ya-t-un prisonnier, gai, faluron, dondé. "Que personn’ ne va voir, Que personn’ ne va voir, Que la fill’ du geôlier, gai, faluron, falurette, Que la fill’ du geôlier, gai, faluron, dondé. "Elle lui porte à boire, Elle lui porte à boire, A boire et à manger, gai, faluron, falurette, A boire et à manger, gai, faluron, dondé." "You sing, Jean," said his mother as she met him at the door. "You have good news to tell me, have you not? I like to hear you sing, Jean, my lad." "Ah, my mother, I fear that it will not be good news to you, yet I know that you will understand. My mother, I cannot be a priest, never, never. I have wished to please you in this, but it is impossible. Do not be unhappy about it. You will not, will you, dear?"