Old Master Archimbaud had three sons. One morning he called the eldest to him and said: “Come here, Archimbalet! While lying quiet in my bed and meditating, for the bedridden have time for reflection, I remembered that once in the midst of a battle, finding myself in mortal danger, I vowed if God delivered me to go on a pilgrimage to Rome.... Alas, I am as old as earth! and can no longer go on a journey; I wish, my son, that thou wouldst make that pilgrimage in my stead; sorely it troubles me to die without accomplishing my vow.” The eldest son replied: “What the devil has put this into your head, a pilgrimage to Rome and I don’t know where else! Father, eat, drink, lie still in your bed and say as many Paternosters as you please! but the rest of us have something else to do.” The next morning, Master Archimbaud called to him his second son: “Listen, my son,” he said; “meditating here on my bed and reviewing the past--for, seest thou, in bed one has leisure for thinking--I remembered that once, in a fight, finding myself in mortal danger, I vowed to God to make the great journey to Rome.... Alas! I am old as earth! I can no longer go to the wars. Greatly I desire that thou wouldest in my stead make the pilgrimage to Rome.” The second son replied: “Father, in two weeks we shall have the hot weather! Then the fields must be ploughed, the vines dressed, the hay cut. Our eldest must take the flocks to the mountains; the youngest is nought but a boy. Who will give the orders if I go to Rome, idling by the roads? Father, eat, sleep, and leave us in peace.” Next morning good Master Archimband called his youngest son: “Espérit, my child, approach,” said he; “I promised the good God to make a pilgrimage to Rome.... But I am old as earth! I can no longer go to the wars.... I would gladly send thee in my place, poor boy. But thou art too young, thou dost not know the way; Rome is very far, my God! should some misfortune overtake thee ...!” “My father, I will go,” answered the youth. But the mother cried: “I will not have thee go! This old dotard, with his war and his Rome, will end by getting on our nerves; not content with grumbling, complaining and moaning the whole year through, he will send now this poor dear innocent where he will only get lost.” “Mother,” said the young son, “the wish of a father is an order from God! When God commands, one must go.” And Espérit, without further talk, went and filled a small gourd with wine, took some bread and onions in his knapsack, put on his new shoes, chose a good oaken stick from the wood-house, threw his cloak over his shoulder, embraced his old father, who gave him much good advice, bade farewell to all his relations, and departed. II But before taking the road, he went devoutly to hear the blessed Mass; and was it not wonderful that on leaving the church he found on the threshold a beautiful youth who addressed him in these words: “Friend, are you not going to Rome?”