His admiration for Gabriel which dated from their childhood, his dog-like fidelity, carried him on with leaps and bounds, making him accept at once even the most distant ideals.
"I am whatever you are, Gabriel," he said firmly.

"Are you not an anarchist?
I will be one also--indeed, I think I have always been one.
Do you not preach that the poor should live and the rich should work; that everyone should possess what he earns, and that we should all help one another?
Well, this is just what I thought when we wandered over the country with our guns and our scarf.

And as far as religion is concerned, which formerly nearly drove us mad, I feel perfectly indifferent.

I am convinced on hearing you that it is a sort of fable invented by clever people in order that we, the poor and unfortunate, should submit to the miseries of this world hoping for heaven; it is not badly imagined, for in the end those who die and do not find heaven will not return to complain." One day Gabriel wished to go up where the bells were hung.

It was now well on in spring; it was warm, and the intense blue of the sky seemed to attract him.
"I have not seen the 'big bell' since I was a child," he said.