Nobody's Girl Part 50

Day by day the blind man grew more impatient to see his son. Perrine could not bear to hear him talk of his return as a certainty. Many times she tried to tell him that he might be disappointed. One day, when she could bear it no longer, she begged him in her sweet voice not to count too much upon seeing his son for fear something might still keep him away.

The blind man asked her what she meant.

"It is so terrible to hear the worst when one has been expecting the best," she said brokenly. "If I say this it is because that is just what happened to me. We had thought and hoped so much when my father was ill that he would get better, but we lost him, and poor mama and I did not know how to bear it. We would not think that he might die."

"Ah, but my boy is alive, and he will be here soon. He will come back to me very soon," said the old man in a firm voice.

The next day the banker from Amiens called at the factory. He was met at the steps by Talouel, who did all in his power to get the first information which he knew the banker was bringing. At first his att.i.tude was very obsequious, but when he saw that his advances were repulsed, and that the visitor insisted upon seeing his employer at once, he pointed rudely in the direction of M. Vulfran's office and said:

"You will find him over there in that room," and then turned and went off with his hands in his pockets.

The banker knocked on the door indicated.

"Come in," called out M. Vulfran, in answer to his knock.

"What, you ... you at Maraucourt!" he exclaimed when he saw his visitor.

"Yes, I had some business to attend to at Picquigny, and I came on here to bring you some news received from Bosnia."

Perrine sat at her little table. She had gone very white; she seemed like one struck dumb.

"Well?" asked M. Vulfran.

"It is not what you hoped, what we all hoped," said the banker quietly.

"You mean that that fellow who wrote just wanted to get hold of the forty pounds."

"Oh, no; he seems an honest man...."

"Then he knows nothing?"

"He does, but unfortunately his information is only too true."

"Unfortunately!" gasped the blind man. This was the first word of doubt that he had uttered. "You mean," he added, "that they have no more news of him since last November?"

"There is no news since then. The French Consul at Serajevo, Bosnia, has sent me this information:

"'Last November your son arrived at Serajevo practising the trade of a strolling photographer....'"

"What do you mean?" exclaimed M. Vulfran. "A strolling photographer!...

My son?"

"He had a wagon," continued the banker, "a sort of caravan in which he traveled with his wife and child. He used to take pictures on the market squares where they stopped...."

The banker paused and glanced at some papers he held in his hand.

"Oh, you have something to read, haven't you?" said the blind man as he heard the paper rustle. "Read, it will be quicker."

"He plied the trade of a photographer," continued the banker, consulting his notes, "and at the beginning of November he left Serajevo for Travnik, where he fell ill. He became very ill...."

"My G.o.d!" cried the blind man. "Oh, G.o.d...."

M. Vulfran had clasped his hands; he was trembling from head to foot, as though a vision of his son was standing before him.

"You must have courage," said the banker, gently. "You need all your courage. Your son...."

"He is dead!" said the blind man.

"That is only too true," replied the banker. "All the papers are authentic. I did not want to have any doubt upon the matter, and that was why I cabled to our Consul at Serajevo. Here is his reply; it leaves no doubt."

But the old man did not appear to be listening. He sat huddled up in his big chair, his head drooped forward on his chest. He gave no sign of life. Perrine, terrified, wondered if he were dead.

Then suddenly he pulled himself together and the tears began to run down his wrinkled cheeks. He brushed them aside quickly and touched the electric bell which communicated with Talouel's and his nephew's offices.

The call was so imperative that they all ran to the office together.

"You are there?" asked the blind man; "Talouel, Theodore and Casimir?"

All three replied together.

"I have just learned of the death of my son," said their employer. "Stop work in all the factories immediately. Tomorrow the funeral services will be held in the churches at Maraucourt, Saint-Pipoy and all the other villages."

"Oh, uncle!" cried both the nephews.

He stopped them with uplifted hand.

"I wish to be alone ... leave me," was all he said.

Everyone left the room but Perrine. She alone remained.

"Aurelie, are you there?" asked the blind man.

She replied with a sob.

"Let us go home," he said.

As was his habit, he placed his hand on her shoulder, and it was like this that they pa.s.sed through the crowd of workers who streamed from the factory. As they stood aside for him to pa.s.s, all who saw him wondered if he would survive this blow. He, who usually walked so upright, was bent like a tree that the storm has broken.

Could he survive this shock? Perrine asked herself this question with even greater agony, for it was she and she alone who knew how his great frame was trembling. His shaking hands grasped her shoulder convulsively, and without him uttering one word little Perrine knew how deeply her grandfather was smitten.

After she had guided him into his study he sent her away.

"Explain why I wish to be left alone. No one is to come in here. No one is to speak to me....

"And I refused to believe you," he murmured as she was leaving him.

"Oh, please; if you will let me...."

"Leave me," he said roughly.