THE BLIND MAN'S GRIEF
Monsieur Vulfran advertised in the principal newspapers of Calcutta,
Dacca, Bombay and London for his son. He offered a reward of forty
pounds to anyone who could furnish any information, however slight it
might be, about Edmond Paindavoine. The information must, however, be
authentic. Not wishing to give his own address, which might have brought
to him all sorts of correspondence more or less dishonest, he put the
matter into the hands of his banker at Amiens.
Numerous letters were received, but very few were serious; the greater
number came from detectives who guaranteed to find the person they were
searching for if the expenses for the first steps necessary could be
sent them. Other letters promised everything without any foundation
whatever upon which they based their promises. Others related events
that had occurred five, ten, twelve years previous; no one kept to the
time stated in the advertisement, that was the last three years.
Perrine read or translated all these letters for the blind man. He would
not be discouraged at the meagre indications sent him.
"It is only by continued advertising that we shall get results," he
said always. Then again he advertised.
Finally, one day a letter from Bosnia gave them some information which
might lead to something. It was written in bad English, and stated that
if the advertiser would place the forty pounds promised with a banker at
Serajevo the writer would furnish authentic information concerning M.
Edmond Paindavoine going back to the month of November of the preceding
year. If this proposition was acceptable, the reply was to be sent to N.
917, General Delivery, Serajevo.
This letter seemed to give M. Vulfran so much relief and joy that it was
a confession of what his fears had been.
For the first time since he had commenced his investigations, he spoke
of his son to his two nephews and Talouel.
"I am delighted to tell you that at last I have news of my son," he
said. "He was in Bosnia last November."
There was great excitement as the news was spread through the various
towns and villages. As usual under such circumstances, it was
exaggerated.
"M. Edmond is coming back. He'll be home shortly," went from one to
another.
"It's not possible!" cried some.
"If you don't believe it," they were told, "you've only to look at
Talouel's face and M. Vulfran's nephews."
Yet there were some who would not believe that the exile would return.
The old man had been too hard on him. He had not deserved to be sent
away to India because he had made a few debts. His own family had cast
him aside, so he had a little family of his own out in India. Why should
he come back? And then, even if he was in Bosnia or Turkey, that was not
to say that he was on his way to Maraucourt. Coming from India to
France, why should he have to go to Bosnia? It was not on the route.
This remark came from Bendit, who, with his English coolheadedness,
looked at things only from a practical standpoint, in which sentiment
played no part. He thought that just because everyone wished for the son
and heir to return, it was not enough to bring him back. The French
could wish a thing and believe it, but he was English, he was, and he
would not believe that he was coming back until he saw him there with
his own eyes!
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 attitude
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 God!" cried the blind man. "Oh, God...."
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 passed through the crowd of workers who streamed from the
factory. As they stood aside for him to pass, 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.
Perrine closed the door softly.