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.