"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...."