The letter was as follows:—
"MY DEAR COLLARD,—I send herewith my idiot of a guardsman, whom you know. He fancies an old woman bewitches him every night, and, to put an end to his vampire, he proposes, quite nonchalantly, to kill her. But as the law looks askance on such rough-and-ready methods of cure for nightmare, I send him to you on a trivial pretext. Send him to Danré de Youty, who, on some other pretext, must send him to Dulauloy, who—with or without a pretext—can send him to the devil if he wishes.
"In short, his tour must be made to last a fortnight. During that time we shall have moved to Antilly, and then, as he will be no longer in the neighbourhood of Haramont, and as his nightmare will probably disappear during his journey, mother Durand may be able to sleep in peace—I should not advise her to do this while Mocquet lives in the district.
"He brings you a dozen snipe and a hare which we shot yesterday when hunting in the marsh of Walue.
"A thousand tender messages to your lovely Herminie, and a thousand kisses to your dear little Caroline.—Your friend,
"ALEX. DUMAS.
"P.S.—"We received yesterday news of your goddaughter Aimée, who is very well; as for Berlick, he grows an inch a month, and runs always on the tips of his toes,—his shoes make no difference."
Mocquet left an hour after the letter was written, and three weeks sped by before he rejoined us at Antilly.
"Well?" asked my father, seeing him look cheerful and the picture of health—"Well! what about mother Durand?"
"Why, General! the old mole has left me. It looks as though she had no power in this district."
And now the reader has the right to ask for an explanation of my father's postscript, and to be told who was this Berlick who grew an inch a month and who ran on tiptoe in spite of his shoes.