Sometimes there is a Dubois who answers: "Present."
The postman looks up sternly.
"Dubois what. What's your other name?"
"Dubois, Charles."
With a scornful shrug of the shoulders—
"The letter I have here is for Dubois, Emile. Why do you make me lose my time?"
The same thing happens with the Duponts, the Durands, and the Martins. The one present never possesses the right Christian name.
The postman throws back the letters into his big bag and continues his round.
"They're always asking for letters," he grumbles, "but when I bring any they never come for them."
"They" frequently have a good reason for not coming, they may well have met their death between two posts.