The steward and his son went down the garden towards the stream which formed one boundary of Mme. de Vibray's park.
"Look, father," Jacques exclaimed, "the postman is calling us."
The postman, a crusty but good-hearted fellow, came hurrying up to the steward.
"You do make me run, M. Dollon," he complained. "I went to your house this morning to take you a letter, but you weren't there."
"You might have left it with anybody."
"Excuse me!" the man retorted; "it's against the regulations: I've got an official letter for you, and I can only give it to you yourself," and he held out an envelope which Dollon tore open.
"Magistrates' office?" he said enquiringly, as he glanced at the heading of the notepaper. "Who can be writing to me from the Law Courts?" He read the letter aloud:
"Sir: As time does not permit of a regular summons being sent to you by an usher of the court, I beg you to be so good as to come to Paris immediately, the day after to-morrow if possible, and attend at my office, where your depositions are absolutely required to conclude a case in which you are interested. Please bring, without exception, all the papers and documents entrusted to you by the Clerk of Assizes at Cahors, at the conclusion of the Langrune enquiry."
"It is signed Germain Fuselier," Dollon remarked. "I've often seen his name in the papers. He is a very well-known magistrate, and is employed in many criminal cases." He read the letter through once more, and turned to the postman. "Will you take a glass of wine, Muller?"
"That's a thing I never say 'no' to."