solitude the hours are long, and my mind cannot comprehend all that has come upon me. Never could a romancer, however rich his imagination, have written a story more tragic.
I am convinced, as you are, that sooner or later the truth will come to light. The just cause always triumphs; but when that day comes what shall my condition be? It is that that I cannot tell. . . . There is always my aching heart, which from morning till night, and from night till morning, beats as if to burst.
I hope that they will let me kiss you at least before I set out upon my journey.
I thank you for all you tell me about the children. You must bring them up seriously and give them a thorough education; be as careful of their bodies as you are of their minds and hearts. I know what you are; I have no uneasiness on this score. Indeed, I know that you will bring them up to be generous and noble souls, eager for all that is good and beautiful, marching forward always in the way of duty.
Kiss the good darlings for me a thousand, thousand times.
I pray you give every one my love. Receive the most ardent kisses of your husband, who loves you, who lives only in the thought of you.
Alfred.
14 February, 1895.
My dear Lucie:
The few minutes that I passed with you were very sweet to me, although it was impossible for me to tell you all that I had within my heart.
