26 February, 1896.
My dear Lucie:
I received the 12th of this month your dear letters of December; also all those from the family. It is needless for me to try to describe to you the deep emotion which they gave me. I could weep—that tells it all. As you yourself feel, in spite of yourself, the brain does not stop working, the head and the heart still suffer, and these tortures will only cease after the truth is brought to light, when this awful drama is finished, explained.
I have spoken too much of myself and of my sufferings; forgive me this weakness.
Whatever my sufferings may be, ah, however terrible our martyrdom is, there is an object that must be attained—that you will attain, I am sure of it—the light, full and entire, such as is necessary for us all, for our name, for our dear children. I hope ardently, for you as for myself, to hear soon that this object is at last attained.
I have no counsels to give you, either. I can but approve absolutely what you are doing to accomplish the complete demonstration of my innocence. That is the end to be attained, and we must see nothing else.
I have received Mathieu's few words; tell him that I am always with him, heart and soul. The 22d of February was the anniversary of the birth of our dear little Jeanne. How often I thought of her! I will not say more about it, for my heart will break and I have need of all my strength. Write me long letters. Speak to me of yourself and of our dear children.
I read and re-read each day all that you have written me; then it seems to me that I hear your beloved voice, and that helps me to live.
