forces, all your means, should be directed. I hope to learn that this end is almost attained, that this appalling martyrdom of a whole family is nearly over. My body, my health? All that is indifferent to me. My being is animated only by one thought, by one desire, which keeps me alive—that of seeing with you and with our children the day when my honor shall be returned to me. It is in my thoughts of you, in the thought of our adored children, that I rest my brain, overtried at times by this continual tension, by this fever of impatience, by this terrible inactivity, without one moment of distraction.
If, then, we cannot keep ourselves from suffering—for never were human beings, who hold honor above all, struck in such a manner—still I cry always to you, "Courage, courage!" to march on to your goal, your head high, your heart firm, with unshaken will, never discouraged. Your children tell you your duty, just as they give me my strength.
Let us hope, then, as your mother has said, that soon, in each other's arms, we can try to forget this fearful martyrdom, these months, so sad and so delusive, and live again by consecrating ourselves to our children.
I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our dear children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
Kisses to all.
26 March, 1896.
My dear Lucie:
I received the 12th of this month your good letters of January, so impatiently expected every month, also all the letters from the family.
