shall be unmasked! I wish that this moment may be near and that it may not be too late.
Thanks for the good news that you give me of the children. It is from the thought of them, from the thought of you, that I draw the strength to resist. You must expect that sufferings, the climate, the situation, have done their work. I have left only my skin, my bones, and my moral energy. I hope that this last will carry me through to the end of our trials. You spoke to me of some supplies that I might ask you for. You know that my material life has always been indifferent to me, to-day more so than ever. I have only asked for books, and unhappily I have still only those you sent me in November.
Please do not send me any more provisions. The sentiment which inspires me to beg this favor may be puerile, but everything you send me is, by regulations, subjected to a most minute examination, and it seems to me each time that they give you a slap in the face, . . . and my heart bleeds and I tremble with pain of it.
No; let us accept the atrocious situation that has been made for us. Do not let us try to alleviate it by any care for the material order, but let us repeat to ourselves that we must find the guilty wretch, that we must get back our honor! March on, then, toward this goal; march on, moved by one common, unchangeable will; try to attain it as quickly as possible and give no care to anything else. I, for my part, shall resist as long as I can, for I want to be there, present on that day of supreme happiness when our honor is given back to us.
Say to yourself, that while the head may bow before some misfortunes, that while commonplace condolences may be received in some situations, when it is a ques-