20 October, 1896.
My dear Lucie:
I have written numerous letters to you during these last days, and in them I have once more opened my heart.
What can I add to them? I can hope but one thing; it is that at last they will take pity upon such a martyr, and that I shall learn soon that by the efforts of one or of another light has been let in on this terrible tragedy, in which we have suffered so appallingly and so long.
Ah, yes, dear and good Lucie, for your sake, as for mine, I would that I might hear one good word, a word of peace and consolation, coming to place a little balm upon our hearts, that are so crushed, so tortured.
But what I cannot tell you often enough, my good darling, is how I am suffering for you, for our dear children, for all our family. I had not believed that it was possible to live in such sorrow. Well, I will not linger upon this subject. I can only, as I have told you, wish with you, that by the discovery of the truth we may find ourselves at last in that atmosphere of happiness which we used to enjoy so much; that we may find forgetfulness in our mutual love and in the love of our children.
Waiting for your good letters, I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength; and so, also, I embrace our dear children.
Your devoted
Kisses to all.
Alfred.
22 November, 1896.
My dear and good Lucie:
I did not write to you at the beginning of the month by the English mail, for I expected each day your letters
