else. I have just written again directly to the President of the Republic. I can act only by my pen—it is very little—I can only sustain you by all the ardor of my soul. You must, on your side, act energetically, resolutely. When a man is innocent, when he asks for nothing but justice, the clearing up of this terrible mystery, he is strong, invincible.
Lay, if need be, our dear children at the feet of the President, and demand justice for them, for their father.
Be heroic in your deeds, dear Lucie; it is on you that this duty falls.
Yet once more I must say it; it is not noise nor gnashing of teeth that is necessary, but an indomitable will, that nothing can rebuff.
I sustain you, from here, across all the distance, with all the living force of my being, with my soul of a Frenchman, of an honest man, of a father who demands his honor—the honor of his children.
I embrace you from the depths of my heart.
Your devoted
Alfred.
26 October, 1895.
My dear Lucie:
I can do little but confirm my letters of the 3d and the 5th of October, and that of the 27th of September. We are both wearing out our strength while we wait in a situation as terrible as it is undeserved, and it will end by failing us, for all things have their limit. But there are our children, to whom we owe ourselves, who must have their honor before anything else.
That is why, trembling with anguish, not only on account of all that we have both suffered so long, nor this
