has made me endure what otherwise I should never have accepted; it gives me the force still to endure all.
You say that we are approaching the end of our sufferings. I wish it with all my strength; for never have human beings suffered like this. I wrote you a long letter, ten days ago, by the French mail.
I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
I received some days ago the reviews and books that you sent in November. Their tardy arrival may be traced to the fact that they were sent by freight—that is to say, by sailing vessels. I find a little solace in them. But my brain is so shaken, so fatigued, by all these appalling shocks that I cannot fix my mind upon anything. The other parcels you have sent will reach me some day.
Embrace your dear parents, and all of our family for me. I wrote to them by the French mail.
26 April, 1896.
My dear Lucie:
In the long and atrocious days of which all these months are made, I have read and re-read your dear letters of February. My heart has bled with the anguish to which you have been subjected during these long months, and of which each word in your letters bears the trace. I could feel how you restrained the shivers of your being, how you held back the overflowing volume of your grief, and in an effort of your loving and
