mine. I know, too, what you suffer, and it is appalling.
This is why, often, in the moments of my anguish—for it is not possible to suffer so slowly without cries of agony, having but one wish to express, to be with you and with our children on the day when honor shall be given back to us—I have asked you to take steps to appeal to the Government, to those persons who possess sure, decisive means of investigation—means that they only have the right to employ.
Whatever may come of it, and I think I have clearly expressed my thought, my conviction, I can but repeat to you with all my soul, Confidence and Faith! and wish for you, as for me, as for us all, that the efforts of one or of another may soon be crowned with success and may put an end to this appalling martyrdom of the soul.
I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace also our dear children, from the depths of my heart.
Your devoted
Alfred.
Kisses to all.
4 January, 1897.
My dear Lucie:
I have just received your letters of November, also those of the family. The profound emotion that they cause me is always the same—indescribable.
Your thoughts are mine, my dear Lucie; my thought never leaves you, never leaves our dear children, you all; and when my heart can bear no more, when I am at the end of my strength to resist this martyrdom, that crushes my heart incessantly as the grain is crushed in a mill, that tears all that is most pure, most noble, and most elevated within me, that dries up all the springs of my soul, then I cry to myself, always the same words:
