the only ray of sunlight which can lighten the darkness of my prison.
P. S. Just now, as I was about to go to bed, they brought me a package of letters, which I am going to devour with delight.
Thursday, 5 o'clock in the evening, 11 January,
1895.
My Darling:
I thank you for your two last letters (one written Tuesday and the other written, I think, Wednesday morning). They have just given them to me. Write to me morning and evening. Although I receive the two letters at the same time, nevertheless I can follow you in my thoughts. I see you in all you do. It seems to me that I am living near to you.
I occupy my time in reading and in writing; in that way I try to calm the fever of my brain; to think no more of my situation, so sad, so undeserved.
Forgive me, my darling, if sometimes I complain. What would you, at times memory is so bitter! I need to throw myself upon your breast, there to pour out my overburdened heart. We have always understood each other's thoughts so well, my darling, that I am sure that your strong and generous heart beats with the indignation of my own.
We were so happy—everything in life smiled upon us. Do you remember when I told you that we had nothing for which to envy any one; that all was ours? Position, fortune, the love we bore each other, our adorable little children—we had everything.
There was not a cloud on the horizon; then came the
