But whatever may become of me, I wish to repeat to you with all my soul, Courage and Faith!
I embrace you as I love you, with all the strength of my soul, and our dear little ones.
Your devoted
Alfred.
Kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.
20 February, 1897.
My dear Lucie:
I have written you numerous letters during these last months, and I repeat myself always. But what I would say is that, if sufferings increase, if the revolt against it all becomes almost unendurable, the sentiments that reign in my soul, that should reign in yours, all your souls, are unvarying.
But I shall not write long. Ah, it is not that my thought is not with you, with our children, night and day, since that thought alone makes me live! There is not an instant when, mentally, I do not speak to you; but in the presence of the tragic horror of a situation so appalling, and so long borne, in the presence of the atrocious sufferings of us all, words lose their meaning; there is nothing more to say. There is left only one duty for you to fulfill—a duty that is unvarying, immutable.
Moreover, I have given you all the advice that my heart can suggest.
I can wish only to hear soon a human word, a word that will put a soothing balm upon so deep a wound, that will give new strength to the heart and rest the worn-out brain.
