What shall I say? I know no more about it than you do. It is certain that the soldiers have a grim, stern air, and this time frighten the citizens. However it may be, we have just passed a reef, and are sailing towards the unknown. Do not be uneasy, and tell me when I may see you. CXLII _March 24, 1852._ ... I have all sorts of annoyances, besides a great deal of work on hand. In short, I have undertaken, impulsively, a piece of chivalrous work, and you know that one should guard against yielding to impulses. I sometimes turn over a new leaf. The substance of the matter is that after reading the articles written for the defence of Libri, his innocence has been completely demonstrated to me, and I am now writing for the _Revue_ a long dissertation concerning his trial, including all the infamous details connected with it. Pity me; one gains nothing from such work but vituperation; but there are times when one is so shocked by injustice that he makes a fool of himself. When are we to visit the Museum? I am grieved to learn of the death of some one whom you loved; but this is one more reason for us to meet often, and to prove whether a friendship like ours is a balm for sorrow. I agree with you in thinking that life is a foolish thing, but we must not make it worse than it is. After all, it contains some moments of happiness, and the satisfaction we enjoy in the remembrance of these exceeds the dejection we feel in the recollection of our moments of unhappiness. I experience more pleasure in recalling our friendly talks than I have of sorrow in thinking of our quarrels. We should make ample provision for happy recollections. CXLIII PARIS, _April 22, at night, 1852_. Your letter has done me much good. At this moment I am indulging in the nervousness which is sure to follow an impulsive action: impulses, as you know, are usually sincere. It is in such moments as this that base and sordid sentiments hold sway. I am threatened with a suit for contempt of court and attack against the verdict. The case against me is strong, but everything is possible. _Y siempre lo peor es cierto._ Meanwhile, the _École des Chartes_ is sharpening its claws to tear me to pieces. I shall be obliged, perhaps, to undergo an examination, and to offer an energetic defence. I hope I shall regain my energy when the moment of battle comes. At present I am bewildered and dejected. I thank you for what you tell me. I appreciate it sincerely. Try to keep well, so that, if the case should go against me, you can come to see me in prison. CXLIV _Friday evening, May 1, 1852._ My dear mother is dead. I hope her sufferings were not great. Her features were calm, and she wore her usual sweet and gentle expression. I thank you for all the interest you have shown in her. Good-bye. Think of me, and write to me soon. CXLV PARIS, _May 19, 1852_.