I did not write to you at the beginning of the month by the English mail, for I expected each day your letters of September; I have not yet received them. As I told you in my last letter, which dates back, alas! a whole month, I hope that other hearts will feel with us the atrocious sufferings of our long months of martyrdom; this incessant, inexpressible torture of every hour, of every minute--in a word, all the horror of such a crushing moral situation. I hope that other hearts are bringing to your aid an ardent, generous co-operation in the work of laying bare the truth; and I can but hope for both our sakes, my poor darling, and for us all, that I shall soon hear a human word that will be a kind word, a word that will put a soothing balm upon our stinging wounds, make our hearts a little firmer, calm the surges of our brains, so shaken by all these emotions, by all these appalling shocks. I can only, therefore, while I wait for your dear letters, send you the echo of my immense affection, embrace you with all my heart, with all my strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear and adored children. Your devoted ALFRED. Kisses to your dear parents, to all our brothers and sisters, to all our family. * * * * * _22 December, 1896._ My dear Lucie: Only a few lines while I wait for your dear letters, to send you the echo of my deep love, to repeat to you always, with all my soul, “Courage and faith,” and to embrace you with all my heart, with all my strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear children. Your devoted ALFRED. Kisses to all. * * * * * _24 December, 1896._ My dear and good Lucie: I wrote you a few lines only a few days ago. But my thought is always with you, with our children, night and day! I know also all that you suffer, all that you all suffer, and I long to come and talk to you before the arrival of your letters, each month so impatiently awaited.