How you must suffer, my poor darling! I can imagine it by comparing your suffering to my own, because I cannot see you. But we must know how to bear up, to hold our own against suffering; we must be resigned; we must preserve all dignity of conduct. Let us show that we are worthy of one another; that trials, even the most cruel, even the most undeserved, cannot beat us down. When the conscience is clear we can, as you say so truly, bear everything; suffer everything. It is my conscience alone that has enabled me to resist; had it not been for that I should have died of sorrow, or I should be shut up in a mad-house. Even now I cannot look back to those first days without a shiver of horror. My brain was like a boiling cauldron; at each instant I feared that my reason would leave me. Do not be worried by the irregularity of my letters; you know that I cannot write as I would like to; but be strong and brave; be careful of your health. Thanks for all the news you give me of our friends. Tell them that I have often thought of them; of the grief they must feel. It must bind us in a union that nothing can ever break. Our pure, honorable life, all the past of all our kindred, our devotion to France, are the best guarantees of what we are. I have received two good letters from J. and R.; they have given me great pleasure. I thank you also for the news you give me of the children. Ah, the poor darlings! What joy it will be to me to be able to embrace them and you, my good darling! But I will not allow myself to think of it; for then everything seems to melt within me. The bitterness of my heart rises to my lips--and I must preserve all my strength. Thank M. and my brothers and my sisters and all the family for what they have done for me. Embrace them for me. I will stop, for every memory of the happiness I have known among you all revives my grief. To have sacrificed everything for my Country, to have served her with entire devotion, with all my strength, with all my intelligence, and then to be accused of such a frightful crime--no, no! Write to me often; write long letters. My best moments are those when I receive news of you all. A thousand kisses for you and for the children. Your devoted ALFRED. * * * * * _Tuesday, 18 December, 1894._ My good, dear one: At last I am coming to the end of my sufferings, to the end of my agony. To-morrow I shall appear before my judges, my head high, my soul tranquil. The trial I have undergone, terrible as it has been, has purified my soul. I shall return to you better than I was before. I want to consecrate to you, to my children, to our dear families, all the time I have yet to live. As I have told you, I have passed through awful crises. I have had moments of furious, actual madness at the thought of being accused of a crime so monstrous.