I shall not speak of the children; indeed, I already did so at length in my letters of August; and then I know you too well to have any anxiety in regard to them. You will embrace them with all my strength, with all my soul. I must leave you, although it always is a great grief to me to tear away from your presence, so short, so fleeting, is this moment that I pass with you. I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all the power of my love, as I embrace our dear children, while I repeat to you always, Courage, courage! and while I wish that all this suffering may have at last an end. Your devoted ALFRED. My best kisses to your dear parents, to all of our family; my wishes of condolence to Arthur and to Lucie; I do not feel that I have the courage to write to them. * * * * * _22 October, 1897._ My dear and good Lucie: Should I listen only to my heart I should write to you at every instant, at every hour in the day; for my thoughts cannot detach themselves from you, from our dear children, from all; but it would be only to repeat the expressions of our common grief, and there are no more words to describe this martyrdom--so long! In the letters that I have written to you I have expressed my thoughts, my determination, that determination that I know to be your own, that of every one of you, independent of my sufferings, of my life; there have been also in my letters, it is true, cries of sorrow, for when I suffer night and day, even more for you and for our children than for myself, my brain takes fire; and as if there were not enough in my own tortures, the climate at this time of year is sufficient in itself alone. And, indeed, the heart has need to give vent to its anguish, the human being to cry out its distress, its weakness. But do not let us dwell upon all that. What I wish to tell you is this: you must demand light on this tragic story; you must have the will to pursue inflexibly, without boasting, without passion, but with the unshakable conviction of your rights; with your heart of a wife, of a mother, horribly mutilated and wounded, with an energy and a will increasing each day in proportion to your sufferings. So, to-day, while I await your dear letters I wish only to embrace you with all my heart, with all my strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear children, to hope, as always, that our terrible martyrdom may at last have an end; yes, and to repeat to you always, a thousand and a thousand times, Courage! A thousand kisses more. ALFRED. * * * * * _4 November, 1897._ My dear and good Lucie: