I do not complain of physical sufferings, you know that I despise them; but to know that an accusation of infamy stains my name, when I am innocent--oh, no! no! This is why I have borne all my torment, all the anguish, all the insults. I am convinced that soon or late the truth will come to light, and then they will do me justice. I can easily excuse this anger, this rage of all the people--the noble people, who have been taught to believe that there is a traitor; but I want to live so that they may know that the traitor is not I. Upheld by your love, by the boundless love of all of ours, I shall overcome fatality. I do not say that I shall not still have moments of despondency, even of despair. Truly not to complain of an error so monstrous would require a grandeur of soul to which I cannot pretend. But my heart will remain strong and valiant. Then courage and energy, my darling. We must all be brave and strong. Let us lift up our heads all of us, carry them high and proudly. We are martyrs. I will live, my adored one, because I will that you shall bear my name, as you have borne it until now, with honor, with joy, and with love; and because I will to transmit it to our children without a stain. Therefore do not allow yourselves to be beaten down by adversity--neither you nor the others. Search for the truth without parleying, without a truce. As to me, I shall wait with the strength born of a pure and tranquil conscience until this mysterious and tragical affair is dragged into the light. You know, moreover, my darling, that the only mercy I have ever asked for is the truth; I hope that my countrymen will not fail in the duty which they owe to a fellow-man, who asks one right only--that the search for the truth may be kept up. And when the light shines in on my vindication; when they give me back my _galons_ that I won, and that I am as worthy to wear now as when I won them by my own might; when I am once more in my own place, at the head of my troopers, oh, then, my darling, I shall forget everything--the sufferings, the torture, the insults, the bleeding wounds. May God and human justice grant that the day break soon! Until to-morrow, my adored Lucie! Then shall I have the pleasure of embracing you again. Now I am counting the hours; to-morrow I shall count the minutes. I embrace you fondly. ALFRED. Good, long kisses to our two darlings. I dare not think of them. Talk to them about me. Let not these young souls suffer from our sadness. Embrace every one at home for me. * * * * * _12 January, 1895, Saturday, 4 o’clock._ How short was that half hour yesterday! I arrange in my mind in advance just how I shall employ every minute, so that I may not forget what I want to say. Then the time goes by as in a dream; and all at once the interview is over, and again I have said almost nothing. How can two beings like you and me be so cruelly tried?