Ah, the truth! We must reveal it, it must shine forth clear and luminous. I live only for that; I live only by that hope. And this truth, as you have so truly said, must be entire, absolute--there must be left no doubt in the mind of any one. My innocence must burst forth. Everybody--all must recognize it--they must know that my honor stands as high as that of any man on the earth. And it is to this end that I must be patient.... I realize it as you do, ... but the heart has reasons that reason knows not! If I could only put my brain to sleep until the day when they find the guilty one I should bear physical torments valiantly, I should not waver. And then think of the atmosphere that is to envelop me on the path I have yet to follow! But my heart must be silent. I gain each time new strength, new patience, from your dear eyes. Do not think any longer of my sufferings. You can comfort me only in doing as you have done--in searching for the guilty one, without a thought of truce--without an hour of rest. I have read Pierrot’s few lines in Marie’s letter. Thank them both, particularly the hand that directed the hand of Pierrot. Make of our dear children vigorous and healthy beings. I embrace you as I love you. ALFRED. * * * * * _Tuesday, 15 January, 1895, 9 o’clock in the morning._ My Darling: I was thinking a great deal last night of what you said yesterday when you urged me to be patient; when you explained to me that nothing is done in a day. Alas! I know it well; but I suffer precisely because of my good qualities, which are defects situated as we are now. I am an active man, and I am impatient to have it deciphered--this enigma that is torturing my brain. But you understand, my darling, since you know me so well. It is useless for me to tell each day of the fevers of impatience which at times overcome me; the paroxysms of crazy anger which at times carry me away.... Yesterday I received good news. They told me that I am to see your mother to-day. I am rejoicing over it in advance. _Half-past 5 o’clock._ I have seen Me. Demange for a few minutes; afterward I had the pleasure of seeing your mother. I was so enervated to-day that I almost fainted before her. I could not help it. Sometimes I become again a man, with all man’s weakness, with all man’s passions. You must admit that there is in my situation enough to break down the strongest. Ah, believe that were it not for you--for our dear children--it would be far easier for me to die! But I must bear up and face my sorrow. I must tell myself that I will bear all the agony, all the martyrdom, until the time when my innocence shall burst forth in the light of day. It is impossible that it can be otherwise. I shall hold out to the end, be sure of it; but at times I will give way to cries of wrath--to cries of anguish. Embrace them all, our darlings, for me. Your devoted ALFRED. * * * * * _7 o’clock._