And now I must remind you that before you come here you must provide yourself with _all_ the authorizations necessary _to see me_; do not forget to ask permission _to kiss me_, etc., etc. When shall we be reunited, my darling? I live in the hope of that, and in the still greater hope of my restoration to honor. But oh, how my soul suffers! Tell all our family that they must work on without weakening, without resting; for all that comes to us now is appalling, tragic. Write to me soon. I embrace you as I love you. ALFRED. * * * * * _Tuesday, 21 January, 1895, 9 o’clock in the morning._ How you must suffer!... The tragedy of which we are the victims is certainly the most terrible of the century. To have everything--happiness, the future, a charming home--and then, all at once, to be accused and condemned for a crime so monstrous! Ah, the monster who has cast dishonor in our family might better have killed me; at least there would then have been only me to suffer! This is what tortures me the most; it is the thought of the infamy that is coupled with my name. If I had only physical sufferings to bear, it would be nothing. Sufferings borne for a noble cause are elevating; but to suffer because I am condemned for an infamous crime--ah, no! Cannot you see that it is too much, even for energy like mine? Oh, why am I not dead? I have not even the right to leave this life of my own will; it would be an act of cowardice. I have not the right to die, to look for oblivion, until I shall have regained my honor. The other day when they insulted me at La Rochelle, I wished that I might escape from the hands of my guards and present myself with naked breast to those to whom I was a just object of indignation and say to them: “Do not insult me; my heart that you cannot know is pure and free from all defilement; but if you believe me guilty, here, take my body; I give it up to you without regret.” At least then, when under the sharp sting of physical suffering, I should still have cried, “_Vive la France!_” Perhaps then they would have believed in my innocence. After all, what do I beg for night and day? Justice, justice! Are we in the nineteenth century, or must we turn back for centuries? Is it possible that innocence can be unrecognized in a century of light and truth? They must search for the truth. I do not ask for mercy, but I demand the justice due to every human creature. They must search. Let those who possess powerful means of investigation use them to this end; it is a sacred duty which they owe to humanity and justice. It is impossible that light shall not be thrown upon my mysterious and tragic fate. O God! who will give me back my honor that has been stolen from me, basely stolen from me? Oh, what a dark drama, my poor darling! As you have so truly said, it surpasses anything that can be imagined.