How are our poor darlings? When I think of them it is a torrent of tears. And you, I hope that you are well. You must take care of your health, my darling. The children first of all, and then the mission which you have to fulfill, impose upon you duties which you cannot neglect. Forgive the disconnected and wandering style of my writing. I no longer know how to write; the words will not come to me, my brain is shattered. There is but one fixed idea in my mind--the hope of some day knowing the truth, of seeing my innocence recognized and proclaimed. That is what I mutter night and day, in my dreams as in my waking hours. When shall I be able to embrace you and recover in your deep love the strength I need to carry me to the end of my calvary? Embrace every one for me. Kisses for the darlings. I embrace you as I love you. ALFRED. * * * * * _Sunday, 3 February, 1895._ My Darling: I have passed an atrocious week. I have been without a word from you since last Sunday--that is to say, for eight days. I thought that you must be sick, then that one of the children was sick, then, in my reeling brain, I conjured up all kinds of suppositions--I imagined everything. You can realize, my darling, all that I have suffered, all that I still suffer. In my horrible solitude, in the tragic situation in which events as unnatural as they are incomprehensible have placed me, I had at least one consolation; it was to feel that you were near me, your heart beating in unison with mine and sharing all my tortures. The night between Thursday and Friday, above all, was appalling. I will not tell you about it; it would rend your heart. All that I can tell you is that my mind kept going over and over the accusation they had brought against me. I told myself that the thing was impossible.... Then I aroused myself, and I realized the sad truth of it all. Oh, why cannot they open my heart and read there as one reads in an open book; there, at least, they would see the sentiments which I have always professed and which I still hold. No, no, it seems to me impossible that all this is to endure eternally. Some day the truth must come to light. By an unheard-of effort of the will I regained my self-control; I told myself that I could neither go down into my grave nor go mad with a dishonored name. I must live then, whatever may be the torture of soul to which I am a prey. Oh, this opprobrium, this infamy covering my name! When will they be taken away? May it come, the blessed day when my innocence is recognized! when they give me back that honor that never failed me! I am tired of suffering. Let them take my blood, let them do what they will with my body, ... you know that I do not care a straw for that; ... but let them give me back my honor. Will no one hear this cry of despair, this cry of an innocent wretch who begs only for justice--only justice?