I have nothing to change in what I have just written to you. No matter how appalling to me the moral situation may be in which I am placed, no matter how my heart may be bruised, I shall stand erect to my last breath, for I want my honor, your honor, that of our children. As for my friends, I have never doubted them. They know what I am. But what is necessary, what I will have, is light, so brilliant that no one in all our dear country can have any doubt of my honor. It is my honor, the absolute honor of a soldier, that I must regain. This mission I confide to you, to you all. You will accomplish it, I have no doubt of it. I embrace you; also our dear children. Your devoted ALFRED. * * * * * _22 August, 1895._ My dear Lucie: I wrote you two long letters at the beginning of the month, on the 2d and the 5th of August; I hope that both of them were in time to go by the English boat. It is a long time since I have had a talk with you. It was not the wish that I lacked. My whole heart is with you. How many times have I taken up my pen only to throw it aside! What does it profit us for me always to be stirring up these sorrows? Aside from your health, from the health of the children, that of all the family, I have only one thought--and that forces me to live--the thought of our honor. You will forgive me if at times I have presented my ideas in a somewhat exaggerated form. But after all, if I do my duty, my whole duty, without flinching, it is not because my heart does not tremble and bleed in a situation so infamous and so undeserved, and its sorrow comes not only from my own situation, but from yours, from that of all whom I love. And then remember that I am obliged to control myself night and day without one moment of respite, that I never open my mouth; that there is never a moment when my nerves are relaxed, so that when I write to you with my whole heart, everything that cries out in me for justice and truth runs, despite my will, under my pen. But what I shall tell you always, as long as my heart shall beat, is that above all our sorrows, oh, however terrible they may be, before life itself, is honor, and that that honor, which belongs to us, must remain with us; it is the patrimony of our children. Then always and still again courage, Lucie, until we have seen the end of this horrible tragedy; but let us hope for all our sakes that it may come soon. Kiss your dear parents, all of our family, for me. Tell them of my profound affection, and how often I think of them. As for you, my dear Lucie, I have no consolation to give you; there is none, either for you or for me, in such misfortune. But your conscience, the sense of the great duties which you have to fulfill, should give you invincible strength. And then, when the day of justice dawns for us, we will find our consolation in our profound love. A thousand kisses for you and for our dear children. Your devoted ALFRED.