* * * * * _27 August, 1895._ I add a few words before mailing this letter to send you again the echo of my profound affection, to tell you how much I thought of you on your birthday--hardly more, it is true, than on other days, that is not possible--and to kiss you with all my heart and to say to you, “Courage and always courage!” Ah, suffering, under all its forms, I know what it is, I swear to you. From the time that this trouble began my heart has been nothing but a wound which bleeds each day and every hour--a wound that will be healed only when I learn at last that my innocence is recognized. In truth, the mind stands at times bewildered and perplexed by the thought that such errors can be in a century like ours and can last so long without the light being let in upon them. But fear nothing; if I suffer beyond all expression, as you suffer, as you all suffer, indeed, my soul is still valiant, and it will do its duty to the end, for your sake, for the sake of our children. Ah, but let us hope that this appalling, this unbelievable situation may soon end, and that we may at last come out of the horrible nightmare in which we have been living for more than ten months! Embrace our dear little ones tenderly for me. * * * * * _7 September, 1895._ My dear Lucie: I receive only to-day your letters of July, as well as those of all the family. I often do as you do. At certain moments when my full heart brims over, I re-read all your dear letters and I weep with you, for I do not believe that two beings who place honor above everything, and with them their families, have ever undergone a martyrdom like ours. I suffer, and, like you, like you all, I am not ashamed of it. My heart, night and day, demands its honor, yours, the honor of our children. Such a situation is tragic, the anguish becomes too great for us all to bear.