But you know what you have to say, and you must say it squarely, proudly. Yes, my dear Lucie, that was what I thought from the first. I should, without making any noise about it, without any go-between except the person introducing me, have taken a child by each hand, and I should have gone to demand justice everywhere, without resting until the guilty wretches should have been unmasked. These means are “heroic,” but they are the best means, for they come from the heart, and they appeal to the heart, to that sense of justice that is innate in each one of us, unless he is carried away by passion. They proceed from the strength given by innocence, from a duty to be fulfilled; and they know no obstacle. They are means worthy of a woman who asks only for justice for her husband, for her children. It must not be said that in our century a wretch can with impunity crush the lives of two families. Courage, then, dear Lucie, and act with resolution. Kisses to all. I embrace you with all my strength, and our dear, adored children. Your devoted ALFRED. Since the package of June last I have received neither books nor reviews. I thought that you would continue to send me books and reviews each month regularly. Think of my perpetual tête-à-tête with myself. I am more silent than a Trappist Monk, in my profound isolation, a prey to sad thoughts, upon a lonely rock, sustaining myself only by the force of duty. * * * * * _4 October, 1895._ My dear Lucie: I have just received your dear letters of August, so impatiently waited for each month, and with them the letters of all the family. Always write long letters to me. I feel a childish pleasure in reading what you have written, for then it seems to me that I hear you speak, that I feel the beating of your heart close to mine. When you suffer too much take your pen and come and talk with me. I thank you for your good tidings of the children. Kiss them tenderly for me. My body, dear Lucie, is indifferent to everything; it is fortified by a strength almost superhuman, by a higher power--the anxiety, desire for our honor. It is the sacred duty which I must fulfill--my duty to you, to our children, to our families--which fills my soul and rules it, which silences my broken heart. Were it not for that the burden would be too heavy for human shoulders. Enough of moaning, Lucie; it will not make things any better. This appalling suffering must end for us all.