It is toward this end that all your energy, all your forces, all your means, should be directed. I hope to learn that this end is almost attained, that this appalling martyrdom of a whole family is nearly over. My body, my health? All that is indifferent to me. My being is animated only by one thought, by one desire, which keeps me alive--that of seeing with you and with our children the day when my honor shall be returned to me. It is in my thoughts of you, in the thought of our adored children, that I rest my brain, overtried at times by this continual tension, by this fever of impatience, by this terrible inactivity, without one moment of distraction. If, then, we cannot keep ourselves from suffering--for never were human beings, who hold honor above all, struck in such a manner--still I cry always to you, “Courage, courage!” to march on to your goal, your head high, your heart firm, with unshaken will, never discouraged. Your children tell you your duty, just as they give me my strength. Let us hope, then, as your mother has said, that soon, in each other’s arms, we can try to forget this fearful martyrdom, these months, so sad and so delusive, and live again by consecrating ourselves to our children. I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our dear children. Your devoted ALFRED. Kisses to all. * * * * * _26 March, 1896._ My dear Lucie: I received the 12th of this month your good letters of January, so impatiently expected every month, also all the letters from the family. I have seen with happiness that your health and the health of all resist this frightful condition of things, this horrible nightmare, in which we have lived so long. What a trial for you, my good darling, as horrible as it is undeserved--for you who deserve to be so happy! Yes, I have horrible moments, when the heart can bear no longer the blows which open the wound already so deep, when my brain gives way under the weight of thoughts so sad and so deceptive. When, after I have waited for my letters in an agony of anxiety, the mail arrives, and still I do not receive the announcement of the discovery of the truth, or of the author of that infamous and cowardly crime, oh, I have at first a feeling of deep, bitter disappointment. My heart is torn, is broken, under so many sufferings, so long and so undeserved! I am a little like a sick man who lingers on his bed of torment, suffering anguish, but who lives because his duty demands it, and who keeps asking his doctor, “When will my tortures end?” And as the doctor answers, “Soon, soon,” the sick man ends by asking himself, “But when will this ‘soon’ come?” and he longs to see it come. It was a long time ago that you announced it to me ... but be discouraged? Oh, that never! However terrible may be my sufferings, the desire for our honor is far above them!