* * * * *
_In the night between Monday and Tuesday, 24 December,
1894._
My dear Adored one:
I have just received your letter; I hope that you have received mine.
Poor darling, how you must suffer, how I pity you! I have wept many
tears over your letter. I cannot accept your sacrifice. You must stay
there; you must live for the children. Think of them first, before you
think of me; it is the poor, little ones who absolutely need you.
My thoughts always lead me back to you.
Me. Demange, who has just been here, has told me how wonderful you are.
He has spoken words in your praise to which my heart gave back the echo.
Yes, my darling, you are sublime in your courage and devotion. You are
worth more than I. I loved you before with all my heart and soul;
to-day I do more--I marvel at you. You are truly one of the noblest
women upon the earth. My admiration for you is so great that if I live
to drink my cup to the dregs it will be because I have aspired to be
worthy of your heroism.
But it will be terrible to submit to that shameful humiliation! I should
rather stand before an execution squad. I do not fear death, but the
thought of contempt is terrible.
However it may be, I pray you tell them all to life their heads as I
lift mine; to look the world in the face without flinching. Never bow
your heads--proclaim my innocence aloud.
Now, my darling, I am going anew to lay my head upon my pillow to think
of you.