* * * * *
Your letter tells me that they have refused to permit Me. Demange to see
me; I hope, notwithstanding this, that they will soon accord him the
permission.
I count the hours until Friday, when I shall see you. Thanks for the
good letters I receive from all. Thank them all for me and tell them
that one of the best hours in my day is that which I pass in reading my
letters. But I am incapable of answering all of them. I can say nothing
except that I am resigned and that I expect that the truth will be
discovered.
_10 January, 1895, 9 A. M._
Since two o’clock this morning I could not sleep for thinking that
to-day I should see you. It seems that even now I hear your sweet voice
speaking to me of my dear children, of our dear families, and if I weep
I am not ashamed of it, for the martyrdom that I endure is truly cruel
for a man who is innocent.
Who is the monster who has thrown the brand of evil, of dishonor, into a
brave and honorable family?
If there is such a thing as justice on this earth, there is no
punishment too great to be reserved for him, no torture that should not
some day be inflicted on him.
But my courage is not weakening. I have painful moments, when my eyes
are veiled by the mournful darkness of the present; but I comfort myself
by looking forward to the future.
Your devotion is so heroic--you are all making such powerful efforts, it
is impossible that the truth shall be forever hidden. Besides that, the
truth must be made plain, _it must be_; the will is a powerful lever.
Now, at once, my darling, I am to have the joy of embracing you, of
clasping you in my arms. I count the seconds which separate me from that
happy moment.
_Half-past 3 o’clock, P. M., 10 January, 1895._
The moment is passed, my darling; so quick, so short, that it seems to
me I have not told you the twentieth part of what I had to say. How
heroic you are, my adored one! How sublime is your self-forgetfulness,
your devotion! I can do nothing but wonder at you.
Under the combined influence of your loving sympathy and of your heroic
efforts I have not the right to hesitate.
I will suffer, then, I will not murmur, but let me when my heart
overflows weep out my anguish on your breast.
The cruelest of all is this--I cannot repeat it too often--it is not the
physical suffering that I endure; it is this atmosphere of contempt
which surrounds my name--your name, my adored Lucie. You know that I
have always been proud, dignified. You know that I have held duty above
all else. You can therefore appreciate all that I suffer now. And that
is why I wish to live; that is why I cry my innocence to all the world.
I will cry it each day until my last breath, while in my body there is
one drop of blood.
I shall find in your dear eyes the courage needful for my martyrdom. I
shall draw from the memory of my children the strength to resist to the
end of my agony.
Bring me your portrait, too. I will place it between the pictures of our
darlings, and contemplating those faces, I shall each day, each instant,
read my duty.
Embrace all for me.