The books you have sent me have been announced, but I have not yet
received them. I thank you; I had great need of them, for reading is the
only thing which can distract my thoughts a little.
_5 October, 1895._
My dear Lucie:
I had already written to you yesterday, but after I had read and re-read
all the letters from this last mail there arose from them such a cry of
agony that all my being was profoundly shaken.
You suffer for me, and I suffer for you.
No, it is not possible, it cannot be that an entire family can be
subjected to such martyrdom.
Merely from the agony of waiting, we shall all be brought to the ground.
It must not be; there are our children; they must be thought of before
all else. I have just written again directly to the President of the
Republic. I can act only by my pen--it is very little--I can only
sustain you by all the ardor of my soul. You must, on your side, act
energetically, resolutely. When a man is innocent, when he asks for
nothing but justice, the clearing up of this terrible mystery, he is
strong, invincible.
Lay, if need be, our dear children at the feet of the President, and
demand justice for them, for their father.
Be heroic in your deeds, dear Lucie; it is on you that this duty falls.
Yet once more I must say it; it is not noise nor gnashing of teeth that
is necessary, but an indomitable will, that nothing can rebuff.
I sustain you, from here, across all the distance, with all the living
force of my being, with my soul of a Frenchman, of an honest man, of a
father who demands his honor--the honor of his children.