* * * * *
_6 January, 1898._
Dear Lucie:
I have not yet received your letters of October nor your letters of
November. The last news I had of you dates back, therefore, to
September.
I shall speak to you less than ever of myself, less than ever of our
sufferings. No human word can lessen them. I wrote to you some days ago;
I was in such a state that I do not remember one word that I said to
you.
But if I am totally worn out, body and mind, my soul is always ardent,
and I want to come into your presence to speak words that ought to
sustain your steadfast courage. I have put our fate, the fate of our
children, the fate of innocent creatures who, for more than three years,
have been struggling with unbelievable trials, into the hands of the
President of the Republic, into the hands of the Minister of War,
asking for an end at last to our appalling martyrdom; I have put the
defence of our rights into the hands of the Minister of War, whose duty
it is to have repaired, at last, this long-enduring and appalling error.
I am waiting impatiently. I want to wish that I may yet have a minute of
happiness upon this earth; but what I have no right to doubt for one
instant is that justice will be done, that justice will be done you and
our children, that you will have your day of supreme happiness.
I repeat to you, then, with all the strength of my soul, “Courage,
courage!” I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all
the power of my affection, as I embrace our dear and adored children.