To-day our dear little Pierre is five years old. All my heart, all my thoughts go out to him, to you, to our dear children. All my being quivers with sorrow.
What can I add, my dear Lucie? My affection for you, for our children, you know it. It has kept me alive; it has made me endure what otherwise I should never have accepted; it gives me the force still to endure all.
You say that we are approaching the end of our sufferings. I wish it with all my strength; for never have human beings suffered like this. I wrote you a long letter, ten days ago, by the French mail.
I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
I received some days ago the reviews and books that you sent in November. Their tardy arrival may be traced to the fact that they were sent by freight—that is to say, by sailing vessels. I find a little solace in them. But my brain is so shaken, so fatigued, by all these appalling shocks that I cannot fix my mind upon anything. The other parcels you have sent will reach me some day.
Embrace your dear parents, and all of our family for me. I wrote to them by the French mail.
26 April, 1896.