23 December, 1894.
My Darling:
I suffer much, but I pity you still more than myself. I know how much you love me. Your heart must bleed. On my side, my adored one, my thought has always been of you night and day.
To be innocent, to have lived a life without a stain, and to be condemned for the most monstrous crime that a soldier can commit! What could be more terrible? It seems to me at times that I am the victim of an awful nightmare.
It is for you alone that I have resisted until to-day; it is for you alone, my adored one, that I have borne my long agony. Will my strength hold out to the end? I cannot tell. No one but you can give me courage. It is only from your love that I can draw it.
At times I hope that God, who has not abandoned me thus far, will end this martyrdom of an innocent man; that He will bring to light the Guilty One.
But shall I be strong enough to hold out until that time?
I have signed my appeal for a revision. I dare not speak to you of the children; their memory rends my heart. Speak to them of me. May they be your consolation.
My bitterness is such, my heart is so bruised, that I should, already have got rid of this sad life if memory of you had not hindered me; if the fear of augmenting your grief had not stayed my arm.
To have had to hear all they said to me, when I knew in my soul and conscience that I had never failed, never committed even the most trivial imprudence, that was the most horrible of mental torture.