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.