“Can it be true, Emilie,—can it be true? My heart overflows with joy.
“I do not know how to express my surprise to you. It is an intoxication of happiness, it is a flowering of the soul,—a foolish exaltation which borders on delirium, if each moment a holy, grateful thought did not lead me to God, the almighty author of our felicities!
“Oh, if you only knew, Emilie, how I have prayed to him, as I have blessed him! with what profound fervour I have lifted to him my transported soul! Thanks to thee, my God, who hast heard our prayers. Thanks to thee, my God, who dost crown the sacred love which unites us by giving us a child.
“Emilie—Emilie, I am crazy with joy.
“As I write this word,—a child,—my hand trembles, my heart leaps.
“Wait, for I am weeping.
“Oh, I have wept with delight!
“What sweet tears! How good it is to weep!
“Emilie, my wife, soul of my soul, life of my life, pure treasure of the purest virtues!
“It seems to me now that your beautiful brow must radiate majesty. I prostrate myself before you, there is something so divine in maternity.