It now became necessary to make preparations for the wedding, which was to take place in the beginning of September. For the choice of an apartment and its furniture my husband himself considerately suggested my going again to Paris with Mary, where we would meet M. Raillard and consult his tastes. Accordingly I left La Tuilerie very reluctantly after the great and recent shock my husband had experienced. I am convinced it was due to the manful effort he made not to increase my distress by the sight of his own that he conquered his nervousness from that time, and was even able to strengthen and support me on my too frequent breakdowns. He attributed Richard's desperate action partly to depression arising from the effects of an accident, confided only to his brother, but partly also to the influence of unhealthy and pessimist literature on a mind already diseased, and he had said so to Mr. Seeley, who answered:—
"I am sure that poor Richard came under the influence of pure and noble examples. It may be that there was actual brain disease, though of a nature that no surgeon at present has skill to detect. I suppose it is possible that disease in the organ of thought may be accelerated or retarded by the nature of the thoughts suggested in daily life or conversation; and I suppose every one believes that in such disorders there may come a time when the will, without blame, is overmastered.
"As to the bad literature of the day, I believe our feelings are quite in unison. What an awful responsibility for the happiness of families rests upon successful authors—and upon publishers too!"
The letters of condolence and sympathy were numerous and heartfelt; some came late, for the friends who had known Richard in his bright and merry days refused to believe that it was the same Richard who had come to so tragic an end; they thought it was a coincidence of name. I only give Mr. Beljame's letter to show how the poor boy had endeared himself to every one, and in what esteem he was generally held. All the other letters expressed the same sentiments in different words.
"8 juillet 1889.
"Je suis bien sensible, Monsieur, à votre lettre, où vous m'associez, en des termes qui me touchent profondément, au souvenir de votre fils Richard, mon cher et excellent élève.
"C'était pour moi, non seulement un disciple dont je me faisais honneur, mais aussi un véritable ami, et depuis son installation à Paris, j'avais eu grand plaisir à l'accueillir dans ma famille. Les détails que vous voulez bien me donner, m'expliquent pourquoi, dans ces derniers mois, ses visites étaient, à mon grand regret, devenues de plus en plus rares.
"Sa fin si inattendue, alors que la vie semblait de tous côtés lui sourire, a été pour moi une douloureuse surprise; j'ai refusé d'abord d'y croire; c'est pourquoi je ne vous ai pas tout de suite écrit.
"J'ai tenu à me joindre à ceux qui lui ont rendu les derniers devoirs; et j'ai chargé alors votre fils aîné et votre beau-frère d'être mes interprètes auprès de vous.
"À des malheurs comme celui qui vient de vous frapper il n'y a pas de consolation possible. Si c'est au moins un adoucissement de savoir que celui qui n'est plus laisse derrière lui de souvenir d'un esprit d'élite, d'une nature aimante et aimable, soyez assuré que tels sont bien les sentiments que votre fils a inspirés à tous ceux qui l'ont connu, à ses camarades de la Sorbonne, qui l'avaient en affection particulière, à ses collègues—mais à nul plus qu'à son ancien maître qui vous envoie aujourd'hui, ainsi qu'à Madame Hamerton, l'expression de sa triste et respectueuse sympathie.