Good morning, my divine, adored love. When one considers what the infamous trap laid for you on December 2nd has inspired you to write, one is tempted to give thanks to Providence. It almost seems as if that dastardly crime had been committed for the aggrandisement of your renown, and the better instruction of the nations. I do not think any scoundrel will ever be found bold enough to repeat the offence, after reading your fulminating poems. Just a year ago, on this day and at this hour, I learnt the news of the Coup d’état through poor Dillon. Knowing how closely it concerned me, the worthy creature rushed to my house from the Faubourg St. Germain to warn me, and place her services at my disposal, which meant at yours, for she is a brave, noble woman. From that moment until the day I received your dear letter from Brussels announcing your safety, I lived in a state of nightmare. I only woke again to life and happiness when I found myself in your arms on the morning of December 14th in the Customs shed at Brussels. Since then, my beloved Victor, my sublime Victor, I have never let a day pass without thanking God for rescuing you so miraculously, nor have I ceased for one minute to admire and adore you.
Juliette.
