Paris,
Tuesday, 7.45 a.m., October 5th, 1875.
Good news from your dear little travellers. The top of the morning to you, and long live love! The telegram, which came after I was in bed, that is to say after eleven o’clock, is dated from Genoa, and says they arrive the day after to-morrow at Madame Ménard’s, and will write at once from there. Meanwhile they send you thousands of kisses, of which I make bold to reserve a share, before being quite certain that I am meant to do so. This long delayed arrival in France heralds their speedy return home, which is not at all displeasing to me—on the contrary! My gaze, night and morning, at their dear little portraits in no degree replaces their kisses, their sweet faces, and the joyous little shrieks one hears all day long. At last we are touching the end of our long abstinence and shall soon be able to devour them whole. Meanwhile I continue to feed upon your heart, to whet my appetite.
J.
Paris,
Sunday, 5 p.m., November 21st, 1875.
Dear beloved, your promise to take me every day to Versailles, if you are obliged to return to the Assemblée, fills my heart with such joy that I have been humming all the merry songs I used to sing. It is long since I have done such a thing. What would it be if some lucky event sent us all back to Guernsey, never to leave it again ... or at least, not for a very long time! What enchantment, what a starlit dream, if God were to give us that bliss a second time! I think I should promptly return to the age I was when I received your first kiss. Fortunately for France, God will not grant this selfish wish, but He will forgive me for entertaining it I hope, for I cannot help loving you beyond everything in this world, and it does not hinder me from being satisfied with whatever happiness He is pleased to vouchsafe, so long as you are content, and love only me, who adore you.
J.
Paris,
Tuesday, 8 a.m., April 25th, 1876.
My treasure, I pray God not to separate us in this life or the next. That is why I am anxious to be with you in the crowd that will rush to see and hear you at the cemetery to-day.[118] I know by experience that your enthusiasm borders on imprudence, so I want to press my body to yours as closely as our souls are riveted, so that whatever befalls you on this sad occasion, may include me. As the love animating our hearts is identical, it is only fair that our fate should be the same. I wish this evening were safely over, that I might be satisfied that everything has gone off well; for I am afraid if poor Louis Blanc attends the mournful ceremony in his present state of ill-health and weakness, he may not be able to get through it. I shall not be easy until we are at home again. Meanwhile I pray Heaven and our angels above to watch over you and preserve you from all danger. I bless, love, and adore you, for all eternity.
J.
Paris,
Wednesday, 7.30 a.m., April 26th, 1876.