You failed me again last night, so I shall never count upon you again. I loved you with all my strength, and thought of you even in my sleep. This morning I love you with my whole soul, and heartily long for you, but I know you will not come, so I am cross and sad.
How fine the weather is, my Toto, and how happy we could be in the fresh air, on the high road, in a nice little carriage, with a month of happiness in prospect: it would be Paradise, but ... but ... I dare not set my heart upon it, for I should go crazy with grief if the treat were withheld. At all events, I am ready to start; my foot is well again, and we can set off to-night, or to-morrow morning, at whatever time suits you. I am quite ready, let us, therefore, seize our chance of the fine weather.
My adored one, I am dying to make this expedition.... Do try to get free at the earliest moment possible. I shall be so happy. I still love you, ever so much. I need you terribly. My heart is more than ready for the happiness you will give me during the whole time we shall be together.
Juliette.
Thursday, 12.45 p.m., July 21st, 1836.
Once more I am reduced to writing all that is in my heart, my adored one. It is but a slender satisfaction after the bliss we have been enjoying. Nevertheless, we must take life as we find it, and it would be ungracious of me to complain. A month like the one we have just spent would compensate for a whole life-time of misfortune and worry. Poor angel, since you left me I feel lost and alone in the world. You cannot imagine the utter void, surrounded as you are at this moment by the affection of charming children and devoted friends, while I am alone with my love—that is to say alone in space—for my love has no limits. I seek what consolation I can, by speaking to you, and writing to you. Your handkerchief, breathing of you, lies by my side, with your adored name embroidered in the corner. I caress and talk to it, and we understand each other perfectly. For every kiss I press upon it, it exhales your sweet aroma; it is as if I scented your very soul. Then I weep, as one does in a beautiful dream from which one fears to awake. Heavens, how I love you! You are my life, my joy! I adore you!
Juliette.
Friday, 2.15 p.m., September 2nd, 1836.
My poor, beloved angel. The nearer the moment approaches, the more I dread the inevitable parting which must follow the few days of happiness you have just given me. I long for delay, but I know very well that, however Providence may interpose in my favour, the day must come when you will have to go to St. Prix. Lucky for me if it is not to-day. But, putting aside all considerations of love and Juju, it would really not be prudent for you to go to the country in this cold, foggy weather; even this morning, in the warmth and repose of home, you felt a warning twinge of rheumatism, which prescribes prudence on your part. I fear your natural desire to kiss Toto on his donkey, and watch the other little rogues at their holiday occupations, may draw you, in spite of rain, wind, and the good counsel of your old Juju, to St. Prix. At any rate, if you do this foolish thing, try to avoid chills, to think of me, and to come back to my care and caresses as quickly as possible.
Juliette.