My darling,--When you hold this letter in your hands,I shall be already near,for I am starting a few minutes after it.We shall be alone together.Louis is obliged to remain in Provence because of the approaching elections.He wants to be elected again,and the Liberals are already plotting against his return.
I don't come to comfort you;I only bring you my heart to beat in sympathy with yours,and help you to bear with life.I come to bid you weep,for only with tears can you purchase the joy of meeting him again.Remember,he is traveling towards Heaven,and every step forward which you take brings you nearer to him.Every duty done breaks a link in the chain that keeps you apart.
Louise,in my arms you will once more raise your head and go on your way to him,pure,noble,washed of all those errors,which had no root in your heart,and bearing with you the harvest of good deeds which,in his name,you will accomplish here.
I scribble these hasty lines in all the bustle of preparation,and interrupted by the babies and by Armand,who keeps saying,"Godmother,godmother!I want to see her,"till I am almost jealous.He might be your child!
