of delirium and restlessness. I cannot leave him an instant. I have been
nine hours writing this letter. Adieu, my friend, and pity me.

"GEORGE.

"Above everything, do not tell any one, not any one in the world, that
Alfred is ill. If his mother heard (and it only needs two persons for
telling a secret to all Paris) she would go mad. If she has to be told,
let who will undertake to tell her, but if in a fortnight Alfred is out
of danger, it is useless for her to grieve now. Adieu."


"February 13, 1834.

"My friend, Alfred is saved. There has been no fresh attack, and we
have nearly reached the fourteenth day without the improvement having
altered. After the brain affection inflammation of the lungs declared
itself, and this rather alarmed us for two days. . . . He is extremely
weak at present, and he wanders occasionally. He has to be nursed night
and day. Do not imagine, therefore, that I am only making pretexts for
the delay in my work. I have not undressed for eight nights. I sleep on
a sofa, and have to get up at any minute. In spite of this, ever since
I have been relieved in my mind about the danger, I have been able to
write a few pages in the mornings while he is resting. You may be sure
that I should like to be able to take advantage of this time to rest
myself. Be assured, my friend, that I am not short of courage, nor yet
of the will to work. You are not more anxious than I am that I should
carry out my engagements. You know that a debt makes me smart like a
wound. But you are friend enough to make allowances for my situation and
not to leave me in difficulties. I am spending very wretched days here