any way impede our task. Tell M---- how much I think of her. Alas! her
case is not unique. This war has broken many a hope; so, dear mother,
let us put our hope there where the war cannot attain to it, in the deep
places of our heart, and in the high places of our soul.


_October 17, 3 o'clock._

To write to you and to know that my letters reach you is a daily
paradise to me. I watch for the hour when it is possible to write.

Yes, beloved mother, you must feel a revival of courage and desire to
live; never must a single affection, however good, be counted as a
pretext for life. No accident should make us forget the reason we are
alive. Of course, we can prefer this or that mission in life, but let us
accept the one which presents itself, however surprising or passing it
may be. You feel as I do, that happiness is in store for us, but let us
not think of it. Let us think of the actions of to-day, of all the
sacrifices they imply.


_October 22._

I accept all from the hands of fate, and I have captured every delight
that lurks under cover of every moment.

Ah! if men only knew how much peace they squander, and how much may be
contained in one minute, how far less would they suffer from this
seeming violence. No doubt there are extreme torments that I do not yet
know, and which perhaps test the soul in a way I do not suspect, but I