Eve Sechard to Lucien.

“DEAR,—­your letter made all of us cry.  As for the noble hearts to whom your good angel surely led you, tell them that a mother and a poor young wife will pray for them night and morning; and if the most fervent prayers can reach the Throne of God, surely they will bring blessings upon you all.  Their names are engraved upon my heart.  Ah! some day I shall see your friends; I will go to Paris, if I have to walk the whole way, to thank them for their friendship for you, for to me the thought has been like balm to smarting wounds.  We are working like day laborers here, dear.  This husband of mine, the unknown great man whom I love more and more every day, as I discover moment by moment the wealth of his nature, leaves the printing-house more and more to me.  Why, I guess.  Our poverty, yours, and ours, and our mother’s, is heartbreaking to him.  Our adored David is a Prometheus gnawed by a vulture, a haggard, sharp-beaked regret.  As for himself, noble fellow, he scarcely thinks of himself; he is hoping to make a fortune for us.  He spends his whole time in experiments in paper-making; he begged me to take his place and look after the business, and gives me as much help as his preoccupation allows.  Alas!  I shall be a mother soon.  That should have been a crowning joy; but as things are, it saddens me.  Poor mother! she has grown young again; she has found strength to go back to her tiring nursing.  We should be happy if it were not for these money cares.  Old Father Sechard will not give his son a farthing.  David went over to see if he could borrow a little for you, for we were in despair over your letter.  ‘I know Lucien,’ David said; ’he will lose his head and do something rash.’—­I gave him a good scolding.  ‘My brother disappoint us in any way!’ I told him, ’Lucien knows that I should die of sorrow.’—­Mother and I have pawned a few things; David does not know about it, mother will redeem them as soon as she has made a little money.  In this way we have managed to put together a hundred francs, which I am sending you by the coach.  If I did not answer your last letter, do not remember it against me, dear; we were working all night just then.  I have been working like a man.  Oh, I had no idea that I was so strong!

“Mme. de Bargeton is a heartless woman; she has no soul; even if she cared for you no longer, she owed it to herself to use her influence for you and to help you when she had torn you from us to plunge you into that dreadful sea of Paris.  Only by the special blessing of Heaven could you have met with true friends there among those crowds of men and innumerable interests.  She is not worth a regret.  I used to wish that there might be some devoted woman always with you, a second myself; but now I know that your friends will take my place, and I am happy.  Spread your wings, my dear great genius, you will be our pride as well as our beloved.

“EVE.”