no longer strength to do
anything. Day and night I think of my poor mamma, nailed in that box,
buried beneath that earth, in that field, under the rain, whose old
face, which I used to kiss with so much happiness, is now only a mass of
frightful decay! Oh, what horror!

"When I lost papa, I was just married, and I did not feel all these
things as I do to-day. Yes, pity me, think of me, write to me. I need
you so much just now.

"ANNE."

"Paris, July 25.

"MY POOR FRIEND: Your grief gives me horrible pain, and life no longer
seems rosy to me. Since your departure I am lost, abandoned, without
ties or refuge. Everything fatigues me, bores me and irritates me. I am
ceaselessly thinking of you and Annette; I feel that you are both far,
far away when I need you near me so much.

"It is extraordinary how far away from me you seem to be, and how I miss
you. Never, even in my younger days, have you been my _all_, as you are
at this moment. I have foreseen for some time that I should reach this
crisis, which must be a sun-stroke in Indian summer. What I feel is so
very strange that I wish to tell you about it. Just fancy that since
your absence I cannot take walks any more! Formerly, and even during the
last few months, I liked very much to set out alone and stroll along the
street, amusing myself by looking at people and things, and enjoying
the mere sight of everything and the exercise of walking. I used to walk
along without knowing where I was going, simply to walk, to breathe, to
dream. Now, I can no longer do this. As soon as I reach the street I
am oppressed by anguish, like the fear of a blind man that has lost his
dog. I become uneasy, exactly like a traveler that has lost his way
in the wood, and I am compelled to return home. Paris seems empty,
frightful, alarming. I ask myself: 'Where am I going?' I answer myself:
'Nowhere, since I am still walking.' Well, I cannot, for I can no longer
walk without some aim. The bare thought of walking straight before me
wearies and bores me inexpressibly. Then I drag my melancholy to the
club.

"And do you know why? Only because you are no longer here. I am certain
of this. When I know that you are in Paris, my walks are no longer
useless, for it is possible that I may meet you in the first street I
turn into. I can go anywhere because you may go anywhere. If I do not
see you, I may at least find Annette, who is an emanation of yourself.
You and she fill the streets full o