* * * * *

It is done from memory; in your imagination you must add streaks of
purple colour, making the most dramatic effect, and an infinite stretch
of open country to right and left. This is what I have been able again
and again to look upon, during this time. At this moment, the soft sky
brings into harmony the orchards where we work. My little job dispenses
me from digging for the time. Such are the happinesses which, from afar,
had the appearance of calamities.

_December 1_ (2nd letter).

I have just received your letters of the 25th, 26th, and 27th, as well
as a dear letter from Grandmother, so valiant, so full of spirit, and so
clear-minded. It gave me great pleasure, and brings me a dear hope, of
which I accept the augury with joy. Each one of your beloved letters,
too, gives me the best of what life holds for me. My first letter of
to-day replies to what you say about the acceptation of trials and the
destruction of idols.

You will see that I think absolutely as you do, and I trust that there
is in this hour no impeding idol in my heart. . . .

I think that my last prayer is in fact very simple. The spirit of the
place could not have borne to be clothed in an art that was overloaded.
God was everywhere, and everywhere was harmony: the road at night, of
which I speak to you so often, the starry sky, the valley full of the
murmuring of water, the trees, the Calvaries, the hills near and far.
There would not have been any room for artifice. It is useless for me to
give up being an artist, but I hope always to be sincere and to use art
as it were only for the clothing of my conscience.

_December 5, in the morning._

. . . We have come out of our burrows, and three days of imprisonment are
followed by a morning in the open. It would be impossible to imagine
such a state of mud.

Your pretty aluminium watch is the admiration of everybody.

Is Andre's wound serious? The mothers endure terrible agony in this war,
but courage--nothing will be lost. As for me, I get on all right, and am
as happy as one may be.

A terrific wind to-day, chasing the fine clouds. Keen air, in which the
branches thrive. Beautiful moonlight on all these nights, all the more
appreciated if one has been cheated of the day.

Dear, I am writing badly to-day because we are bewildered by the full
daylight after those long hours of darkness, but my heart goes out to
you and rests with you.

. . . Let