My Dearest Marion

My dearest Marion, I do not know if these words will ever reach you, but I must write them. Not from hope, but to hold despair at bay. If I have any regret, it is not for myself, but for the thought of you or Louis suffering. That alone weighs upon me. I pray you are spared it. Take heart in this, though - and let it fill you with the fire I have felt in this otherwise dark place: Fantine has escaped. Our clever, quiet Fantine found a way out. The guards are furious, which brings me comfort. She could not free me, but she left me her kerchief through the bars. I hold it still - it smells faintly of her hair and of home. That she thought of me tells me her spirit remains unbroken. She is alive, and she is free. That is enough. The other prisoners have been taken, one by one. None have returned. Now I remain alone. I have sealed my mind against the creep of despair. I have imagined your face, Louis’ clumsy little run, the quiet moments when you would read while Fantine traced letters in the dirt. Those memories have been my stronghold. My only fear has been that I might hear Fantine screaming, and I never have. By escaping, she has spared me that final torment. If you are reading this, then do not despair. Find Fantine, take her to the safety of the Chateau and care for her and Louis. You have the strength for it - I have seen it in you a hundred times. Let the children be your reason for carrying on, as they were mine. I love you. The time we had together was not long enough, but I am thankful for it. You gave me joy. You gave me a family. You gave me purpose. I carry no bitterness with me to the next life - only gratitude. Forever yours, Bernard