I thank and bless you my dearest Henrietta and Arabel—my own dearest kindest sisters!—what I suffered in reaching Orleans,—at last holding all these letters in my hands, can only be measured by my deep gratitude to you, and by the tears and kisses I spent upon every line of what you wrote to me… dearest kindest that you are. The delay of the week in Paris brought me to the hour of my death warrant at Orleans—my ‘death warrant' I called it at the time, I was so anxious and terrified. Robert brought in a great packet of letters… and I held them in my hands, not able to open one, and growing paler and colder every moment. He wanted to sit by me while I read them, but I would not let him. I had resolved never to let him do that, before the moment came—so, after some beseeching, I got him to go away for ten minutes, to meet the agony alone, and with more courage so, according to my old habit you know—And besides, it was right not to let him read…