“My own dear!” he wrote, and burst into tears. “Forgive me⁠—forgive me all the grief I have caused you. Whether I was deluded or not, I could not act otherwise. I only ask you to forgive me!”⁠—“But I have already written this.⁠ ⁠… Well, anyhow, there is no time to alter it now.”⁠—“Do not sorrow on my account,” he continued. “A little sooner or a little later, is it not all the same? I am not frightened, nor do I repent of what I have done. I could not act otherwise. Only do you forgive me! And do not be angry with them⁠—neither with those with whom I worked nor with those who are executing me. Neither the former nor the latter could act otherwise. Forgive them, for they know not what they do! I dare not say these words about myself, but they are in my soul, and lift me up and calm me. Forgive me! I kiss your dear, wrinkled, old hands!”

Two tears fell one after another and spread on the paper.