9 June, afternoon

I must make this fast--I am in an awful bind for time as we must be getting on before Father returns. Oh, but I haven’t said, have I? Then I must devote another moment to explaining.

Before the duel this morning I found out that I had made a dreadful mistake: I thought that the Count had no right to do as he did to our family, but in fact he had more of a reason than I ever could have imagined! Far before he had betrayed Ali Pasha, my father had betrayed the Count, leading him to a life of misery and sorrow. And for this, right there on our would-be battlefield, I apologized to the Count. Rather unorthodox, I admit, but as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures. And it has just now come into my consciousness how lucky I was to have spoken with Mother--not only do I now know it was not my fault for the Count’s attack, but my fathers, but I have no doubt now that the Count could, and would, have killed had I given him the chance.

But now there is nothing left in Paris for Mother and I. Our honor and finances are in ruins and our friends will hardly continue to associate with us now, so we must flee. I know not where I’m going to take her, but I have planned to find her a doable place to stay before setting off to join the Spahis. This will ensure Mother enough money to live and with luck I will be able to earn back some of the honor my father lost our family. Mother is packing as I write--I had meant to halt my own scurrying only briefly to pen a farewell, for I will not be carrying my journal with me when I leave.

Now, Bertuccio, the Count’s servant, is at the door waiting to convey a message and I really must get to packing before Father returns.

A final farewell, for my journey begins!

Albert de Morcerf