June 6, 1833

Exactly a year after the insurrection. It seems only yesterday that Jehan decided to leave home and go to Paris for his studies. I was only 13 then, and looked up to him in everything. He was the one who first got me interested in reading and writing. He was the one who started teaching me Italian, but alas maman said it was not something a "proper" girl should be learning.

He promised to write me, and yes, we kept in contact, but he was busy in school and I was involved with other things. I'd never expected him to join the revolutionaries. But, now that I think about it, that's just what he would do. He had a huge heart. When you first meet him, he seems shy, quiet, and reserved, but you may be surprised at his big laugh and outgoing ways once you get to know him. He was kind to everyone, with a smile that could light up someone's day.

That day ... ah, there I go, living in the past again, as father always says. Anyway, that's beside the point; the day I learned he died I was in shock. He had been captured, I later learned, and there was no chance to save him. But, as he used to say in the letters he wrote to me, "L'avenir viendra, sister: the future comes, and be prepared for it. Live everyday like it is your last. Watch the clouds, laugh, play, and most of all, love." I love you, brother.

Marie Prouvaire

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