“My dear husband!” she replied by postcard, mindful of his limited vocabulary in her language. “Fine weather here, the sun is shining and it’s warm. I’m very sad without you. Come quickly. I wait for you from morning till evening and still don’t see you coming. I’m fine. I work as much as I can, but Poincaré’s book is more difficult than I expected. I need to talk with you about it and look together with you at the parts that are giving me trouble.”
