Superb letter from the old tiger, in the evening of his life. A letter imbued with modesty, wisdom and humor, the winner of Verdun, retired, tastes the simple pleasure of the beautiful flowers of his Vendée garden, and sets about writing philosophical reflections, “At the evening of thought”, from which he does not expect any posthumous glory: “I had the greatest pleasure in receiving your happy New Year letter. You have no doubt that your wishes of friendship will be amply returned. I see with pleasure that you are a philosopher, since you get closer to the earth, as I do myself before returning there. I have a little corner of sand on the edge of the Vendée sea [Saint-Vincent-sur-Jard] where sometimes beautiful flowers grow. The misfortune is that tidal waves and storms wash away a piece of it from time to time. But by dint of masonry, I hope to hold on until my last day. I write, as you guessed, but it's not a memoir no de no! I am content with a simple work of philosophy [“At the evening of thought”] that no one will read and which will only be published long after my death. It's almost as harmless as your chickens and rabbits, which I've respected for a long time. We can do worse than we do, right? Thanking you for not forgetting me, and promising you reciprocity with a good heart (…)” “At the evening of thought” is a philosophical work of reflections on man, religions, culture, progress, who fully occupies his old days. It was published in 1927, two years before his death.