I ran and told Couillard to turn the lights on in the drawing-room.

When I was, at last, able to see the man clearly, I was amazed and disgusted. The "wealthy foreigner" was a small man of about fifty with a long Jewish nose, with scanty hair and moustache that were dyed black, small beady eyes, sly and shifty, and a sallow complexion. His dress-suit was shabby and even greasy. The shirtfront was not clean and was adorned with two large paste-diamond studs. The man's ill-shaped hands wanted washing and were certainly not the hands of a gentleman.

His whole figure inspired me with repulsion, even with fear.

"It appears," I told him, "that to-night you are attending an important dinner with some princes to whom you wish to show the portrait of Fallieres which my husband made for you.... Could I see that portrait?"

The Jew brought out an alb.u.m of medium size, from which he took a portrait which my husband had drawn of Fallieres. As he replaced it in the alb.u.m I could see that there were other drawings at which he evidently did not want me to look. The haste with which he shut up the alb.u.m aroused my suspicions once more.

"Still," I remarked, "I cannot understand why you asked M. Steinheil for a portrait of the President. M. Steinheil seldom paints portraits. Like Meissonier, his master, his speciality is miniatures in oils, representing historic scenes, and _genre_ pictures. You should have gone to M. Bonnat, who is the official painter of Presidents."

The man's looks grew almost threatening, and something of a snarl came into his voice: "You forget, Madame, that your husband has painted President Faure!"

"Quite so, but the picture you are referring to could hardly be called a portrait. The right thing to ask M. Steinheil for your alb.u.m of celebrities would have been a sketch for a stained-gla.s.s window, a study of some medieval personage or a _seigneur_ of the Renaissance period...."

The German collected himself. "Perhaps you are right, Madame.... At any rate, I am very thankful to M. Steinheil, and I will try to repay him for this portrait by bringing here some rich clients."

"But," I exclaimed, "I suppose you have paid for the portrait of M.

Fallieres?"

A quick questioning glance pa.s.sed between my husband and the Jew. "It is quite all right," said the former.... "I promised this gentleman to do the drawing free of charge, for he will sell a number of my paintings to his friends, and will help us with the forthcoming exhibition of my works. He has taken a whole pack of invitation cards and will send them to the right kind of people."

On the piano stood the box with the comb which President Faure had given me. Wishing to find out whether this strange man knew it, I said: "Since you are fond of beautiful things, what do you think of this?"

The man took the comb and said: "Yes, this is one of the finest works of art Lalique has ever turned out.... You sometimes wore this comb in years gone by, in the days when Felix Faure was President!"

The tone in which the last words were spoken told me more than the words themselves. I left the drawing-room followed by the Jew, who hastily left the house.

"That man," I said to my husband when we were alone, "is the mysterious German of whom you have often spoken to me, the man you have met every few months for the past nine years, the man who first came here shortly after the death of President Faure, the man who 'bought' the pearls and wanted the doc.u.ments!..."

My husband at first tried to deny, but soon admitted the truth of what I said. However, he kept absolutely silent when I entreated him to give me some details about the man, to tell me the truth at last, to explain the secret of this Fallieres portrait and of this "wealthy foreigner," who did not pay for what he ordered, who knew his way about our house even in the dark, and who dined with princes in a shabby shotted coat!

And here, let the reader allow me to state, that I fully realised--and still realise--that had I not consented to keep the necklace for Felix Faure's sake, all these troubles would probably never have occurred. But what woman would have acted otherwise than I did, after the words the President had spoken? And on the other hand is it not evident that, had my husband fully taken me into his confidence as regards that enigmatical personage whom he called "the German Jew" (his nationality may have been anything, but he was undoubtedly a Jew, and spoke German most fluently), matters might have taken another course, and many terrible anxieties have been spared us?

That very night, fearing for the safety of the doc.u.ments, I took them from the writing-table in my boudoir, and made, with a newspaper and large envelopes, a dummy parcel of papers, as like the genuine one as possible. On the top I wrote as I had written on the real parcel, my name and these words: "Private papers. To be burnt after my death." The dummy was fastened and sealed in exactly the same way and, as in the model, one could see here and there, when the wrapper was torn, corners of large envelopes, duplicates of those in which I had enclosed Felix Faure's papers and the Memoirs which we had partly written in collaboration. The dummy I put in the drawer where the genuine doc.u.ments had been, and these latter I hid in a place of safety the next day.

The reader may wonder why I was so anxious to keep these papers. I can only say that they reminded me of a most interesting portion of my life, that they contained most enlightening information on many events of national and international importance.... And perhaps there was in me that vague, well-nigh unconscious and yet unconquerable sentiment which makes you loth to part with anything that, you have kept for a long time, for if you live long enough with things, they become, as it were, part and parcel of your existence.

My husband's exhibition was drawing near the date of opening. As the days pa.s.sed by we saw less and less of M. de Balincourt, although he had so faithfully promised to come and help in the organisation. Several telegrams sent to him by my husband remained unanswered. It then occurred to me to invite him to dinner, together with the Buissons and Count and Countess d'Arlon. We received a note from M. de Balincourt explaining that he had been ill, and away on a journey, but that he accepted the invitation. He arrived at 8.30--an hour late. "You take many liberties with old French politeness," I said to him. "Neither my guests nor I have been used to such treatment. How is it that the three messages my husband sent you to the three different addresses you gave him have all remained unanswered?..."

"There must be some mistake..."

"I agree with you. No, listen, M. de Balincourt. Last Sunday some friends came to take me with them for a motor drive and lunch in the country. They were M. V.--the motor manufacturer--and his wife, whom you met here once. I was told that you called on the V.s afterwards. They wrote to you, but the letter was returned with the mention 'name unknown at this address.' Your life does not concern us, but you might at least give us your proper address! Hearing this from the V.s, I suggested that we should drive to the various addresses you had given my husband. We had the greatest difficulty in discovering the first one. We went to Boulogne (near Paris) and were directed to a narrow, evil-smelling, cut-throat place where rag-and bone-pickers lived. I thought we had made a mistake, and we were about to turn back when M. V. knocked at the worm-eaten door of the house. An evil-looking man appeared, and answered our inquiries: 'M. de Balincourt?... I don't know him, but I believe he sometimes has letters addressed here, and a friend of his, a M. Delpit, has asked us to send his letters on to an address which I will give you, if you like.'

"M. and Mme. V., who were as nonplussed as I was myself, which is saying a great deal, proposed that we should drive to that address. There, our suspicions became greater than ever, for we found ourselves in a worse place than the first. An old woman said: 'M. de Balincourt? He lives yonder, in that house.' We went there and made fresh inquiries. At last a man in tatters shouts from a window: 'He has just left'... I need hardly tell you that we all had the impression that you were there."

M. de Balincourt turned very pale and stammered: "That was not my address... a friend of mine, a very poor artist, lives there.... He forwards my letters to me."

After dinner he apologised profusely, gave me all kinds of possible explanations, talked to my husband before me about the "exhibition," and later addressed a great number of invitation cards... to show his goodwill.

A week elapsed, and M. de Balincourt did not appear. I organised everything myself. I decided to hold the exhibition in the vast "winter garden."

On the opening day, April 7th, 1908, some five hundred persons called, including several Ministers and scores of prominent officials. During the afternoon M. de Balincourt arrived. He came every day while the exhibition lasted, and had long chats with M. Steinheil, through whom, I noticed, he contrived to get introduced to as many important persons as possible. He had a small note-book, in which he jotted down the pictures that were sold and the prices. Several times I saw suspicious-looking characters enter the house. They had invitation cards. Once or twice, in order to test whether my suspicions were well founded or not, I walked straight up to these strange intruders and said severely: "I am sorry; the room is full. We cannot admit any more people." And they at once withdrew without a word.

On the last day of the show I spoke my mind to M. de Balincourt. And I never saw him again, except at my trial, where he gave evidence.

CHAPTER XII

MAY 1908

In April I made the acquaintance of M. Bdl.... through a common friend, the Director of the Paris Mont de Piete. Mr. Bdl. was a widower with several children, and although his residence was in the Ardennes, he frequently came to Paris. We met at a time when I was greatly depressed, and also vaguely alarmed. I felt myself surrounded by invisible dangers, and life had become almost unbearable. M. Bdl. was a strong, straightforward, very intelligent and very refined man. He had a great regard for me, and we became intimate friends. Afterwards, however, he showed himself to be so violent and domineering that our acquaintance came very soon to an end, although we parted in the best of terms, and occasionally wrote to each other. I should not even have mentioned this episode of my life, if it were not that M. Bdl. played a relatively important part in that long and complex drama called the "Steinheil Affair," on account of certain declarations which I am supposed to have made on the so-called "night of the confession" (November 26th, 1908), a "confession" which was greatly responsible for my arrest.

On May 18th, I went to Bellevue, to settle down there, as I did every spring. My mother, who was at Beaucourt, wrote saying that she would come to Paris. I no longer have that letter, but the letter which I sent to my mother in reply was found, and is here reproduced. Its importance will not escape the reader, after I state that I was accused of having enticed my mother to my house in Paris in order to murder her together with my husband! As for the reason which it was supposed had led me to murder my mother it was as follows: If I killed my husband only, I might be suspected of the crime, for I was not on very good terms with him, and probably I wished to be free to marry some wealthy and more congenial man. But, if I also killed my mother, then (according to the logic with which the prosecution kindly credited me), I should not be suspected, for people would say: she might have murdered her husband, but she would never have murdered her mother. Therefore, since both were murdered, she cannot be guilty.

My letter to my mother, dated May 21st, 1908, runs as follows:

"DARLING,--I will _then_ await you at the station, on Tuesday. Let me know the hour of your arrival, for I shall come straight from the country (Bellevue) to the station (in Paris). I have invited 'Ju' (my elder sister, Mme. Herr) and Madon (one of her daughters) to dinner on Tuesday night, and we shall all work hard to make things pleasant for you during your stay in Paris (meaning, of course, Paris and Bellevue), so that we may all enjoy one another's company as much as possible! Don't tire yourself too much in this terrible heat! How many things we shall have to tell each other! I have written to Dennery, to urge him to do something for Jules (my brother). I clasp you to my heart.

Your little,

MEG."

My mother changed her mind--because she did not feel well--and wired she would come on the Friday evening (May 29th) instead of on the Tuesday (May 26th).

The incidents which took place from the moment of my mother's arrival in Paris, till the fatal night--that is, from Friday evening, May 29th, till the night of May 30th-31st (1908)--must here be described at length. If they do not throw much light on the crime itself, they will, at any rate, allow the reader to judge whether any sane mind could have found in them reasons for suspecting me of being the criminal!

[Ill.u.s.tration: FAC-SIMILE OF THE LETTER I SENT TO MY MOTHER, AT BEAUCOURT A FEW DAYS BEFORE THE CRIME]

I quote from the _dossier_ of my case, questions asked by M. Andre, the examining magistrate (in December 1908, and January to March 1909), and the replies I made.

... "My mother informed me that she would come on the Friday, May 29th, she suffered greatly from articular rheumatism in her legs. At any rate, it was agreed between us that she should put up at my house, that she should sleep there, from the very first night after her arrival."

_Question._ "Oh! these points are in absolute contradiction to the declaration made by Mme. Herr [my elder sister, who for many years now had been residing in Paris] on June 22nd, 1908. From that, it appears that Mme. Herr, at the end of May, received two letters from your mother; one in which your mother told her of her arrival and added that she would spend the night at her (Mme. Herr's) house, the other wherein she said that you 'claimed' your mother, and that, for that reason, she would put up at your house, on her arrival."

_Answer._ "I am not at all surprised. My mother may very well have written that.... She may have wanted my sister to believe that I 'claimed' her, so that my sister might not reproach her for putting up with me, thus giving me the preference.... I did not claim, and had no need to 'claim' my mother, that time, since it had already been agreed upon at the beginning of May that she would stay with _me_.... My mother was to stay until the Sunday, 31st, or the Monday, June 1st. She was coming over to help me in making applications on my brother's behalf....

'She spent the night of Friday (29th) and Sat.u.r.day (30th) at the Impa.s.se Ronsin, for our intention was to start together the next morning on a round of calls with the object of a.s.sisting my brother. That night my mother slept, as she always did, in my room. In the house, there also slept my husband and Remy Couillard."

_In reply to a Question._ "There were three keys to the gate of the door separating the small garden from the Impa.s.se Ronsin. One was in the hands of my husband; Mariette (the cook) had the second, and Remy Couillard (the valet) had the third. Three months before the murder, Couillard lost his key. Two months before the murder I asked my husband to have the lock of the gate changed, for I feared that some one might enter at night. After the murder I had doubts concerning Couillard, on account of that lost key.... I several times begged my husband to have the lock changed, and Mariette did the same, but he would not consent.

He said it meant nothing at all, that thieves that wanted to enter would do so in spite of a locked gate.... I even remember that at Bellevue on May 21st, and in the presence of Count and Countess d'Arlon, M.

Maillard, and M. Boeswilwald, I again asked my husband about that lock, pointed out his carelessness, and reminded him of my anxieties."