Bunau-Varilla about the mystery....

To my great surprise, M. de Labruyere said to me: "I prefer to leave you together. What M. Sauerwein has to tell you is no concern of mine."

I refused to let him go. "I beg you to remember, M. de Labruyere, that I have nothing to conceal. Whether M. Sauerwein has made some startling discovery or has merely an interesting fact to disclose, let him speak before you."

I had seldom seen any one look so scornful as M. Sauerwein did then. I pointed out a chair to him, and, sitting down, he began in a melodramatic tone, which, I suppose, was intended to frighten me.

"Since you wish it, let M. de Labruyere remain in the room, but you will regret it when you have heard what I have to say, Madame."

"Come to the point."

"Just as you please. What I have to say is this. I know the murderers of your husband and mother." Then, looking me straight in the eyes, he added: "And you know them too."

"My position is rather awkward," said M. de Labruyere, but M. Sauerwein silenced him with a gesture, and went on:

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I must say what I have to say without mincing matters. One of the a.s.sa.s.sins has fully confessed to me.

He is your lover."

I was so indignant and dumbfounded that I could not speak. M. Sauerwein continued: "Two or three years ago, there was an attempt at burglary in this very house. You don't deny it, do you?"

"No!... Were I a man," I exclaimed angrily, "I would treat you as you deserve, for daring to say to me things which are false and which you know are false."

Taken aback, but still insolent, he said: "We will still get the whole truth out of you. Your husband went to the police commissary of this district, and an inspector was sent here to guard the house for a fortnight. The inspector was a tall, handsome and intelligent man. His name is Rossignol. After a good meal, he has confessed to me that he had relations with you, but they lasted only a short time. He was dismissed from the force for various reasons. It is no use denying that he was your lover. Rossignol is in our hands. If you confess the truth, we'll manage to arrest the two men and the woman who a.s.sisted him. They're all in Paris, and I know the haunt where they meet. Come now, admit the truth...."

I could not move, I could hardly breathe... I clutched my chair so as not to fall.... All I could do then was to listen, to listen intently.

And the words M. Sauerwein spoke engraved themselves deeply on my mind.

They are still there, and I repeat them to-day with _absolute_ accuracy.

M. de Labruyere himself will not contradict me.

The man went on: "Confess, I tell you!... You are safe enough.... Those men will never mention you. We will arrange everything. The two men and the woman, who did not know you, will be sentenced. Rossignol will go to prison, but as a reward for his discretion, we will see that he is not kept there very long."

Once more, I ordered the man to leave my house.... It was all in vain.

He defied me, and remained.

"It is useless for you to deny anything," he continued, relentlessly. "I know you well.... I know everything about the murder, I tell you....

Don't attempt to deny anything. Listen: I followed you from Bellevue; when you went to meet your lover Rossignol, I saw you. You took the train and reached the Saint-Lazare Station. I was in the same train; I did not lose sight of you; I watched you at the station while you walked about, in the 'Hall of the Lost Steps.'

"Rossignol arrived, saw you, rushed to you and you kissed him. Together you went to a restaurant in the Rue du Havre, outside the station. You talked very softly, but I sat at the table just behind you, and I overheard the conversation. You two were talking about the crime. Then you gave each other a _rendez-vous_.... Is that enough? Do you realise now the futility of a denial? Speak, speak...!"

I summoned whatever strength I had left, and said: "I have nothing to tell you, Monsieur." I turned to M. de Labruyere: "You must tell M.

Bunau-Varilla that I insist upon his sending one of his men here to-morrow morning, to go with me to the Police Commissary of this district.... And then this infamous plot will recoil on the heads of those who have conceived it."

M. de Labruyere did his best to calm me, and kept on saying in the most apologetic and kindly manner: "Don't be angry.... I don't know anything about this fantastic affair.... I am sure now there must be some awful mistake."

M. Sauerwein had not done yet: "I have spoken the truth. The facts I stated are undeniable."... Then abruptly changing his tone, he remarked with hypocritical sympathy: "Oh! I quite understand how painful it is for you to confess.... It must be hard for a society woman to admit that she once had a 'weakness' for a man of low origin."

This was more than I could stand. I walked up to M. Sauerwein: "If you do not leave this house instantly, I shall send for the police."

The two journalists beat a hasty retreat.

Hardly had I heard the gate shut behind them, than Mariette came to tell me that M. de Labruyere had returned. Before I could say that I refused to see him again, he came in himself.

"Madame," he began, "I beg you not to mention this painful incident to any one; above all, not a word to other newspapers. You know I have always done my best for you. Surely you have some confidence in me....

Well, tell _me_ the truth. Will you not admit that this Sauerwein story is true?"

"What, you too!" I exclaimed, bitterly hurt, for I trusted M. de Labruyere, and believed him incapable of insulting a woman, wantonly or otherwise. "How can you place the least credence in that vile story!"

M. de Labruyere murmured, reluctantly: "Sauerwein, I understand, has _all_ the proofs. M. Bunau-Varilla knows all about this affair, but he may help you, if you tell us everything. Briand (the Minister of Justice) will help us... the whole matter will be arranged. Those men and the woman will not mention you. Certain promises will be made to them.... Remember the _Matin_ is almighty...."

I stopped M. de Labruyere: "I have heard enough. I have no one and nothing to fear. The _Matin_ does not frighten me in the least. I shall come to the office and demand apologies for your colleague's vile insults, and, if necessary, I shall speak to M. Bunau-Varilla himself.

Now, go, and remember that to-morrow morning some one on the staff of your journal will accompany me to the Police Commissary."

Need I say that after this new shock I pa.s.sed such a night of anguish that my weary, hara.s.sed brain tottered one step further towards the brink of madness.

The next morning, quite early, M. Barby, of the _Matin_, called and said: "We are all indignant, Madame, at the way M. Sauerwein has treated you. I am ready to go with you to prove the absurdity of that accusation."

With Marthe and M. Barby I went to the Police Commissary. I told him what had happened, and he said: "This accusation against you is shameful...." He remembered the attempted burglary and the fact that M.

Steinheil had requested him to have his house guarded by an inspector, but that his wife was to know nothing about it. The inspector had watched the house for about a fortnight, from outside, in the Impa.s.se.

As a matter of fact, I had only heard of this attempted burglary by accident. A man came from the police to inform me that the house would no longer be watched. As I knew nothing more about the matter, I expressed surprise and asked a few questions, and it was then that I heard of the attempt. (Men had been seen climbing over the wall of our garden, by some compositors at the printing works at the end of the Impa.s.se Ronsin, and an alarm being raised, the burglars hurriedly escaped.) I spoke to my husband on the matter, and asked why he had not warned me. Somewhat embarra.s.sed, he replied: "I did not want to alarm you, and gave orders that you should not be told about it."

Meanwhile, newspapers published articles in which it was said that a former police inspector was suspected of being the author of the Impa.s.se Ronsin murders, and that it was rumoured that he had been my lover!...

The reader can imagine the sensation such "revelations" caused, and the amount of harm it did me, with the public! Anonymous letters reached me in greater numbers than ever, I was dragged in the mire, and when I left or entered the Impa.s.se, there were loud cries of: "Death to her" or "Look at the murderess." It was enough to drive any one mad--and it did drive me mad.

I went to the _Matin_ offices, and M. Sauerwein apologised. Then he and M. de Labruyere begged me to accompany them both, with some detectives in the pay of the journal, to some awful cut-throat place, at one in the morning, where they would show me the two men and the woman they had mentioned, so that I might state whether they looked like the persons I had seen on the fatal night.

I refused: "Since," I said, "those men have confessed their guilt, as you have said, and that Rossignol, the 'chief' murderer is in your hands, all you have to do is to inform the Law, and have them arrested.

When they stand before M. Leydet, or before M. Hamard, I will come and identify them."

I heard no more of this sensational story, and the _Matin_ turned to other clues and theories. "Confess," I was told one day, "confess that it is a political crime.... Don't think we are fools! If the Rossignol clue is worth nothing, then there are other clues!... Help us...."

I had not quite lost my reason yet, but I was blind enough not to realise that to the _Matin_, I was merely a useful, nay, a capital sensation-purveyor, a news-supplying machine that meant a valuable increase in the circulation of the paper. They only had one idea; to make as much as possible out of the "Steinheil Affair" and its wretched heroine, whether she had any news to give them or not!

True, most newspapers looked upon me in very much the same manner, but a great number of them were fair and human, and drew the line at certain "methods."

I called on Maitre Aubin, to whom I told all that had taken place. He shook his head, and said, "Be careful.... Don't make an enemy of the _Matin_.... At the same time, I am sorry you sought the a.s.sistance of the Press.... The newspapers are exasperating the authorities."

I was stupefied. Whom was I to trust? Whom was I to believe?... Here was I become the sport of every wind that blew....

_Not a word_ about the Rossignol affair was said at my trial. But, in prison, when the _Dossier_ of the "Steinheil Affair" was at last handed to me, I discovered among the 4500 doc.u.ments and the 15,000 pages composing it, some sixty pages dealing with the Rossignol clue. Below, I give the essential parts of those sixty pages, quoting accurately from the _Dossier_:

[Report]

PARIS, _November_ 14, 1908.