I could not understand. "She is Sister Ange," I was told; "she is the Canteen Sister." Still I did not understand.

One of the women explained: "Sister Ange fetches what the prisoner orders at the canteen.... You can ask for bread, for a pennyworth of milk, or two pennyworth of coffee--anything."

"What shall I prepare the coffee in?" I asked.

"They bring it up already prepared, of course!" and my two companions burst into endless and noisy laughter.

"Excuse me, forgive me," I said; "I didn't know...."

The Sister gently explained; "Yes, the coffee is already prepared.... It is not very good, but you can warm it up on the little stove here...."

I gave her some coppers and asked for some coffee and milk.

"Do you want a large or a small jug?" I did not answer. Everything seemed so strange, so abnormal. Sister Ange continued: "I will bring you a small stone bowl--you can eat everything in that--and a spoon.... No, no, forks are not allowed in prison. But you can have a small knife, blunt, of course...."

I asked if I could buy some bread.

"You are ent.i.tled to bread, Madame. You will receive half a _boule_ of brown bread every day." When I tried a piece of the prison bread that day, I found two black beetles in it and gave a cry... much to the two women's amus.e.m.e.nt. They told me that was quite a usual thing.

I duly received the coffee, but it was well-nigh undrinkable. Four months later, after M. Andre had completed the _Instruction_ (examination of the accused and all the witnesses: M. Andre replaced M.

Leydet as magistrate in charge of my case, for the latter, ill and worn, had asked to be relieved of the painful duty of interrogating a lady whom he had known for many years), I begged to be allowed to prepare my own coffee, for it was almost the only thing I managed to take. Ground coffee was supplied to me, and I made a strainer with two bits of firewood sticks, some wire taken from my hat (during the drives to the Palace of Justice for the _Instruction_), and a piece from one of my handkerchiefs.

My companions cleaned the cell, and I helped them. We lit the fire, arranged our beds, and breakfasted. Then they began to chat, and I heard who they were.

One was Alba Ghirelli, a dark woman of about forty, stout, with bulging eyes and thick lips, who had been recently sentenced at Versailles to six months' imprisonment, but had appealed, and had been brought to Paris pending a new trial.

The name of the other was Rosselli. She was much younger and kinder-looking, and had blue eyes and light brown hair. She had been accused of fraud, and was awaiting her trial. (I may add that three weeks afterwards she was sentenced to one year's imprisonment, but was almost immediately released.) At the end of December the appeal of Alba Ghirelli was heard, and she, too, was released.--I mention these facts because, as the reader will realise a little later, they have an important and pitiful connection with my own case.

A gong rang three times. Ghirelli and Rosselli exclaimed: "That's Sister Leonide.... She is in charge of the 'reserved' cells" (_pistoles_).

"What are they?" I asked.

They laughed again. "Why, this is a reserved cell. You have to pay 7 francs 50 (six shillings) a month to be in a cell like this. They are the best to be had. In each of the others there are twelve prisoners. In these there are only five beds."

Sister Leonide came in.

"Your counsel is downstairs," she announced. "Come, please." On the way she said: "In future, you will be known as 'Number 16170,' but as it is difficult to remember, we will call you '61.' When you hear the gong strike once and you hear some one shout '61,' that will mean that you are wanted; then I, or another sister, will open the door of your cell and take you to your counsel, or to the Director...."

She spoke very firmly, but there was a glow of warmth and kindness in her eyes.

"_Ma Sur_," I said, "must I remain with those women? It is dreadful for me. Can't I be alone in a cell?"

"My poor child," she replied, in her big, gruff voice that sounded just like that of a man, "you must not think of that. They will never leave you by yourself. It is against the rules.... In a fit of despondency you might.... Well, well, don't look so disappointed. I will talk the matter over with the Sister Superior and the Director, and see what can be done."

Sister Leonide walked near me. She was probably old, but had a very young face and rosy cheeks.... We went through the long pa.s.sages which had frightened me the night before. The place was filthy and dilapidated. It looked worse than ever in the daylight.... Women, we met here and there, stopped to watch me, and they whispered: "That's the Steinheil woman!" My heart beat so fast that it hurt me, and I had a lump in my throat. Oh! The horror, the strain of being here. I thought of Marthe....

At the top of a flight of steps, Sister Leonide said: "Go down. You will come to a door. Knock and a gaoler will open it for you."

The word gaoler made me shudder. I thought: "I am a prisoner... a prisoner! But Couillard and Wolff are in prison too; perhaps they are not guilty, but they know something, and they will have to confess."

The gaoler bluntly asked: "Who are you?"

I remembered my lesson: "I am '61,'" I replied.

The man looked like an old soldier, with his rough, wrinkled, and tanned face, and his martial appearance. "Ah! yes"... he mumbled, "I know, '61.' It is your counsel who has come."

I entered the parlour. What a dreary place, dark and cold.... There was a huge wide table there, with chairs all round it. On one side I saw Maitre Aubin, and M. Steinhardt, his secretary. The gaoler pointed out a chair to me, opposite my counsel, and said: "Sit down there."

The two counsel were very pale.

"Ah! why did you not follow my advice!" Aubin began.... "If only you had not written that letter to the Press, if only you had not started the case again!..." Every sentence began with the word "if."

"Have Couillard and Wolff spoken? Is the truth discovered yet?" I asked.

"Spoken!... They are doing nothing but speaking. People carry them about shoulder high; they are the heroes of the day. The newspapers are singing their praises!..."

I was dumbfounded: "What do you say!... It is impossible. Are they not in prison?"

"They were both set free yesterday...."

"Then they are going to release me too. You said I would be with Marthe in a week's time. They don't want me anymore, do they?... But now we shall never know the truth!... When can I go away from here?"

The two men looked at each other. They hesitated.... I could read in their faces that some terrible news was coming.

I could not wait.... "What is the matter? Speak, Maitre Aubin." The poor man halted, and then at last said: "You must be brave.... You must remain here.... Oh! why did you put that pearl in your valet's pocket-book. You don't know the anger of the Public against you.... You would be torn to pieces if you walked through a street."

"How long shall I have to remain in prison? You said a week. Will it be two weeks? Three weeks?"...

"I don't know...."

"What! A whole month?"

"More."

"Surely not! Two months?... Three whole months?"

"I don't know. I swear to you that I don't know. I would rather tell you the worst at once than slowly torture you, but I simply cannot. You will have to be examined by a judge; it will take a long time. Weeks, months, may elapse.... But you longed to know the truth.... Well, there will be a thorough investigation now; you will know everything. I will help you...."

It was as though I had received a stunning blow on the head.... I reeled. Several weeks, several months, perhaps!...

My head fell forward, and I sobbed.

They made me promise to try to eat. They called the gaoler, and said "She must eat," and the man went to the canteen and fetched a plateful of boiled potatoes.... Maitre Aubin's last words were: "We shall have to talk together, to work, a great deal... but you may rely upon it: the murderers will be found."

I returned to my cell. There, Ghirelli and Rosselli overwhelmed me with questions, and showed much irritation when I declined to answer.... I had bought from the canteen some paper and ink, and I started writing to my relatives.

The gong! Once! Then a voice shouted "Sixty One." It was for me. Sister Leonide entered and said: "Your daughter is here."