Although M. Steinheil was buried in the family vault at L'Hay, Marthe's consent was not even asked for the exhumation. The tomb was, as it were, broken into, and the body of her father removed to be examined once more. (Yet another unlawful act committed by the law!) She--and I--only heard of the exhumation several days after it had taken place. I can hardly believe that such an arbitrary and scandalous act could have been committed in any other civilised country.

The conclusion of Dr. Balthazard's lengthy and most painstaking report was that "toxicological examination of the viscera... _did not reveal any traces_ of narcotic or stupefactive.'"

(_Dossier_ Cote 220)

There was no mention whatever of poison. In this same and final report, Dr. Balthazard went on to say that: "Finally, M. Steinheil died without a struggle, from strangulation by a cord; it appears that he died at the spot where he was found... (away from his bed, on the threshold of the bath-room). Secondly, Mme. j.a.py died of suffocation owing to the introduction of a voluminous gag of wadding into her mouth; before she was dead, a cord was tightened round her neck; Mme. j.a.py appears to have died on her bed at the very place where her body was found. There were no traces of violence to indicate that she struggled against an aggressor...."

In Cote 197, I read with interest the statements made by M. Rousseau, a mechanic at the large printing works in the Impa.s.se Ronsin--which employ some two thousand men and women.

"About three weeks before the crime, I noticed in the Impa.s.se Ronsin, at noon, or 1 P.M., three men and a woman near the wall of the Steinheils'

house; they were talking together.... The woman rang at the gate. Some one came and spoke to her for a few moments. Meanwhile, the three men walked a little away from the gate, but remained on that side of the Impa.s.se." After describing the four persons (the three men wore "black felt artists' hats," and the "woman wore a shawl in the Italian style"), M. Rousseau declared that he "saw those people again several times, near the gate of my house," and that he was struck by "their hesitating att.i.tude."

A "M. G.o.defroy, also employed at the printing works... remembered having seen those individuals in the Impa.s.se Ronsin...."

I was also surprised to find that in this colossal dossier many persons gave evidence who had only met me once or twice, whilst close friends whom I had known for years were not questioned about me. Thus the dossier contained no mention of Bonnat or Ma.s.senet, of M.

Viollet-le-Duc, of M. Delalande--French Consul-General in Naples and recently in London--who had known me from the days when I was only fourteen; of M. Sadi-Carnot, son of the late President; of M. Duteil d'Ozanne, Chief of the Secretariat of the "Legion of Honour"; and many other prominent men. Not one of the generals, admirals, statesmen, politicians, and important officials who knew me well, were consulted, nor, of course, President Ta.s.sard, President Pet.i.t, or any of the numberless magistrates with whom, and with whose wives, I was on terms of close friendship.

Whilst working on the dossier I became less despondent, and regained some of the strength I had lost. Reading those doc.u.ments aroused not only my indignation, but also my will. I would not be condemned; I would fight the Prosecution and win; I would say all I knew, happen what might.... But my counsel begged me to let him conduct my defence, and warned me, now that my trial was approaching, as he had warned me before the _Instruction_. "If you attack any one, you are lost," he would say; "be calm, answer questions, and let _me_ do everything at your trial."

When would that trial take place? When should I be free? I kept asking those two questions of Maitre Aubin, who, alas! could give me no definite answer.

The summer had pa.s.sed; the autumn had come. Through the iron bars of my window I saw the leaves fall one by one from the trees in the yard, and the prison and the sky were again grey and dreary, as on that November day, a year before, when I awoke to find myself for the first time in a prison cell. I knew every one in the prison now, and every stone. I knew every cat and many of the pigeons, which I had named.

Marthe came three times a week. The Sisters were more attentive and devoted than ever. Pastor Arboux and the Catholic Chaplain visited me as regularly as ever, and Juliette did her utmost to make my life more bearable; but the end of a journey is always the most trying part to body and mind, and then I was not sure, in spite of my absolute innocence, that the end of my terrible journey was at hand. I had been treated with such injustice, and, as I knew only too well, opinion was so much against me, that at times I imagined that I should be found guilty. But I argued with Sister Leonide, or Juliette, or... myself, and Hope sprang eternal in my frozen heart.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

Photo by Claude Harris, London

OBJECTS I USED IN PRISON

Slippers made by myself.

Penny looking-gla.s.s--only kind allowed by the prison authorities.

Blunt knife. Salt Cellar. Jug. Basin.

Coffee Strainer--made by myself with fire-wood sticks, some linen and wire taken from my hat.

Breadbasket--made by myself with paper.]

I had now been over eleven months in prison. November had come, with its dull skies and monotonous rains. My cell was dark again, and damper than ever. Juliette "read" the cards five, eight, ten times a day for me, and told me every time that my innocence would appear to all, and that I should be triumphantly acquitted.... It is wonderful what cards can say, or be made to say.

I knew the dossier by heart now in spite of its two million words. But the opening day of the trial, although every second brought me nearer to it, seemed to become more hopelessly distant. I sat on my rush chair by the open window and tried to take an interest in what I saw, although I knew it all so well. The drizzling rain drifted in through the wire trellis and the iron bars, and cooled my burning forehead. I pressed my hands flat against the trellis to cool them too, and sometimes, in a gust of frenzy at the thought of my imprisonment, I convulsively clutched both the bars and the trellis, and shook and shook them as if I thought I could shake them to pieces.

I heard that my trial was to begin at the a.s.size Court on Wednesday, November 3rd (1909), at noon.

Towards the end of October I had had a long talk with my daughter, and we had agreed that it would be better for me--and her--if she did not come again to Saint-Lazare. Her visits gave me life, but at the same time we could not help talking about the impending and momentous trial.

Marthe wept bitterly, and the sight of her tears made me lose the courage and strength I so much needed to enable me to face the terrible ordeal.

"I will come at the end of your trial to see you acquitted, mother!" had been the last words of my beloved daughter.

I had long talks with my counsel. He urged me to be calm and discreet.

Above all, he entreated me not to mention any "new" fact, and not to speak of President Faure or the judges I had known intimately; in short, he repeated what he had said to me before the _Instruction_.

I promised everything. I had the greatest confidence in my counsel, and he had sworn to me that I should be acquitted if only I did as he told me. I threatened, however, to break all my promises if there were women at my trial. I was thinking chiefly of _one_ woman, the wife of a most prominent personage--at the time--the very woman who had visited President Faure shortly before my arrival at the Elysee on that fatal February 16th, 1899. I could not bear the idea that _she_ might be in the court, smiling sarcastically at my misfortune and my shame--she free, powerful, perhaps even respected, and I a prisoner accused of murder!... Let not the reader think that there was or could be a question of jealousy between that woman and me. She hated me in those days when President Faure honoured me not only with his friendship but with his confidence, and she had hated me ever since. For my own part, I had not worried over her, but I had warned the President time after time against her, for it was she who had urged him to adopt that dangerous remedy from the abuse of which I have no doubt he died.... I thought of other women, too: "friends," who after seeing me for fifteen years in my salon now find it "amusing" to watch me in a Court of a.s.size.... Ah! Let not the reader speak of Spite, Jealousy, or Malice! I had but one thought: to be acquitted, to escape from that Inferno, and to be once more near my child. But I needed all my reason and all my strength for that trial, and I felt that if around me I saw women laugh at my misery, my grief would be greater, the trial more painful, victory more difficult to achieve!...

Did Maitre Aubin take some steps or not? I cannot say, nor do I wish to know. But I was shown, shortly before the opening of the trial, a cutting from _Le Temps_, I believe, which stated that M. de Valles would not allow any ladies to be present at the Steinheil trial.

On Sunday, October 31, my counsel remained with me most of the day, giving me his final words of advice and warning.

Personally, I did not know any longer what to do, or say, or think. I was exhausted, bewildered, worn, a prey to a thousand and one conflicting thoughts and emotions. For eighteen months my life had been a martyrdom; no sorrow, no pain, no insult, no trial had been spared me, and now I longed for peace, for sleep, for oblivion. Nothing else mattered.

On Monday, November 1, I was told that I should be sent for the next day at 2 P.M. and taken to the Palace of Justice. Several of the Sisters remained a long time in my cell. Pastor Arboux called and prayed with me. The old chaplain, M. Doumergue, played the organ in the chapel, then he came to my cell and gave me his blessing.... I could not sleep during the night, and poor Juliette, with her usual kindness, remained, hour after hour, seated near my bed, talking to me, cheering me, comforting me....

The next morning--Tuesday, November 2--Sister Leonide brought me my hat, cloak and gloves; and the Sisters came once more to say that they had prayed for me and to ask me to trust in the Almighty: I would be acquitted, they all knew it; my innocence would be victoriously revealed. They could hardly speak, and I was so moved that words failed me when I tried to thank them all....

A clock struck two, I had been ready since noon. No one came. Three o'clock, four, five, six, eight, ten o'clock! Still no one.... Then Sister Leonide entered my cell and said: "You will not go to-day; they will come and fetch you to-morrow at five in the morning, my poor child!"

I had been walking up and down my cell for over ten hours! Sister Leonide compelled me to eat a little. I went to bed, a.s.sisted by Juliette, and I fell asleep and dreamed of Marthe.

Sister Leonide awoke me at 4 A.M., for, at five, I would be sent for....

And my trial was to begin at noon! I felt very tired and sleepy.

Juliette kissed me good-bye. Sister Leonide asked me to remember Saint-Lazare--and her--sometimes, and she too gave me a blessing. Then, after a look round the cell where I had been imprisoned for nearly a year, and a last hand-shake with Juliette, I walked out into the "Boulevard of the Cells" and followed Sister Leonide. That the prisoners might not know of my departure, the gong was not rung. I walked as in a trance. But all the time, I thought of my arrival at Saint-Lazare a year before! A year!... I had spent a year within the walls of a prison!...

It was cold, very cold, and the silence was awe-inspiring. I thanked Sister Leonide for all that she had done for me, but there must have been more grat.i.tude in my eyes than in my words.... Then, I was led to a carriage and driven to the _Depot_ before I fully realised that I had left Saint-Lazare--probably for ever!

On the way, I looked at Paris, that vast city which for me had lost its meaning.... I counted the lamp-posts we pa.s.sed, watched the few people I saw, threw a glance at the Seine, the waters of which seemed to be made of molten lead, cold and motionless. A fine drizzle struck my face through my mourning veil as I stepped out of the carriage and entered the _Depot_....

There, the Sister Superior with the beautiful and pathetic face was awaiting me. She begged me to lie down on the bed in the cell, and I gladly obeyed, but at 8.30 A.M., I felt so restless that I rose and paced my cage. The aged Sister of Mercy came, and I heard that hundreds of poor wretches had spent the night outside the Palace of Justice in order to sell their "seats" to persons anxious to be present at my trial. I was told afterwards that such "seats" fetched from twenty-five to one hundred francs (1 to 4), and that a few morbid amateurs of sensational spectacles paid as much as 10 and even 15 for the privilege of standing at the back of the court in the small and overcrowded "public" enclosure, to watch a woman struggling to prove her innocence.

I was asked to be "quite ready" by 11 A.M. I was ready in every way, except mentally, for as the hour drew near when I would appear before my judges, I felt my strength ebb from me. It all seemed so useless, so utterly absurd, to be innocent and yet to have to prove one's innocence, to fight for one's life!...

Some one--the Director at the _Depot_ perhaps--told me I should need all the presence of mind, all the will and all the power of arguing at my command, and I heard to my unspeakable disgust that recently--yes, before my trial--the _Matin_ had published _in extenso_ the text of the _Indictment_ against me!

CHAPTER XXIX

THE TRIAL

I was at last taken to the guards' room, close to the Court of a.s.size.

Whilst I sat in a corner I heard a munic.i.p.al guard say to another: "Look at her dress! The papers are wrong!"