CHAPTER XX

THE SO-CALLED "NIGHT OF THE CONFESSION" (NOVEMBER 25-26, 1908)

Early in the morning, journalists came as usual to "find out the latest," and as usual they followed the workmen into the house.

At 10 A.M. detectives arrived to continue their searching, and once more, I hoped that they would make some discovery that would lead to "the truth." Mariette was in a state of frenzy and said to me, the moment she saw me: "The crowd is against you. Couillard is arrested. They will arrest my son and me, next, I bet. You're going to tell the _Sûreté_ what happened the other night, when you saw me and Alexandre.... Let all this fuss be stopped.... Life isn't worth living.... Send the police away from here. They are driving me mad with their endless investigations. If all this goes on much longer, I don't know what may happen. At any rate, I shan't stop at anything! After all, if there is any one who knows something about the murder, it must be M. Bdl."

Mariette knew of my brief friendship with M. Bdl, and was fully aware that my relations with him had long ceased, but, for some reason, she wanted to intimidate me, and she hurled that name at me as a weapon, for she realised how anxious I was that Marthe should not know about that indiscretion.

Mariette went on, more fiercely than ever: "If the police don't leave this house, if you say a word against Alexandre or me, I shall say all I know about M. Ch. and M. Bdl., and then we shall see! Ah! you say you love your daughter.... Well, I love my son.... We shall see, we shall see...." Then, abruptly, her tone changed, and she said desperately: "There is only one thing for me to do; I must get drunk."...

There was a constant buzzing in my ears, my whole body was on fire, as it were, and it seemed to me as if my heart, which beat so terribly fast, would suddenly stop.... I looked at Mariette, and with all the resolution I could summon, I said to her: "I shall go to the end of this affair. I shall speak all the truth, I shall say all I know."...

Mariette was no longer listening. She held her poor head and mumbled: "I must get drunk, drunk... that's the only thing to do." I pitied her and walked away.

M. Hamard arrived, saw his men, and then came to me and said: "We can find nothing.... True, many months have elapsed since the murder.... By the way, M. Leydet would like to see you at the Palace of Justice. Inspector Pouce will come here and accompany you.... The crowd is rather hostile."

"Very well, M. Hamard," I replied.

At that very moment, a whole band of journalists literally burst into the house.... Some of them actually entered through the windows on the ground floor. They surrounded me, and such was the babel they made that I could hear only fragments of sentences: "Have you heard.... A jeweller has said that... there is an incident... Couillard... the ring...." Flashlight explosions startled me at every moment.... A thousand questions were hurled at me.... One journalist on the staff of the _Gaulois_ asked to photograph my hand because there was a "ring-story" coming out....

I was ill and I was bewildered. There have been many days in my life when shock has followed shock and emotion emotion, as if some pitiless fate were trying to crush me, but that day, November 25, 1908, was undoubtedly the most painful, the most harrowing in my whole existence.

Whilst I tried to answer the questions of the journalists, since they would not leave me alone until I did, various people came to visit the apartments which were to let. (I had already let the vast studio, with its antique furniture, to a foreign artist for £320 a year. The three-years' lease was signed, but my arrest altered everything, and the lease was made null and void.)

After the journalists had gone, I tried to draw up an inventory of the silver, furniture, and linen in the apartments I wished to let, but the pen shook in my hand and I had to give up the attempt.

Lunch-time came. It was impossible for me to eat. I had lost all appetite, and besides, journalists once more invaded the house. Why did I not barricade my door? For the simple reason that the workmen, who were now nearing the end of their task, came and went constantly. Some brought rolls of wall-paper; others took away boards, ladders, tools.... And whenever the gate was open to a workman, one or several reporters would rush in behind him. Besides, I have no doubt that had everything been barricaded against them, they would have jumped over the wall, as I had seen at least one do....

Inspector Pouce came and said to me: "Take your jewels with you; they will be wanted."

I fetched them, and with the inspector drove to the Palace of Justice in a taxi. On the way I noticed that Inspector Pouce looked extremely sad. I told him so.

"Oh, Madame," he said, "if I were in your place, I should probably have lost my reason long ago. How those who, thinking they were doing the right thing, urged you to seek the assistance of the Press, and to make fresh endeavours to trace the murderers, must regret it now that they realise what martyrdom you have endured... a martyrdom which has not yet come to an end."

I listened to Inspector Pouce, but did not understand him. I was too numb and broken. How I should have loved to sleep.... I said so to my companion. My head felt so heavy.... I almost fell asleep in the taxi.

At the Palace of Justice I was received by Maître Aubin and M. Steinhardt, his secretary. The former looked very pleased: "Things are going on very well," he exclaimed. "Couillard has made several interesting statements already.... By the way, there is something that worries me for your sake. Are you sure you have not two pearls alike? If so, you had better say it."

I did not reply, but went alone into M. Leydet's _Cabinet_. Through an open door, I saw him, in the next room, walking up and down.

He came in and bowed to me, as usual, but I noticed he was extremely pale.

"Bring in Couillard," M. Leydet ordered, "his counsel, M. Bouin, the jewel-expert, M. Gaillard, and M. Souloy."

When they had all come and sat down, M. Leydet, in a voice that shook with emotion, explained to me that M. Souloy had made a statement....

I was dumbfounded. I did not mind the fact that M. Souloy had made a statement, evidently about the pearl. What upset me was the fact that he had done so too soon, before Couillard had made a full confession of all he knew. "So, that is what you have done, M. Souloy," I exclaimed. "And this after I had called on you and told you we should have to go to M. Hamard, one day."...

"Madame," said the jeweller, "my conscience..."

I suddenly found myself unable to think clearly, unable to realise things.... M. Souloy had made the _talisman_ years ago.... He knew me well. Surely he could not believe me capable of a wicked action. Why had he come spontaneously to M. Leydet to "make a statement." Did he take me for a criminal? What did it all mean?...

M. Leydet and the others gave all kinds of explanations. I was unable to follow them.... Then, M. Leydet said to me: "You had _two_ 'new-art' rings, had you not? One stolen by Couillard and the other handed to M. Souloy?"

I could have replied just the word "Yes," and Couillard was lost, but although everything was blurred in my mind, I saw that it would be criminal to do such a thing, and that whatever Couillard might have done, I had no right to tell falsehoods, and I replied, "no, only one."

M. Leydet looked at me, with almost haggard eyes, I repeated, "Only one."

"But do you realise the gravity of what you are saying?"

Thereupon one of Souloy's employees came in, and looked at me fixedly and in a way that terrified me. And I thought of certain words spoken by M. Sauerwein, of the _Matin_.

After Couillard's arrest, M. Sauerwein, no doubt in order to make me forget his insults and his fantastic accusations in connection with the Rossignol "clue," had come to tell me, "I know the jeweller who bought the jewels stolen on the night of the murder. He is a receiver of stolen goods.... I must not tell you his name.... He has a wife and children. He is afraid of being lynched, if he were discovered.... But he is in my power...." And I was mad enough to believe M. Sauerwein.

When I saw M. Souloy's clerk, I felt sure he was the man M. Sauerwein had spoken of. I thought that he could be employed and at the same time be a "receiver." For several hours I was questioned, but I replied in a vague manner....

Later, I felt so faint that Maître Aubin was called in.... M. Leydet watched me in a strange manner, and said many things which I did not understand.... And then, with Maître Aubin, I left the room. He asked me to meet him the next morning; he wanted to have a serious talk with me, and afterwards we could call together on M. Leydet.

"Why not talk things over to-night?" I suggested.

"No, no; I am not free now."

Had Maître Aubin been "free" that night, I should probably not have been a prisoner the next day. Then he added, "Above all, don't receive a single journalist."

But when I went home with Marthe, who had come to fetch me, it was in the company of a journalist, and in the house I found two more, one belonging to the _Gaulois_, and the other to the _Petit Journal_, who had been waiting for me!

Both, however, were extremely polite, and when I told them that I was dead beat, and that I would perhaps see them the next morning, they bowed and walked away.

A representative of the _Temps_ also came, and asked: "What is all this trouble about your jewels, your rings?... Can we do anything for you?"... He spoke softly, courteously, and I was thankful to him, but I had nothing to say.

I sank into an arm-chair. Marthe, near me, sobbed. She said she had been told at the Palace of Justice that I would be arrested.... It was heartrending to see her tears.

At about nine o'clock, just as I was about to return to my room, for, even on the day after the crime, I had not felt so utterly broken down, Mariette came to say that M. Barby had arrived. The _Matin_ again! Then M. Hutin, of the _Echo de Paris_, entered the room.

Before I could utter a single word M. Hutin exclaimed angrily, almost coarsely, just as if he had every right to invade my home and speak to me as he pleased: "Ah! that's the way you go on! And I was stupid enough to take up your case! So you have been making a fool of me! What have you been up to, eh?... The black gowns: that's a fable! Your jewels: none have been stolen! The money: there was none! You will have to tell me the truth...."

"Leave this house," I said; "I haven't the strength to argue with you."...

He gave a wicked little laugh, and went on, "Everybody is against you now. It is not Couillard they should have arrested. It is your lover..."

My lover! I thought of M. Bdl., whom I had not seen for months, and I said to myself, "What! they are going to arrest him! What is the matter?... What do they want?"...

The door was flung open. M. de Labruyère rushed in. He gesticulated frantically, and looked even more angry and threatening than M. Hutin....

"You are a wretch, nothing but a wretch," he began. "It's dreadful. Couillard is innocent; he never stole the pearl."...

I interrupted him. "Have pity on me. I have not slept for four days. Leave me in peace. I have nothing to tell to either of you. I am ill, can't you see I am ill?"

They shrugged their shoulders. M. de Labruyère went on: "I have just left the Minister of Justice. There is only the _Matin_ and the _Echo de Paris_ who can save you. You will do as you are told. If you don't, then you, your daughter, your brother, your lover, the Chabriers, you will all be arrested.... Your cousin Meissonier has already been arrested. A whole squadron of cuirassiers has surrounded his house at Poissy to save him from the fury of mob.... The Impasse is blocked with people. Your house is surrounded. There is an immense crowd outside, and they want to set the house on fire, want to lynch you."...

I listened to all this, but I did not understand. I listened so intently that every word spoken that night left an indelible mark in my mind. Had I understood, I would have realised that they were recklessly lying in order to wrench from me a confession, which I could not make since I was innocent, and that, however ill and distracted I was, I ought somehow to have summoned up enough authority to have made them leave the house.

Then, the tune changed. Intimidation had achieved its aim. I was before the two men, trembling, incapable of defending myself. They could now try another method: the sympathetic. After strong drama, pathos.

"Poor woman, tell us the truth. We are your best, your only friends.... Confess, if not for your sake, then for the sake of your daughter, the unfortunate little Marthe, who is there sobbing, in that room. Speak to us, and you are saved. We are the only people who can save you both! Be quick, be quick. Listen to the mob outside. Can you hear it?"...

I could hear a wild surging in my ears, but I had heard that noise very often of late, when I was ill and worn.... These men were putting me on the rack. What did they want of me? What had I done to be treated in this way?... Had they made up their minds to make me lose my reason completely?...

Then, suddenly, I saw a face through the window of the dining-room.... It was the face of an ugly old woman with wild eyes, and the old woman was shaking her fist at me....

I cried, "Look out! look out! Mariette is there!"...

"All right... never mind," said M. Hutin. "Now, listen to us. You are lost, and not only you but every one in the house unless you confess."

"Bunau-Varilla is rich," said M. de Labruyère. "He'll save you. They are coming to arrest you all, you and Marthe. You understand, your little Marthe, first of all. But we can just save you, if you will be quick.... We are in a hurry."...

Yes, they were in a hurry: their sensational copy had to go to press in time. I had said nothing yet, and they had still to write what I would say, what they felt sure they _would make me say_!

M. de Labruyère went on, in a coaxing, pathetic manner, "All we want is to save you, in spite of yourself! I tell you Bunau-Varilla will do anything. We will smuggle you abroad and you will forget all your troubles."...

He came quite close to me and added: "Think of your poor dead mother. She called you 'Meg, Meg...' that night.... Well, Meg, Meg, tell us everything."

I faltered. Everything seemed to turn around me.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked.

M. Hutin seized my hands: "Everything: only, you know, don't talk to us about black gowns. Nobody believes in them; it is of no use insisting any longer upon them. Don't talk about the jewels either, that's played out, too. You had better begin by telling us the truth about that pearl, and also tell us the name of the man who was your 'friend.'..."

I replied: "It was I who put the pearl in Couillard's pocket-book, it was I who put the diamond in the attic; the name of my friend was Bdl."

Mariette was again making signs at the window, and I thought once more of Alexandre Wolff....

The two journalists kept asking me questions. They both spoke at the same time. I had sunk from my chair on to the floor. I would not, I could not, reply.... They grew angry. _I fell on to the floor._ I besought them to go; they seized me by the wrists and shouted: "Confess, confess!..."

Then seeing that I did not speak, M. de Labruyère whispered: "I will tell you the whole truth. I have seen Briand this afternoon. You must speak. But above all, don't say what you have said before. Public Opinion doesn't believe in the story you told. Tell another! Tell us the names of the murderers."

My blood ran cold. I no longer had any capacity for thinking. Those men had killed my mind, my reason. They wanted names, any names.

I spoke, one, two, three names. I said "Salvator" (one of my late husband's models). They were not satisfied! I then said: "It's not Salvator, it's his brother!" That would not do either.... Then I thought of Alexandre Wolff, who had been so much in my mind lately....

"Alexandre Wolff," I cried. "He is the murderer."

This suited them. They began to scribble. They made suggestions as to things that had taken place.... They had evidently (as I realised afterwards) received anonymous letters, like myself.... I replied: "Yes, yes."...

Then, their faces suddenly brightened up. They had won! The most sensational article for many years would appear in a few hours' time under their signature. The greatest day in their career had come!

Then, they felt grateful though in a great hurry, for it was after midnight, and they spoke a few words of encouragement.

"Everything will be all right. We will send you a motor-car. You will go to a hotel, so as to avoid being lynched, you and your daughter. And afterwards you will go abroad, and forget everything." (My daughter heard them speak these words.)

They shook hands with me, in the heartiest manner, and said: "Remember, we are all your friends, your best, your only friends. You can always rely on us. Briand, Bunau-Varilla, will defend you. With such protectors, you are absolutely safe, and your little Marthe too. The law cannot touch you, in these circumstances."...

They went to the door. Then M. Hutin came back. He had forgotten something of considerable importance:

"Whatever happens, don't change anything of what you have told us.... You and your daughter are lost if you do!"...

They went at last. I had been racked and tortured _for four hours_; I was bruised, and broken, and bleeding; and in the agony of my pain I sank to the floor, and lay there, wishing with all my heart for the relief of death. Then, mercifully, everything went blank....

* * * * *

I could not better compare that "Night of the Confession" than to a terrible nightmare. In a nightmare appear the people one has seen or has been talking about during the preceding hours.... Twice that day, I had been asked about M. Bdl.; twenty times I had been spoken to about Alexandre Wolff. And there were the anonymous letters. I quoted a whole passage of one of those letters, to my tormentors, as in a trance, and that made up part of my "confession." "Wolff had come to steal.... He had threatened to declare that I ordered him to murder my husband and my mother, if I denounced him...." This theory of the crime had been time after time suggested to me in letters. And thus, I spoke about M. Borderel and accused Wolff. And when I saw Mariette at the window making signs to me, I felt sure the letters were right and that Wolff was the murderer....

Perhaps, alas, the poor woman realised that those men were making me say what they pleased, and she trembled for the son she loved.

A nightmare indeed!... But after a nightmare, one comes back to life, peace, and even happiness, and exclaims: "Thank Heaven, it is not true; it was only an awful dream!"... But after my nightmare, I awoke to worse tortures: I awoke to find myself torn away from my child, arrested, and thrown into prison. The ghastly drama was not ended; it had only just begun.

Would to God that I could forget that nightmare, but, alas! I remember it in every painful detail, as I set it down here. I hardly understood what I was told or what I said; I was clay in the hands of the two men who in their professional zeal stopped at nothing to wrench from me matter for sensational copy--but clay retains impressions. They made me lose my reason for a time, but not my memory, and after three years, the details of that awful night of agony are still so cruelly vivid in my mind that my hand trembles as I write. My whole being shudders, I hear the men's harsh voices, I feel their hands close upon my wrists--and the pen falls from my nerveless fingers....

* * * * *

I will now quote--in all fairness--the narrative of the "night of the confession" as M. Hutin made it to M. André--the judge who replaced M. Leydet--on November 27, 1908 (two days later):

"I wish first of all to state that in this affair I merely acted as a journalist, and that I have never in any way confused such a _rôle_ with that of the Law."

Then, after a few remarks about my letter addressed to the _Echo de Paris_, and published on October 31, M. Hutin proceeds: "I arrived (at the house in the Impasse Ronsin) at about 9.30 P.M. As soon as M. Chabrier saw me, he exclaimed: 'Ah! you come as a saviour,' or at least he said, 'You are welcome.' (The bitter irony of it.)

"Mme. Steinheil herself received me with much sympathy. I noticed she was _profoundly depressed_ (affaissée). She received me in the dining-room.... I told her that to my mind the best thing she could do was to free her conscience by telling me the whole truth. I told her that the next day, the Law, by its own methods, would extract the truth from her, and that she had better make a clean breast of everything.

"At about 10 P.M. M. de Labruyère arrived.

"He, too, strongly insisted that Mme. Steinheil should tell the truth. At one moment, Mme. Steinheil exclaimed: 'What do you want to know from me?'

"We said that she had certainly placed the pearl in Couillard's pocket-book herself, she admitted it, and we asked her why she had done it. She hesitated for a long time... then, finally declared that she had wished to divert the investigations of the Law from another person. It was quite clear that Mme. Steinheil was trying to escape the interview. Answering our questions she said she detested her husband, that they 'were poor,' that they 'had nothing.' _I started raising false issues to get at the truth_.... Then she declared that the criminal was Salvator (one of M. Steinheil's models). She retracted her words and said: 'No, I am losing my head. It is not Salvator, it is his brother.' Then she stated that she was fond of a man, M. Bdl., and that all she had done of late was in order to prove to him that she was still actively pursuing the affair.

"We asked her again why she had directed suspicion against Rémy Couillard. She replied: 'I have always had suspicions of him.' We told her that, in any case, she knew what had taken place on the night of May 30th-31st, that she knew who was the real criminal. And both M. de Labruyère and I declared to her that: 'We will not go until you tell us the name.' She exclaimed: 'I cannot tell you his name, because there is some one whom it would kill.' We asked her: 'Who? His wife? a sister?' She said: 'No, his mother... his mother would die of grief or would kill herself.'

"We asked her whether she referred to some one in the _entourage_, and finally she said: 'It is Alexandre Wolff, Mariette's son.' Then she begged us to let Wolff know very quickly so that he might get away. We asked her if Mariette knew about all this, and she replied: 'Oh! Mariette is there, watching us! She must not know anything. Yes, Mariette has known everything since... who knows how long?... Mariette will now probably turn against me.' Then narrating the crime, she told us: 'I did not ask Wolff to come. He came to steal the money.... There were no jewels. He terrorised me. He told me that if I spoke, he could assert that I had summoned him so that he might rid me of my husband.' She added that since then and even recently Alexandre Wolff had threatened to kill her and her daughter.

"I asked her if she were very sure that she was not again accusing an innocent person, if she spoke the truth, and she replied: 'Oh! the moment is too tragic for me not to tell the truth.' She added: 'My life is over,' and she talked about killing herself. I gave her the advice not to do such a thing, and to go in the morning and talk to the examining magistrate, and tell him the whole truth.

"At a certain moment, she rose.... She walked like an automaton, and her arms raised....

"M. de Labruyère and I left at about 12.50 A.M. expecting her to tell the whole truth in the morning, and expressing our sympathy with her.

"She was then very much depressed.

"During the whole evening we were alone with Mme. Steinheil. The two Chabriers and Mme. Steinheil's daughter were in a room near by."...

(_Signed_) ANDRÉ. SIMON (_Clerk_). HUTIN.

(_Dossier_ Cote 3260)

M. Barby, of the _Matin_, remained with Marthe and the Chabriers, evidently to prevent any one from coming to my assistance. The plans of these men were well laid.

The evidence given on December 29, 1908, by M. Barby to M. André runs as follows:

"At about 8.30 P.M., on November 25, I arrived at the house in the Impasse Ronsin. I found Mme. Steinheil very depressed. She complained about Souloy, the jeweller, saying he owed a great deal to her and that she could not understand why he had made 'such a statement.' At 9.30 M. Hutin arrived, soon followed by M. de Labruyère. Between them and Mme. Steinheil a long conversation took place in the sitting-room, whilst I remained in the _next_ room with the Chabriers and Mlle. Marthe Steinheil.

"Several times M. de Labruyère came to talk to me, and briefly told me what was going on. Towards midnight, he came and said: 'Mme. Steinheil is confessing to us.'

"M. de Labruyère and M. Hutin went away at about 1 A.M. As they went, M. de Labruyère rapidly explained the confession made by Mme. Steinheil.... He recommended me to remain, and, as far as I could, prevent Mme. Steinheil from talking with Mariette Wolff and check any act of violence on the part of Mariette against Mme. Steinheil.

"After the two men had gone, I remained about half an hour in the dining-room with Mme. Steinheil. She was then very much depressed. She wept, wrung her hands, and cried: 'My poor mother! How I wished I had died like her!'

"_She said to me: 'What have I been doing? What have I confessed? What is going to happen to me?'_...

"... At a certain moment, she said: 'I am not sure that Alexandre Wolff acted alone, for I heard noises in the hall and on the staircase.... I have only seen him.'...

"Then she added: 'I shan't be able to prove what I have said about Wolff.... I must die....'

"She asked me to kill her. She besought me to give her the means of killing herself, she asked for strychnine and told me that if I had nothing I must go and fetch the doctor, who could surely find something for her.

"I did my best to calm her.

"The Chabriers and I pressed her to go to bed, but she would not. Then we thought of drinking tea. To prevent Mariette from talking to Mme. Steinheil, I told her to pass the tray through one of the hall windows. She did so, but I saw her exchange a long look with Mme. Steinheil. That look lasted about one minute. Mariette muttered: 'What's the matter?' Mme. Steinheil was dumb. Mariette then walked round and entered the dining-room. She threw herself into Mme. Steinheil's arms.... I did not hear them say anything and then Mariette went away....

"Mme. Steinheil told us that she intended calling on the judge in the morning. She was quiet now, and asked M. Chabrier to go and warn her counsel, Maître Aubin, whilst she went to M. Leydet. She spoke in a calm, precise way. At last, she consented to go to bed.

"Afterwards she asked for Mariette. She said, 'I can't go without seeing Mariette; if I did she would guess something.' Mariette came. M. Chabrier and I were in the room, a few yards from the bed.

"The two women spoke in whispers. We could not hear anything. The scene lasted two or three minutes. When I tried to put an end to it, Mariette, who is usually polite to me, exclaimed angrily: 'Leave me alone' (_Foutez-moi la paix_).

"At last Mariette went back to her lodge.

"I tried to make Mme. Steinheil repeat what she had said to Mariette, and after much hesitation she told me she had asked Mariette: 'If they arrest me, and the truth is discovered, what will you do?' and that Mariette had replied: 'I'll deny everything.'

"After a while--Mme. Chabrier was then upstairs, and I was in the dining-room with M. Chabrier--we heard a door being opened on the ground floor, and M. Chabrier saw that 'Champagne'--the dog--was in the garden. We thought that Mariette had gone to warn her son. Mme. Chabrier (who had come down) was exceedingly alarmed, and said that Alexandre Wolff would perhaps come and kill them. M. Chabrier then went upstairs to fetch a revolver. The dog was still in the garden. Following my advice, M. Chabrier went to fill a decanter with water in the kitchen, to see whether Mariette was in her lodge. When he returned, he said she was there.

"Soon afterwards Mariette came to us in the dining-room. At that very moment Mme. Steinheil called to me from her room. I went to her, and she again besought me to kill her, because she would be unable to prove what she had said about Alexandre Wolff. She again asked me to give her strychnine, and to fetch the doctor.

"Meanwhile, Mariette had returned to her lodge. Mme. Chabrier went there, and when she returned she told us: 'I found Mariette with a revolver in her hand, and she said, "That's my last hope."' Mme. Chabrier added that Mariette had declared that she had already tried to commit suicide with the gas-pipe, and that she had let the dog into the garden so that it should not be asphyxiated.... That had happened at about the time when M. Chabrier had gone to fetch the water.

"Mme. Chabrier fetched Mariette. The latter was tottering, and her face was livid.

"Addressing herself to me, Mariette said: 'Tell me what has happened. I prefer anything rather than to be like this in the dark.' We told her that there was nothing the matter, and spoke some kind words to her.

"It was then about 4 A.M.

"At that time, M. Bourse, a colleague of mine on the staff of the _Matin_, arrived.

"He said to M. Chabrier: 'The newspapers are about to appear and render public Mme. Steinheil's confession. The crowd, since yesterday, is very hostile; it is to be feared that the mob may proceed to acts of violence against Mme. Steinheil and those who live in this house. Mme. Steinheil had better leave the place and go to some friends or to a hotel to await the time when she can see M. Leydet.

"M. Chabrier agreed to this but remarked that it would be better to go straight to the _Sûreté_. M. Chabrier told Mme. Steinheil and Mlle. Marthe this, and both accepted the suggestion.

"Mme. Steinheil prepared to start. She was then quite calm, so calm that she gave instructions about the house, said that the dog should be looked after and that the covers should be put on the furniture. Then she handed a hundred franc note to Mme. Chabrier 'for the household.'

"Towards 4.15 A.M. she drove away with her daughter and M. Chabrier. She had kissed every one, even Mariette, and had been continually repeating: 'Courage, have courage' or some similar words.

"M. Bourse and I remained with Mme. Chabrier at her husband's request. Mariette joined us and again questioned us to find out what had happened. I merely replied: 'We have advised Mme. Steinheil to go and spend a few days with some friends of hers, in order to avoid the hostility of the crowd.'"

(Signed) BARBY. SIMON. ANDRÉ.

(_Dossier_ Cote 3282)

Mme. Chabrier, called upon to give evidence before M. André on December 16th, 1908, made statements which were almost the same as those made by M. Barby. Her evidence, however, contained a few additional remarks:

"After the departure of the two journalists, M. Barby remained with us. Mme. Steinheil drank some tea. She walked like an automaton. Her eyes were haggard and gazed into space. I had never seen her in such a state. She did not speak. Marthe and I took her to her room and undressed her.... At 3.30 A.M., M. Bourse of the _Matin_ arrived in an automobile.... My husband and I went and told Mme. Steinheil that she should get up and go.... She said 'yes.' My husband added that he was going to take her to the _Sûreté_ to M. Hamard.... She answered: 'Yes, I will feel safer there than anywhere else.'"....

(_Dossier_ Cote 3251)