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)