During those days of unspeakable grief and pain, whilst I slowly recovered at the d'Arlons, my daughter was with me with her little friend Marguerite Buisson; and several friends came to see and console me, thank heaven!
The police came constantly. M. Pouce, one of the detectives, especially asked me details about the jewels. A list of the stolen ones had to be made, and I sent Marthe to the Impasse Ronsin to fetch all the jewel-cases and whatever jewelry she could find in the secret recess in the dining-room wall, so as to be able to make out the required list. I had already enumerated the stolen jewels on May 31st, but only approximately, of course.
On June 10th, Mariette came from Bellevue with a number of things which I needed, and she also brought a small box containing the three rings given me by my husband, a diamond crescent, and the "new art" ring. I wanted these jewels to be safe in my keeping, for otherwise Marthe might have found them, and knowing about the rings which I said had been stolen, she would have asked questions which it would have been difficult for me to answer without arousing her suspicions about one side of my past life.
Two days later (June 12th) I sent for M. Souloy, the jeweller whom in the old days I had entrusted with the work of making the talisman. I wanted the rings to be altered, not only, of course, because I wanted to give "new" jewels to my daughter, but chiefly now because having given the list of the jewels without, for reasons I have explained, stating that there were duplicates of them, it was indispensable that the rings just brought from Bellevue should be made unrecognisable.
I did not realise at the time the danger of such a move and the serious consequences it might—and did—entail. I had been told that public opinion was against me; I did not quite understand what it meant. It did not occur to me that people could believe I had strangled my mother and my husband. How could such a monstrous idea have come into my head!... My haunting thought was the love and esteem of my daughter, and, therefore, it was urgent that the jewels should be transformed.
Oh! I know that all the troubles which ensued, that all the complications and accusations about "the jewels" would have been avoided if only I had said on the morning after the crime: "They have stolen my mother's jewels—eleven in number." But no, I spoke the truth, never realising until afterwards how involved and even dangerous matters would become—I had spoken the truth. I said, after seeing the empty cases: "They stole my jewels...." As I have explained, I did not know then that murder had been committed. I thought the men in black gowns and the red-haired woman had only come to steal; and it was no pleasant surprise to find that these had disappeared, besides my mother's eleven jewels, seven jewels of mine including three rings worth at least £60 each, and a splendid diamond crescent worth quite £400.
M. Souloy came. I was ill, so ill that the doctors kept giving me sea-water injections, but there was no time to lose. I handed M. Souloy the jewels that Mariette had brought from Bellevue, and instructed him to use the stones to make some rings for my daughter.
"I will, Madame," said M. Souloy. "Only, you understand that the alterations will be shown in my books."
"Why, of course," I replied. "When I am better, I intend going to my villa at Bellevue, and when the jewels are in their new form and ready, you can send them to me there."
I talked frequently with those around me about the mysterious tragedy. Some suggested that M. de Balincourt might possibly know who the culprits were; others told me that my valet probably knew a great deal more than I thought about the fatal night. I heard all kinds of arguments.... But I merely said: "If you have any proofs, if you are convinced of this one's or that one's participation in the crime, go and say so to the police...." Would that I had always been so circumspect!