I was asked the most fantastic questions by M. Leydet and M. Grandjean.... But here again I will quote from the dossier the questions and my answers.

I pass over the questions about the gate and the doors of the Impasse Ronsin, the story of the key lost by Couillard, and of the return of the dog he had borrowed, the story of my husband's revolver which Couillard did not hand back to M. Steinheil, and which was found in his apron, and of our delayed departure for Boulogne on account of my mother's ill-health.... These points have already been dealt with. I had nothing to add to my first statements. But here are some new questions, and my replies.

Question. "According to what you told us on the morning after the crime, the criminals appearing suddenly before you, in the middle of the night, in your daughter's room, which you were occupying, took you for your daughter. There is no doubt that you were then in a room which was evidently that of a young girl, and that you were in your daughter's bed, but we cannot conceal from you that the criminals' mistake is open to scepticism."

Answer. "I can only repeat the words that were spoken to me and which implied that mistake. I may add that my face was in repose, that my hair was loose, and merely held by a ribbon of blue satin, and was spread around my head. I wore no jewels, no rings, no wedding-ring. All these were left in the dressing-room—and were stolen. I wore a plain night-dress of pale blue linon. It has frequently happened in society that I was taken for my daughter's elder sister. Believe me, there is no question of coquetry in this. If I tell you all this, it is merely because you ask me to reply to those who are sceptical. I am slender, I lost much weight last winter, about thirty pounds, during my illness—gastro-enteritis. Although the criminals had two dark-lanterns, the scene lasted so short a time that they certainly had not much time to examine me carefully. Everything took place with fantastic rapidity...."

Question. "Whatever the acts of violence you had to suffer that night (blows, gags, and ropes round neck, hands and feet) it may appear possible that the criminals spared your life. This has given rise to various rumours. It seems difficult to admit that the criminals allowed a young lady—or rather the person whom they took for a seventeen-year-old young lady—that is, a most dangerous witness, to survive. Unless the chief of the gang yielded to a feeling of pity, which, by the way, is sometimes met with among hardened criminals, then another explanation must be found. Here is one which has been suggested—and it compels me to ask you a 'delicate' question. Suppose that in a moment of weakness you had relations with a man of doubtful morality, who, at some time might be capable of burglary and 'plunder and violence,' in order to obtain money. Suppose that man entering at night into your house, finding it inhabited contrary to his expectations; suppose that man, suddenly finding himself in your presence and, as far as you are concerned, not daring to go as far as murder, because of 'the past'—would you not have hesitated to denounce him?"

Answer. "I swear to you by all that I hold most sacred, on my poor dead mother and husband, on the head of my little Marthe, that I never had the 'weakness' you refer to in your most painful question. Even though I had been deceived by appearances, I should not hesitate, however painful it might be, to denounce the man."

Question. "The cord—three metres in length—with which your husband was strangled has been compared with and found similar to a ball of cord which was found in a basket in the cupboard of the pantry. Have you any interesting remarks to make on that matter?"

Answer. "All I can say is that the ball you mention was blind-cord and was used for various purposes in the house. Some was used at the time of the exhibition of paintings which took place in the 'winter garden.' I have no recollection of any piece of cord that might have been left somewhere in the rooms."

(Dossier, Cote 79.)

This Cote 79 contained only sixteen foolscap pages, and they represent the gist of an examination which lasted several hours! There were frequent interruptions, when I felt so ill that the woman had to come and give me ether.... Part of the examination was what I can only call conversation. I did my best to call the attention of M. Leydet to M. de Balincourt, to the "mysterious German," to the various men who had come into my husband's life during the weeks immediately preceding the crime.