I remember the judge telling me: "You don't mention Couillard. It looks as if you were protecting him...." And I replied: "Some tell me Couillard 'must know something,' others assert that he is absolutely innocent... I have nothing to say. Let the law make investigations, discover the truth and arrest the murderers...."
I was greatly surprised when Couillard was sent for. I admit the anonymous letters had had some influence on me, and that I had certain suspicions against Couillard, but of late they had vanished. I thought only of the "clue of clues," of the man whose photographs had been shown me (Mr. Burlingham).
When I returned to Bellevue it was very late. Couillard had left for Boulogne. He returned at 1.30 A.M.
During the following days the detectives came just as often as before. They did not seem, however, to make much progress in the "case."
Mariette was still with me, and was as devoted as ever, to say the least. Her son, Alexandre, a horse-dealer, whom I had known when he was a mere lad, came twice to Bellevue. He was better dressed than usual and seemed to roll in money. I mention the two details because they were also mentioned in the anonymous letters I received, and because, five months later, and in circumstances which I will fully describe, I accused Alexandre Wolff.
As for Couillard, I no longer required his services now that my life was so completely changed, and I sent him to a motor-car garage to learn to be a chauffeur.
M. Souloy brought me the altered jewels. I gave one of the "new" rings (sapphire and diamonds) to Marthe, and kept the others.
The Inspector continued his assurances that they would soon arrest the murderers. They had fresh clues, they were on the right track.... All would soon be well.... But nothing happened, and I hoped and waited in vain....
Towards the end of July I felt a little stronger and could walk about. I asked a doctor to allow me to go to Normandy with Marthe. He said a change would do me much good. I left Bellevue and went to stay at Louvières (Calvados) with some friends who ran their own farm. Their daughter was an intimate friend of Marthe, who was, of course, with me. For a whole month we led the simple life. There were no detectives around me. I avoided reading the newspapers. The country people, who knew who I was, were kind and sympathetic, and Marthe and I breathed again. It was as if we were at last allowed to live, to be like all other human beings, and we blessed those good friends who had invited us to spend a few weeks with them in happy and beautiful Normandy.
After a time, however, when the meadows seemed less green, the sky less blue and the air less exhilarating than during the first days after our arrival at Louvières, the nightmare once more beset me.... Once more I thought of the night of terror, of the murderers... who were at large. I wanted to avenge the dead, and I wanted to put an end once and for all to all the dreadful suspicions against me which had sprung up everywhere because... the murderers had spared me. My unpardonable sin was to be alive! If I was not a murderess, why did I not prove it?... That is what I had heard, and read, alas!...