One of the women explained: "Sister Ange fetches what the prisoner orders at the canteen.... You can ask for bread, for a pennyworth of milk, or two pennyworth of coffee—anything."
"What shall I prepare the coffee in?" I asked.
"They bring it up already prepared, of course!" and my two companions burst into endless and noisy laughter.
"Excuse me, forgive me," I said; "I didn't know...."
The Sister gently explained; "Yes, the coffee is already prepared.... It is not very good, but you can warm it up on the little stove here...."
I gave her some coppers and asked for some coffee and milk.
"Do you want a large or a small jug?" I did not answer. Everything seemed so strange, so abnormal. Sister Ange continued: "I will bring you a small stone bowl—you can eat everything in that—and a spoon.... No, no, forks are not allowed in prison. But you can have a small knife, blunt, of course...."
I asked if I could buy some bread.
"You are entitled to bread, Madame. You will receive half a boule of brown bread every day." When I tried a piece of the prison bread that day, I found two black beetles in it and gave a cry... much to the two women's amusement. They told me that was quite a usual thing.
I duly received the coffee, but it was well-nigh undrinkable. Four months later, after M. André had completed the Instruction (examination of the accused and all the witnesses: M. André replaced M. Leydet as magistrate in charge of my case, for the latter, ill and worn, had asked to be relieved of the painful duty of interrogating a lady whom he had known for many years), I begged to be allowed to prepare my own coffee, for it was almost the only thing I managed to take. Ground coffee was supplied to me, and I made a strainer with two bits of firewood sticks, some wire taken from my hat (during the drives to the Palace of Justice for the Instruction), and a piece from one of my handkerchiefs.