"My poor child," she replied, in her big, gruff voice that sounded just like that of a man, "you must not think of that. They will never leave you by yourself. It is against the rules.... In a fit of despondency you might.... Well, well, don't look so disappointed. I will talk the matter over with the Sister Superior and the Director, and see what can be done."
Sister Léonide walked near me. She was probably old, but had a very young face and rosy cheeks.... We went through the long passages which had frightened me the night before. The place was filthy and dilapidated. It looked worse than ever in the daylight.... Women, we met here and there, stopped to watch me, and they whispered: "That's the Steinheil woman!" My heart beat so fast that it hurt me, and I had a lump in my throat. Oh! The horror, the strain of being here. I thought of Marthe....
At the top of a flight of steps, Sister Léonide said: "Go down. You will come to a door. Knock and a gaoler will open it for you."
The word gaoler made me shudder. I thought: "I am a prisoner... a prisoner! But Couillard and Wolff are in prison too; perhaps they are not guilty, but they know something, and they will have to confess."
The gaoler bluntly asked: "Who are you?"
I remembered my lesson: "I am '61,'" I replied.
The man looked like an old soldier, with his rough, wrinkled, and tanned face, and his martial appearance. "Ah! yes"... he mumbled, "I know, '61.' It is your counsel who has come."
I entered the parlour. What a dreary place, dark and cold.... There was a huge wide table there, with chairs all round it. On one side I saw Maître Aubin, and M. Steinhardt, his secretary. The gaoler pointed out a chair to me, opposite my counsel, and said: "Sit down there."
The two counsel were very pale.
"Ah! why did you not follow my advice!" Aubin began.... "If only you had not written that letter to the Press, if only you had not started the case again!..." Every sentence began with the word "if."