M. André's first move was a dramatic one, and one which he evidently thought would crush me outright. He handed me a letter—written by myself to my husband, in a rather angry tone—and asked impressively: "Was this written by you?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"To whom was this letter addressed?"
"To my husband."
"At what date?"
"I don't remember!..." I then explained that M. Steinheil and I always wrote to each other when we did not agree on some point, 'so as to avoid discussions and scenes....' And M. André thus led me to state that my husband and I were not on the best of terms, and that I did not love him.
I meant, of course, that there was no question of passion between us; but the sentence was written... "I did not love my husband," and these words became one of the greatest arguments against me, one of the proofs of my guilt.... You did not love your husband, therefore you killed him!
Having achieved this momentous victory, M. André proceeded, in the most aggressive tone, to interrogate me about my "friends," but took good care not to question me about the Attorney-General or President Faure. And as Maître Aubin made signs to remind me of his warnings, I did not mention them.
After that, the examining magistrate put to me endless questions about my jewels.... I have explained at length all about them to the reader, and need not go into the matter again. Nor need I reproduce here the whole of the Instruction. Several parts of it have already been quoted, and I intend quoting the last episode of this atrocious martyrdom in full.
From time to time M. André ceased questioning me, and tried by little dramatic interludes to throw me off my balance.