In spite of all I had said and done, in spite of all facts which proved my innocence—that innocence which the jury were to realise and proclaim eight months later—M. André, who had thought me guilty from the first, refused to alter his opinion, and coolly and with a faint smile of self-satisfaction, declared to me that I was accused of having murdered my husband and my mother!

M. Simon had tears in his eyes. My counsel stood near me fearing that I should faint. I made a superhuman effort and rose.

I signed my name at the foot of the last page of that terrible Instruction; I handed the pen to M. Simon, and then M. André signed. As I passed out before him, on my way back to the Dépôt, and thence to Saint-Lazare, the Judge, against whom I had fought for my life for so many days, quietly said to me: "Au revoir, Madame." He lighted a cigarette and jauntily left the room, greatly satisfied with himself.

A judge, he apparently did not know that "good faith is the foundation of Justice."

He had achieved a great piece of work. Although there existed no proofs of my guilt whatever, he had succeeded—or so he thought—in building up out of flimsy fragments of circumstantial evidence, out of vague assertions and vague assumptions, out of childish contradictions, and above all, out of his own preconceptions, a solid, impregnable charge of double murder against an unhappy, defenceless, nerve-wracked and innocent woman.

Decidedly, he felt, life was a grand thing, the Instruction a sublime institution and an examining magistrate a saviour of society.... And M. André was sure of promotion now!

Like so many judges I have known—and my address-book alone, which was seized at the time of my arrest but has never been returned to me in spite of many applications for it, could supply the number of all the magistrates who eagerly attended my receptions and told me anecdotes about their careers and their work!—M. André suffered from that illness which Brieux, in "La Robe Rouge" (the Red Robe), has aptly called, "the fever of promotion, which turns so many honest men into bad Judges."

M. André was promoted.

CHAPTER XXVII
THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE DAYS IN
PRISON

FROM A PRISON
The sky is o'er the wall's grey height
So blue, so clean;
A tree, above the wall's grey height,
Waves boughs of green;
From out the blue that greets my sight,
A faint bell rings;
Upon the tree that greets my sight,
A sweet bird sings.
O God! O God! dear life is there
Tranquil and sweet,
That peaceful soothing murmur there
Comes from the street.
What hast thou done in thy despair
Weeping apart,
What hast thou done in thy despair
With thy young heart?
"D'une Prison," Verlaine; translated
by Touchstone.