M. de Valles spoke about my reticences, and my many contradictory statements, and from a report of the trial I find that I replied: "For hours at the time there were journalists near me, who declared that I was lost unless I gave up 'my old system of defence' and 'made fresh statements.' Everybody made different suggestions to me; I ceased to be a woman and became almost a maniac. But would any woman in my circumstances have done otherwise? I swear upon the head of my own daughter, that my first statement about the three men in black gowns, and the red-haired woman, is the truth."

"Come back to the point," said the judge. "You talk about too many things at the same time. Be methodical in your replies."

"Methodical!... How can I speak as you would have me speak? At first I thought I was accused of having lied, but for months I have known I was accused of having murdered both my husband, whom I respected, and my mother, whom I loved. And before such an accusation, you quietly ask me to be methodical. I say things as they come to my mind. I speak with my very heart, and there can be no question of my method!"...

Then I was interrogated about my "intrigues." The final questions of the Judge at that first hearing referred to the last days of May 1908, and it was clear that he wished to form his own opinion about the suggestion that I had enticed my mother to stay at my house—in order to kill her as well as my husband....

My examination by the Judge took up the first three days of my trial. Each hearing started at about noon, and ended between 5.30 and 6 P.M. I may here state the essential points of the French procedure in such cases.

After the reading of the Indictment by the Clerk of the Court, the President interrogates the prisoner. After that, he examines the various witnesses, who are then cross-examined by the Advocate-General, or Public Prosecutor, and by the Counsel for the Defence, both however, being only allowed to ask questions of the witnesses through the President. After the witnesses have been examined and cross-examined (this cross-examination being, as a rule, very brief), the Advocate-General makes his speech, in which he asks generally for the maximum punishment. Then the Counsel for the Defence speaks, at length, and afterwards the Judge asks the prisoner if he, or she, has any statement to make. He then tells the jury the question to which they are requested to reply, and without any summing up by the Judge (or résumé, as it used to be called in France, when it was part of the proceedings, until suppressed because it was found to be seldom impartial!) the jury retire and deliberate. When the foreman returns, followed by the eleven jurors, he stands up and renders the verdict "before God and before men," and the Judge, after rapidly consulting with his two colleagues, orders the prisoner to be brought in, and pronounces sentence.

At the second hearing—on Thursday, November 4th, 1909—M. de Valles dealt with the night of May 30th-31st, 1908. I repeated publicly the statements I had made to M. Bouchotte, the Police-commissary, and to Judge Leydet, a few hours after the crime; and to Judge André, eight months later. M. de Valles, however, instead of raising objections, instead of dismissing my "story" of the crime as a fable, and describing the men in dark gowns as "black ghosts," was satisfied with questioning me about certain reticences and contradictions of mine, and firmly, yet fairly, endeavoured to throw as much light as possible on the baffling mystery.

Still, the occasion was so intensely dramatic, there was such a terrible keenness in the jurors' eyes, such bitter scorn on M. Trouard-Riolle's lips, such strong emotions swayed the whole court, and such an ominous hush fell over the vast hall where so many people had been tried for their lives and sentenced to death, year after year, that cold perspiration streamed from my forehead as I spoke, as I shouted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as I cried out that I was innocent.... I lived through the fatal night once more, and all the time I saw my darling Marthe before me, standing in the centre of the well, waiting for me, confidently waiting to see her mother rehabilitated, acquitted, free.... The effort was superhuman and poignant... and when I had finished speaking, explaining, struggling, I sank on to my bench, and the two guards at my side rose and whispered: "The sitting is adjourned; come outside, and rest, Madame." I could hardly tear my hands from the wooden partition of the dock on which they were fiercely clutched....

Doctor Socquet came to my assistance in the guards' room, where I had been taken, and half an hour later a bell rang. I returned to the Court, and the duel began once more. It had lasted only a short while, when suddenly a letter was brought in to my counsel, who, after perusing it, handed it to the President.

M. de Valles read the letter aloud: "To Maître Aubin: As I can no longer bear the weight of my crime, I have come to declare to you that I was an accomplice in the murder of M. Steinheil. It was I who played the part of the red-haired woman. I have the wig with me.—Jean Lefèvre."