An automobile stopped near the house. My younger sister and my brother entered the room.
"My daughter?"
"Courage. She will come... but we cannot find her; we don't know where she is. Chabrier is not at the Impasse Ronsin either... the house is shut up...."
I rose and said: "Then, I will find her. I start at once!" They compelled me to sit down: "You cannot go out, you are too weak and you will be followed; you will come to grief...."
I read in their faces what they meant. In spite of my acquittal, people still hated me.—I heard afterwards that whilst the verdict was greeted with shouts of triumph in the Court, where people had learned to know me and had realised my innocence, the crowd outside the Palace of Justice, when they heard of my acquittal, grew angry and shouted "Death!" and "Guillotine!"—and I understood that the absence of my daughter at the close of the trial, the fact that she had not joined her mother, was interpreted as a sign of my guilt. "If Mme. Steinheil were really innocent, her daughter would have rushed into her arms. Instead of that, Marthe avoids her mother, therefore that mother is a criminal!"... How many times I have heard that terrible piece of "logic"!
I beseeched my brother and my sister to find Marthe, and they promised to help me. Then, the "photographer" and his wife said they would search for Marthe and bring her to me....
The Press succeeded in discovering my retreat, and on the Sunday evening Dr. Raffegeau said to me: "I'll take you, in a roundabout way, through the park, to my house, and from there we'll go to the house of my colleague."
I dined at the house of the Mignons with their three charming and beautiful children, a boy of about ten, a girl of nine or eight, and an adorable little girl of three, who all began calling me "auntie," and were all so caressing and affectionate that I forgot my sorrow a little.
The next day Maître Aubin came with a large bag full of letters and telegrams for me, and he, too, promised to find my daughter. Drs. Raffegeau and Mignon nursed me with great devotion. Mme. Seyrig returned to say that Marthe had no doubt gone to the country, and that it was impossible to trace her. It suddenly occurred to me that she had probably been taken to Nogent-sur-Seine, near Troyes, to the country seat of the B's. (The latter are not "members of the family," but are considered as such. A son of M. B. married a daughter of one of M. Steinheil's sisters.)
I was ill, in bed, wringing my hands in despair, for I had thought that after my acquittal all would be bright and happy, and I now found out my sad mistake—when Dr. Raffegeau came in with Mme. Mignon, who said: "A lady, your elder sister, has just arrived. She wants to see you. She is in tears, and keeps repeating: 'My poor Meg! How I long to be with her! How she must suffer!'... She is in full mourning, and says she comes from Beaucourt, where she prayed on her—and your—mother's tomb. She has beseeched me to speak to you; she must see you.... What am I to do?"...