A long report of that brief "interview" appeared, of course, in the Matin the next morning. The article was laudatory and almost kind.... The author had probably some conscience left. And the Matin took care to explain that the sensational interview had been brought to them.
Dr. Raffegeau, after this, had to arrange a sham removal. Some one was dressed in my clothes and taken away in an automobile to make the spying journalists believe that I left the house.... And after that I had some peace.
Maître Aubin came frequently, carrying hundreds of letters and telegrams for me from all parts of the world. Several contained the worst possible threats and insults, and many were fantastic offers by music-hall managers—from every part of France and Europe, from the United States and South America! Some writers stated that they had a sketch or a play ready, and asked me to play the part of the heroine (a woman accused of murder, of course!), and others asked me merely to "show" myself for ten minutes on the stage. There were scores of proposals that I should sing, and offers from cinematograph and talking-machine firms. A number of unknown authors asked me to sign their books with my name: it would sell the books at once, and they would let me have a fair proportion of the profits.... And there were dozens of offers of marriage; from the inevitable Russian "prince," the Peruvian mine-owner, and the great Spanish nobleman—poor, but with so many famous ancestors, to the equally inevitable American magnate and the romantic youth—of any country—anxious to devote his life to avenging me....
There were letters of hotel proprietors in various lands explaining the great benefit which my health would derive from a stay in their establishments; price-lists from wine-merchants, patent-medicine makers and travelling agencies who swore that their wines, their drugs or a journey would be my salvation. There were letters from autograph-hunters; letters asking me to allow the writer to give my name to some product he manufactured: a soap, a potato-peeler, a varnish, a patent food, a scent... two letters written in Latin verse, and one in Greek iambics!...
But the overwhelming majority came from persons who had followed my case and expressed their heartfelt sympathy. They were in a dozen different languages, but chiefly in French, English, and German. Of the letters that reached me, I have kept a few score. They include several kind messages signed by groups of officers and non-commissioned officers, by a whole "class" of students, by all the employees of a firm, a bank or a factory: letters from clergymen quoting the Bible, and from priests quoting the "Imitation"; letters from old men and women, and letters from mere children.... A little girl wrote from Manchester: "My parents don't know of this letter, but when I am grown up—in six years—I will come to you and comfort you, and I will play the piano for you, for I have heard that you are fond of music...." From Kansas City, U. S. A., came a long message of congratulations signed by a large number of workmen; a similar one reached me from Rome and another from Moscow. Many letters and telegrams came from people in the Beaucourt district who had known me or my father and mother; and there came many messages like the following, which is dated "Paris, November 14th, 1909": "Madame, we are sitting in a café, the whole family gathered, and we read that you are free. We are only simple people and can only say that we breathe again.... The jury has recognised your innocence, at last. We salute you, Madame, for your pluck, and we feel how terribly you have suffered. We are all so happy for you and your dear daughter! Signed: A family of honest people."
I thank all those friends, far and near. Their messages, French and foreign, no doubt helped me to bear my heavy cross.
Maître Aubin came often to see me and naturally we talked of what was now "the past."... With him I wrote a letter of apology to Mr. Burlingham. I had also many affairs to settle with Maître Jousselin, my devoted solicitor.
The "photographer" who had promised to find my daughter told me that he was on her tracks and would bring her to me. He suggested that a portrait of mine, taken now, would be a happy surprise for Marthe, and begged me to sit for my portrait, at the window, in Mme. Mignon's room....
The next day—I was in bed, by order of Dr. Raffegeau—when I was told, at about 4 P.M. that Marthe was there!
The doctor said: "I would have liked you to see your daughter alone, but M. Chabrier who is with her as well as Mme. Seyrig, has told me and my wife, in a most offensive tone: 'Mlle. Marthe shall see her mother only in my presence, otherwise she will not see her at all.'"