During the days that followed my daughter's departure I was kept alive only by the devoted care of Dr. Raffegeau and Dr. Mignon, and by the tender devotion of their wives.
Some one said to me: "Your daughter is a Catholic; the priests have taken her from you." I at once thought of becoming a Catholic myself. My conversion would perhaps mean that my child would return to me. I summoned the Catholic priest of Le Vésinet, and had a long talk with him; but very honestly he told me: "Do not become a Catholic without absolute convictions. As for your daughter, I can only say that no priest has the right to take her away from you."
I had many conversations with my counsel. He and others gave me to understand that I should be happier and safer abroad than in France. Gradually I grew used to the idea of going to England. I had a few friends there. England was a land of liberty and order. Perhaps I should find there the rest my body so much needed, and the peace for which my mind was thirsting....
Maître Aubin introduced M. Jacques Dhur, the well-known writer and journalist, to me—a sincere, forcible, fearless man, and it was agreed that I should write a few brief chapters telling of my long calvary.... The money would be most useful to me. M. Dhur assisted me. The articles were for the Journal, but for some reason they were not published.
At the beginning of December (1909) I was ready to go to England. Dr. Mignon, on account of my very indifferent health, had offered to accompany me to London, where he would place me under the care of a doctor whom he knew. I bade good-bye to Dr. Raffegeau and his wife, then to Mme. Mignon and her charming children, who had all been so admirably devoted to me.
At night—I was to take the 9 P.M. train for Charing Cross—I drove to Paris in a motor-car with M. Dhur and Dr. Mignon. They took me to a fashionable restaurant where we were met by one or two of M. Dhur's colleagues. I was bewildered. ... I had not been in a restaurant for over a year and a half. We sat at a table in a small room decorated with orchids and roses. These friends wished to lessen the feelings of sadness which they knew must hang over one who was about to go into exile.
"In order that the waiters may not guess who you are, and to avoid the restaurant being besieged, we will suppose that you are Mme.—— the air-woman," said one; and gaily they began asking me questions about my impressions in the air, the motor I preferred, the make of my aeroplane propeller.
We went to the Gare du Nord. I was tired, nervous and so sad.... I was about to leave Paris, where I had lived twenty years, Paris, which I loved in spite of all that I had suffered there.... I went to buy a newspaper but saw my name in a large heading, and hurried away. M. Dhur told me: "Be careful; I believe there are two English journalists in the train." A whistle blew; hands grasped mine; the train started, and we went into the night....
On the way, the shrewd English newspaper-men spoke to Dr. Mignon and very politely asked for the privilege of a brief interview with me, and said the journal to which they belonged was ready to pay anything for a series of articles signed by me. Dr. Mignon said he could not allow them to speak to me.
On the Channel boat, I felt more despondent than ever. It was cold, the wind was so keen, and the shores of France were disappearing.