I accepted, of course, and one clear night I experienced the unique joy of watching a star through a powerful telescope. With a feeling of rapture and enchantment that was wholly new to me, I saw the star scintillate, change colour, and shine forth in all the exquisite hues of the rainbow.... And thoughts of the Infinite whirled through my dazzled brain.... I would go to clutch that star, I longed to grasp it; I wanted to know, to understand, the meaning of space and matter, of Eternity and the Infinite—and of Life.... And on my way home, as I looked up towards the star-studded sky, I was thrilled as I had never been before, and forgetting what the old savant had told me about the endless and intricate calculations which are the chief occupations of the star-gazer ("a living algebraical machine") I felt that the astronomer, who constantly watches mysterious and unconceivably distant worlds in the depths of space, is devoting his life to the grandest, the most sublime and lofty science of all. And I thought of my father, who so often, at Beaucourt, had talked to me about the stars, the moon-world, the comets, the milky way.... And I recalled those words of Kant, which he more than once quoted to me: "There are two things which ever fill me with new and growing admiration: the moral law within me, and the starry heavens above me."
CHAPTER XI
EVENTS THAT PRECEDED THE CRIME
AT the beginning of the year 1908, my little Marthe became engaged to young Pierre Buisson, son of an intimate friend of mine. Shortly afterwards she renounced the Protestant faith and joined the Catholic Church. This suited her somewhat mystical nature. She loved the immensity of cathedrals, the light through stained-glass windows, the beautiful services, the incense and the little bells, the plain-chant and the vestments of the priests. She loved to be guided; she shirked responsibilities; she liked to be able to enter "her" church at any time of the day and any day. She thought it was "restful" to be a Catholic. Perhaps religion to her was more a matter of sensations and feelings than of the mind; perhaps more a question of art, poesy and comforting illusion than of thought. Dogma was nothing to her; atmosphere a great deal.... She thought she could pray better in the semi-darkness and immensity of an ancient cathedral than within the plain white walls of a small Protestant temple. She prayed for the man she loved, and he was a Catholic....
I neither opposed nor encouraged this change of religion. Marthe was seventeen, extremely "wise" for her age and never acted rashly. I did not question whether she was right or wrong; I merely asked her carefully to examine her heart and search her conscience, and when later she told me: "Mother, I feel I shall be happier if I become a Catholic," I raised no further objection.
In March 1908—about two months before the tragedy, I all but fainted one afternoon in the "Metropolitan" (the Paris Underground). I had not quite recovered from a dangerous illness, and this had been my first outing. I must have looked very pale and ill, for several persons rushed to my assistance. A gentleman kindly helped me up the staircase leading to the street and offered to accompany me as far as my house, which was only a short distance away. I gladly accepted. The fresh air did me much good. As we neared the Impasse Ronsin he asked: "Do you happen to know M. Steinheil the painter? He lives somewhere near here."
"I am Mme. Steinheil," I replied.
The gentleman asked permission to call and inquire after my health. He handed me his card and I read "Comte de Balincourt."
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Before relating all I have to say about M. de Balincourt, I wish to state that I have no intention whatever of accusing him of any complicity.
I shall merely describe the part he played in the lives of my husband and myself a few weeks before the crime, and why my suspicions against him were aroused then; and again when, in prison, I found in the Dossier of my case a number of documents concerning M. de Balincourt's life, I did not speak of my suspicions except to my counsel and two or three persons who visited me when I was a prisoner at Saint-Lazare.