Wistfully, wretchedly, she glanced around the court, after M. de Valles, the presiding judge, had given her permission to sit down. Then her eyes fell upon a grim table placed immediately beneath the Bench: and she shuddered. It was grim because it contained the _pièces à conviction_—the alpenstock found near the late M. Steinheil’s body, the coil of rope with which he and his mother-in-law had been strangled, the famous bottle of brandy with the innumerable finger-prints, the wadding lying on the floor by the side of Madame Japy’s bed. Then, M. de Valles, in his rasping voice, asked the “Tragic Widow” the usual preliminary questions concerning her parentage, domicile and age. Almost inaudibly, Madame Steinheil replied. And the trial began. Unfortunately, I have neither the space nor the time at my disposal to render even a tolerably satisfactory account of this overwhelming _cause célèbre_. “Impressions” are all I can offer, mixed up with brief descriptions of what the French journalist calls “incidents in court”; and even these “impressions” and “incidents” must necessarily be compressed and disconnected. For the slightness of my recital, I beg the indulgence of my readers. “Messieurs les Jurés, I swear I am innocent. Messieurs les Jurés, I adored my mother. Messieurs les Jurés, do not believe the abominable things the President is saying about me,” was the “Tragic Widow’s” first passionate outburst. Then, turning round upon M. de Valles: “You are treating me atrociously.” “I am treating you as you deserve,” was the reply.