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Java™ How to Program
Early Objects
ELEVENTH EDITION

Paul Deitel

Deitel & Associates, Inc.

Harvey Deitel

Deitel & Associates, Inc.

330 Hudson Street, NY, NY, 10013

Trademarks
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trademarks of Deitel and Associates, Inc.

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Contents
The online chapters and appendices listed at the end of this
Table of Contents are located on the book’s Companion
Website (http://www.pearsonhighered.com/
deitel/)—see the inside front cover of your book for
details.

1. Foreword xxv

2. Preface xxvii

3. Before You Begin xlvii

1. 1 Introduction to Computers, the Internet and Java 1

1. 1.1 Introduction 2

2. 1.2 Hardware and Software 4

1. 1.2.1 Moore’s Law 4

2. 1.2.2 Computer Organization 5

3. 1.3 Data Hierarchy 7

4. 1.4 Machine Languages, Assembly Languages and High-Level

Languages 9

5. 1.5 Introduction to Object Technology 10

1. 1.5.1 Automobile as an Object 11

2. 1.5.2 Methods and Classes 11

3. 1.5.3 Instantiation 11
 4. 1.5.4 Reuse 11

5. 1.5.5 Messages and Methopd Calls 12

6. 1.5.6 Attributes and Instance Variables 12

7. 1.5.7 Encapsulation and Information Hiding 12

8. 1.5.8 Inheritance 12

9. 1.5.9 Interfaces 13

10. 1.5.10 Object-Oriented Analysis and Design (OOAD)

13

11. 1.5.11 The UML (Unified Modeling Language) 13

6. 1.6 Operating Systems 14

1. 1.6.1 Windows—A Proprietary Operating System 14

2. 1.6.2 Linux—An Open-Source Operating System 14

®
3. 1.6.3 Apple’s macOS and Apple’s iOS for iPhone ,
® ®
iPad and iPod Touch Devices 15

4. 1.6.4 Google’s Android 15

7. 1.7 Programming Languages 16

8. 1.8 Java 18

9. 1.9 A Typical Java Development Environment 19

10. 1.10 Test-Driving a Java Application 22

11. 1.11 Internet and World Wide Web 26

1. 1.11.1 Internet: A Network of Networks 27

2. 1.11.2 World Wide Web: Making the Internet User-

Friendly 27

3. 1.11.3 Web Services and Mashups 27

4. 1.11.4 Internet of Things 28

12. 1.12 Software Technologies 29

 13. 1.13 Getting Your Questions Answered 31

2. 2 Introduction to Java Applications; Input/Output and Operators 35

1. 2.1 Introduction 36

2. 2.2 Your First Program in Java: Printing a Line of Text 36

1. 2.2.1 Compiling the Application 40

2. 2.2.2 Executing the Application 41

3. 2.3 Modifying Your First Java Program 42

4. 2.4 Displaying Text with printf 44

5. 2.5 Another Application: Adding Integers 45

1. 2.5.1 import Declarations 46

2. 2.5.2 Declaring and Creating a Scanner to Obtain

User Input from the Keyboard 46

3. 2.5.3 Prompting the User for Input 47

4. 2.5.4 Declaring a Variable to Store an Integer and

Obtaining an Integer from the Keyboard 47

5. 2.5.5 Obtaining a Second Integer 48

6. 2.5.6 Using Variables in a Calculation 48

7. 2.5.7 Displaying the Calculation Result 48

8. 2.5.8 Java API Documentation 49

9. 2.5.9 Declaring and Initializing Variables in Separate

Statements 49

6. 2.6 Memory Concepts 49

7. 2.7 Arithmetic 50

8. 2.8 Decision Making: Equality and Relational Operators 54

9. 2.9 Wrap-Up 57
3. 3 Introduction to Classes, Objects, Methods and Strings 68

1. 3.1 Introduction 69

2. 3.2 Instance Variables, set Methods and get Methods 70

1. 3.2.1 Account Class with an Instance Variable, and set

and get Methods 70

2. 3.2.2 AccountTest Class That Creates and Uses an

Object of Class Account 73

3. 3.2.3 Compiling and Executing an App with Multiple

Classes 76

4. 3.2.4 Account UML Class Diagram 76

5. 3.2.5 Additional Notes on Class AccountTest 78

6. 3.2.6 Software Engineering with private Instance

Variables and public set and get Methods 78

3. 3.3 Account Class: Initializing Objects with Constructors 79

1. 3.3.1 Declaring an Account Constructor for Custom

Object Initialization 80

2. 3.3.2 Class AccountTest: Initializing Account

Objects When They’re Created 81

4. 3.4 Account Class with a Balance; Floating-Point Numbers 82

1. 3.4.1 Account Class with a balance Instance

Variable of Type double 83

2. 3.4.2 AccountTest Class to Use Class Account 85

5. 3.5 Primitive Types vs. Reference Types 88

6. 3.6 (Optional) GUI and Graphics Case Study: A Simple GUI 88

1. 3.6.1 What Is a Graphical User Interface? 90

 2. 3.6.2 JavaFX Scene Builder and FXML 90

3. 3.6.3 Welcome App—Displaying Text and an Image 90

4. 3.6.4 Opening Scene Builder and Creating the File

Welcome.fxml 90

5. 3.6.5 Adding an Image to the Folder Containing

Welcome.fxml 92

6. 3.6.6 Creating a VBox Layout Container 92

7. 3.6.7 Configuring the VBox 92

8. 3.6.8 Adding and Configuring a Label 92

9. 3.6.9 Adding and Configuring an ImageView 94

10. 3.6.10 Previewing the Welcome GUI 95

7. 3.7 Wrap-Up 96

4. 4 Control Statements: Part 1; Assignment, ++ and -- Operators 104

1. 4.1 Introduction 105

2. 4.2 Algorithms 105

3. 4.3 Pseudocode 106

4. 4.4 Control Structures 106

1. 4.4.1 Sequence Structure in Java 107

2. 4.4.2 Selection Statements in Java 108

3. 4.4.3 Iteration Statements in Java 108

4. 4.4.4 Summary of Control Statements in Java 108

5. 4.5 if Single-Selection Statement 109

6. 4.6 if…else Double-Selection Statement 110

1. 4.6.1 Nested if…else Statements 111

2. 4.6.2 Dangling-else Problem 112

 3. 4.6.3 Blocks 112

4. 4.6.4 Conditional Operator (?:) 113

7. 4.7 Student Class: Nested if…else Statements 113

8. 4.8 while Iteration Statement 116

9. 4.9 Formulating Algorithms: Counter-Controlled Iteration 118

10. 4.10 Formulating Algorithms: Sentinel-Controlled Iteration 122

11. 4.11 Formulating Algorithms: Nested Control Statements 129

12. 4.12 Compound Assignment Operators 133

13. 4.13 Increment and Decrement Operators 134

14. 4.14 Primitive Types 137

15. 4.15 (Optional) GUI and Graphics Case Study: Event Handling;
Drawing Lines 138

1. 4.15.1 Test-Driving the Completed Draw Lines App

138

2. 4.15.2 Building the App’s GUI 139

3. 4.15.3 Preparing to Interact with the GUI

Programmatically 143

4. 4.15.4 Class DrawLinesController 145

5. 4.15.5 Class DrawLines—The Main Application

Class 147

16. 4.16 Wrap-Up 149

5. 5 Control Statements: Part 2; Logical Operators 164

1. 5.1 Introduction 165

2. 5.2 Essentials of Counter-Controlled Iteration 165

3. 5.3 for Iteration Statement 166

4. 5.4 Examples Using the for Statement 170

 1. 5.4.1 Application: Summing the Even Integers from 2 to
20 171

2. 5.4.2 Application: Compound-Interest Calculations 172

5. 5.5 do…while Iteration Statement 175

6. 5.6 switch Multiple-Selection Statement 176

7. 5.7 Class AutoPolicy Case Study: Strings in switch

Statements 182

8. 5.8 break and continue Statements 185

1. 5.8.1 break Statement 185

2. 5.8.2 continue Statement 186

9. 5.9 Logical Operators 187

1. 5.9.1 Conditional AND (&&) Operator 187

2. 5.9.2 Conditional OR (||) Operator 188

3. 5.9.3 Short-Circuit Evaluation of Complex Conditions

189

4. 5.9.4 Boolean Logical AND (&) and Boolean Logical

Inclusive OR (|) Operators 189

5. 5.9.5 Boolean Logical Exclusive OR (^) 190

6. 5.9.6 Logical Negation (!) Operator 190

7. 5.9.7 Logical Operators Example 191

10. 5.10 Structured-Programming Summary 193

11. 5.11 (Optional) GUI and Graphics Case Study: Drawing

Rectangles and Ovals 198

12. 5.12 Wrap-Up 201

6. 6 Methods: A Deeper Look 212

 1. 6.1 Introduction 213

2. 6.2 Program Units in Java 213

3. 6.3 static Methods, static Fields and Class Math 215

4. 6.4 Methods with Multiple Parameters 217

5. 6.5 Notes on Declaring and Using Methods 221

6. 6.6 Method-Call Stack and Activation Records 222

1. 6.6.1 Method-Call Stack 222

2. 6.6.2 Stack Frames 222

3. 6.6.3 Local Variables and Stack Frames 222

4. 6.6.4 Stack Overflow 223

7. 6.7 Argument Promotion and Casting 223

8. 6.8 Java API Packages 224

9. 6.9 Case Study: Secure Random-Number Generation 226

10. 6.10 Case Study: A Game of Chance; Introducing enum Types

231

11. 6.11 Scope of Declarations 236

12. 6.12 Method Overloading 238

1. 6.12.1 Declaring Overloaded Methods 238

2. 6.12.2 Distinguishing Between Overloaded Methods

239

3. 6.12.3 Return Types of Overloaded Methods 240

13. 6.13 (Optional) GUI and Graphics Case Study: Colors and Filled
Shapes 240

14. 6.14 Wrap-Up 243

7. 7 Arrays and ArrayLists 257

 1. 7.1 Introduction 258

2. 7.2 Arrays 259

3. 7.3 Declaring and Creating Arrays 260

4. 7.4 Examples Using Arrays 262

1. 7.4.1 Creating and Initializing an Array 262

2. 7.4.2 Using an Array Initializer 263

3. 7.4.3 Calculating the Values to Store in an Array 264

4. 7.4.4 Summing the Elements of an Array 265

5. 7.4.5 Using Bar Charts to Display Array Data

Graphically 265

6. 7.4.6 Using the Elements of an Array as Counters 267

7. 7.4.7 Using Arrays to Analyze Survey Results 268

5. 7.5 Exception Handling: Processing the Incorrect Response 270

1. 7.5.1 The try Statement 270

2. 7.5.2 Executing the catch Block 270

3. 7.5.3 toString Method of the Exception Parameter

271

6. 7.6 Case Study: Card Shuffling and Dealing Simulation 271

7. 7.7 Enhanced for Statement 276

8. 7.8 Passing Arrays to Methods 277

9. 7.9 Pass-By-Value vs. Pass-By-Reference 279

10. 7.10 Case Study: Class GradeBook Using an Array to Store

Grades 280

11. 7.11 Multidimensional Arrays 285

1. 7.11.1 Arrays of One-Dimensional Arrays 286

2. 7.11.2 Two-Dimensional Arrays with Rows of Different

 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 As quick as lightning, upon comprehending the meaning of the
words, Marie drew a poniard from its sheath at the side of one of
the guards, and endeavoured to plunge it into her breast. But her
hand was arrested by another of the party, and the weapon wrested
from her. Baffled in this intention, and in an agony of powerless
rage, she endeavoured to speak, but her mouth refused utterance to
the words, and with a terrible cry she fell senseless upon the
ground.
Confiding her to the care of one of his men, and ordering the
others to keep guard without, Desgrais now returned to the convent
in search of further evidence, furnished with proper authority to
bring away whatever he could find. But Marie had little with her. A
small case of letters and papers was, however, discovered under her
pillow, and of this Desgrais immediately took possession. It
contained most important evidence against her—no less than a
confession of the past actions of her life.
In the meantime Marie gradually recovered; but it was some time
before she came completely to herself, from a succession of fainting-
fits supervening one upon another as the least degree of
consciousness returned, and the dreadful reality of her position
broke in upon her. The rough soldier with whom she had been left,
unused to guard such prisoners, and somewhat struck with her
beauty and evidently superior position in life, had been in great
confusion of ideas as to what he ought to do, and had at last called
one of the females attached to the establishment to the aid of the
Marchioness. By some of those trifling remedies which women only
appear to have at command for their own sex, in the like
emergencies, Marie was gradually brought round, and then the
female departed, and she was left alone with her guard—pale and
trembling, resembling a corpse, but for the still bright eye, and the
convulsive quivering of every nerve in her delicate frame. She
uttered not a syllable, but remained in a corner of the room, on a
rude settle to which she had been carried by the soldiers; and the
sentinel’s heavy tread, as he paced backwards and forwards before
the door of the apartment, was the only sound that broke the dreary
stillness.
 In less than an hour Desgrais returned. He came accompanied by
a voiture de poste, having directly after the capture of his prisoner
ordered it to be in waiting, as well as despatched a courier with
commands to have everything in readiness along the road for fresh
relays. He now entered the room, and requested Marie to
accompany him into the carriage.
‘You have played a sorry part, monsieur, in this drama,’ she said to
him, ‘and you have triumphed: do not think I am stooping to you if I
make one request: could you see how deeply I feel myself to be
degraded in asking this favour, you—even you—might pity me and
grant it. You have played with the name of a person this evening,
and won your stake off it. Will you allow me to write to him?’
‘Provided I see the letter, and you can write it in ten minutes,’
replied Desgrais. ‘We must reach Dinant to supper, where also you
will rest the night.’
‘Half that time will be sufficient,’ said Marie. ‘Give me the means,
and for a few minutes leave me to myself.’
Desgrais produced his tablets, and tearing a few blank leaves from
them gave them to the Marchioness, as well as a style he carried;
then placing the sentinel again before the door, he withdrew.
As soon as he was gone Marie traced a few words upon the paper,
and then spoke to the guard.
‘What is your name?’ she asked in a low, hurried tone.
‘Antoine Barbier,’ replied the man gruffly, ‘archer in his Majesty’s
service.’
And he continued his march. In less than a minute she again
addressed him.
‘See!’ she exclaimed, taking a massive jewelled ornament from her
hair. ‘The sale of this will provide you with good cheer for many a
long day, and I will give it to you if you will forward this letter for me
to its address. There is nothing in this against your orders. See,’ she
continued, adding the address. ‘“M. Camille Theria, à Liége;” he is
an apothecary in the town. Will you do this for me?’
‘Give it to me,’ said the man. ‘I will find some one when I am
relieved who will pay attention to it.’
‘Take the wages, then, at the same time,’ added Marie.
 ‘No,’ replied the archer, as he put the proffered gift on one side. ‘I
do not want payment for this.’
In a minute or two Desgrais came back to know if the letter was
concluded, as the carriage was ready to start. Marie shrunk from him
when he entered as though he had been a serpent—her horror of
the exempt was not feigned.
‘I cannot write, monsieur,’ she said. ‘I am at your service. Allons!’
She put away the arm of the officer as he held it forward for her
to take, and passed into the passage, which was lined with the
archers. As she passed the sentinel who had kept guard over her in
the inn, she whispered to him ‘Remember,’ and then entered the
carriage without another word, throwing herself into a corner and
muffling her face in her cloak.
Desgrais was about to follow, when Barbier slipped the note into
his hand. He read—

‘My dear Theria—I have been taken by Desgrais, and am on

my road to Paris: save me at all hazards.
‘Marie.’

‘Lose not an instant,’ cried the exempt, as he entered the carriage.

‘On—on with your horses as fast as whip and spur can urge them!’
 CHAPTER XXXV.
NEWS FOR LOUISE GAUTHIER AND BENOIT

The outcry raised against Louise Gauthier as she left the ghastly
scene in the Carrefour du Châtelet had for the moment well-nigh
deprived her of her senses. She saw the man who had accused her
of being an empoisonneuse and an accomplice of Madame de
Brinvilliers, thrown down by one of the crowd, and fearful that a
desperate riot was about to commence, she seized the opportunity
which the confusion afforded, and broke through the ring of the
infuriated people who had surrounded her, whilst their attention was
diverted. But the person who had come to her assistance followed
her; and when a turn in the street gave them an opportunity of
escaping from the resistless current of the mob, she discovered that
it was a well-looking young man to whom she had been indebted for
her safety.
‘Pardon me, mademoiselle,’ exclaimed the student—for such by his
dress he appeared to be—raising his cap, ‘for introducing myself to
you thus hurriedly. Is your name Louise Gauthier?’
‘It is, monsieur,’ replied the Languedocian timidly.
‘And mine is Philippe Glazer,’ said the other. ‘Now we know one
another. I was sent to look after you by Benoit Mousel, who is at
home by this time. They lost you in the Rue des Lombards.’
‘How can I thank you for your interference?’ said Louise.
‘Thank our Lady rather, for the lucky chance that brought me to
you at such a moment. I despaired of seeing you in such a vast
mob, although Benoit has described you pretty closely. But come, we
will find our way to the quay.’
‘You know Benoit Mousel, then?’ said Louise, as they moved on
together.
‘Passably well, mademoiselle. I had him under my care for a while,
after he had been somewhat unceremoniously pitched out of a
window at the Hôtel de Cluny, during one of the merrymakings that
M. de Lauzun is accustomed to hold there whenever he is not in the
Bastille.’
Louise Gauthier recollected the evening too well, and shuddered
as she recalled to mind its events. She did not speak again, but
keeping close to Philippe’s side, as if she feared a fresh attack from
the people about, kept on her way in silence towards the water-side.
They descended to one of the landing-places at the foot of the
Pont Notre Dame, and found the boat lying there, into which the
student assisted his companion, and then, with a few strokes of his
powerful arm, reached the boat-mill. There was a light in the
chamber, and the instant they touched the lighter Benoit and his
wife appeared with a flambeau, and broke forth into exclamations of
joy at the return of Louise.
In two minutes more the party were assembled in the room, to
which the reader has been already introduced. Bathilde bustled
about, with her usual good-tempered activity, to place the repast on
the table; and when all this was settled, she opened the door of the
stove, to let its warm light stream out over the room; and they then
took their places.
‘I need not make a secret of my mission, mademoiselle,’ said
Philippe, when they were seated; ‘for I presume there is nothing you
would wish to conceal from our friends.’
‘Because if there is, you know, Louise,’ said Benoit in continuation,
‘Bathilde and I will——’
‘Pray stop, mon ami,’ interrupted Louise; ‘what can I wish to keep
from you—you, who know everything, and have been so kind to me?
Well, monsieur?’ she added, looking anxiously at Philippe.
‘You know this writing,’ observed Philippe, as he handed her a
small packet sealed, and bearing an address.
Louise tremblingly took the parcel and looked at the
superscription. As she recognised it, she uttered a low cry of
astonishment.
‘It is indeed his,’ she exclaimed, as she bowed her head down, and
allowed the parcel to drop in her lap. The next minute her tears
were falling quickly after one another upon it.
 Bathilde took her hand kindly and pressed it as they watched her
grief in silence, which Philippe Glazer was the first to break.
‘I found that in Monsieur de Sainte-Croix’s escritoire,’ he said; ‘one
of the few things that Desgrais did not seize upon. I told him it was
mine, for I saw what they had discovered made mischief enough,
and I did not care to have it extended. It was only to-night I
discovered by chance that you were with Benoit and his wife.’
Tearfully, and with hesitating hands, Louise opened the packet,
and produced from its folds a document drawn up evidently in legal
style, and a small note, which she handed to Philippe.
‘Read it, monsieur,’ she said; ‘I cannot. How long it is since I have
seen that writing! I used to wait day after day for some message
from him, to show that I was not forgotten—if it had been but one
line—until my heart was sick with the vain expectation. And now it
has come; and—he is dead.’
The student took the note, and hastily ran his eye over it, before
he communicated its contents to the little party. Bathilde and Benoit
watched his face anxiously, as they saw it brighten whilst he
scanned the writings; it evidently contained no bad news. ‘Joy!’ he
exclaimed, as he finished it; ‘joy to all. I think I shall give up
medicine and take to farming.’
‘Go on, monsieur!’ exclaimed Benoit and his wife in a breath.
‘What is it?’
‘The conveyance of a terrain on the Orbe, in Languedoc,’
continued Philippe, reading, ‘with a plantation of olives and
mulberries to Louise Gauthier, to be held by her in common with
whomever may have befriended her in Paris, and of which the
necessary papers are in the hands of M. Macé, notary, Rue de
Provence, Beziers!’
‘I knew it!’ said Benoit, as he slapped the table with a vehemence
that sent some things jumping off it, after a few seconds of
astonishment. ‘I knew some day fortune would turn. Continue,
monsieur.’
Philippe Glazer proceeded to read the note, whilst Louise gazed at
him, almost bewildered.
 ‘“When you receive this,”’ he went on, ‘“I shall have
expiated every crime. I feel convinced that my death, come
when it may, will be violent and sudden: and whatever may
have been my faults, I shall have been punished for them. All
I had to dispose of I have left you: in possessing it, do not
forget any that have assisted you. It has been kept through
every embarrassment to this end; but circumstances
prevented my giving it to you in my lifetime. Beware of the
Marchioness of Brinvilliers; forgive me for the misery I caused
you, which has been repaid one hundredfold, and forget, if
possible,
‘“Gaudin de Sainte-Croix.
‘“To be delivered into the hands of Louise Gauthier, or,
failing to find her, of Benoit Mousel, at the mill-boat below the
Pont Notre Dame, in trust for her.”’

‘There,’ said Philippe, as he concluded, and put the papers on the

table; ‘my task is accomplished.’
‘I cannot accept it,’ said Louise after a short pause.
‘Cannot! mademoiselle,’ said the student; ‘you must. Better you
take it than it fall into M. Macé’s hands for want of a claimant; and
from him to a stranger, or the king, or any of his favourites.’
‘It would only be on one condition,’ continued the Languedocian.
‘That Benoit and his wife shared it with me.’
‘Pardieu! Louise; the terms are not hard,’ said Benoit: ‘and our
hard work will lighten the feeling of dependence. Sacristie! a chance
of seeing Languedoc again, eh, Bathilde!’
‘And a farm,’ said his wife; ‘and olives, and mulberries—perhaps
chestnuts.’
‘And no more living by my wits,’ continued Benoit, ‘which are
wearing away from constant use, when the mill is out of work. No
more mountebanking nor singing songs, nor being pitched out of
windows for so doing, instead of being paid. Oh—you will go, Louise;
we will all go.’
‘And in a patache,’ said Bathilde, ‘with Jacquot to draw us: six
leagues a day at least! What shall be our first stage?’
 ‘There is plenty of time before you to settle that point,’ said
Philippe, smiling at the eager desire of Bathilde to leave Paris. Then
turning to Louise, he added, ‘You can have no scruples, now,
mademoiselle, about this bequest, were it only for the sake of these
good people. Think that it may not be so much to benefit yourself as
to render them happy. You consent?’
‘I do,’ replied Louise, after pausing a few seconds. ‘I cannot look
for happiness myself—at least, on earth—but through me they may
attain it. I care not how soon we quit this heartless, terrible city—
never to return.’
‘We will talk of that to-morrow,’ said Benoit. ‘I think enough has
taken place for this day. Ventrebleu! what a whirl my head is in: the
river may rock the boat like a cradle, and the mill click all night,
before it sends me to sleep. You two women get to bed, and
Monsieur Glazer and myself will make ourselves comfortable here. I
would not recommend him to go along the quays so late, for the city
is in a troubled state to-night, and the execution has drawn all the
gallows-birds abroad.’
And as Louise and Bathilde retired, the two others drew to the
fire, and lighted mighty pipes, whose capacious bowls indicated a
lengthy sitting.
 CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE JOURNEY—EXAMINATION OF THE MARCHIONESS

Hurried on by the orders of the exempt, and escorted by a body of

archers, who kept at full gallop round the carriage, the postilions
spurred and lashed their horses, bringing Desgrais and his prisoner
to Dinant sooner even than they expected. But, beyond the
advantage of losing as little time as possible upon the road, there
was no absolute necessity for this speed. Theria had not received
the letter, as we have seen; and if he had, he could have rendered
but little assistance to the Marchioness. Still Desgrais knew his
prisoner; and uncertain as to what trouble she might cause him by
her wonderful art and powers of inventing stratagems, he
determined not to relax his vigilance until Marie was safe and secure
within the walls of the Conciergerie.
No great deal occurred upon the road worthy of chronicling. The
Marchioness threw herself in the corner of the carriage, and covering
her face with a veil, remained so throughout the journey. From the
attempt she had made at self-destruction, Desgrais kept his eye
upon her; and upon their arrival at Dinant he ordered all the knives
to be removed from the supper table, leaving her under the guard of
Antoine Barbier, the archer who had watched her at Liége, whilst he
went to arrange with a courier to start directly for Rocroy, and
inform the magistrates of that place that the Marchioness would be
there on the morrow; in order that they might interrogate her,
unexpectedly, before she had sufficient time to plan her answers.
As soon as Marie saw that she was left with the same man to
whom she had given the note intended for Camille Theria, she
uttered an exclamation of surprise.
‘I thought you were to remain at Liége,’ she said. ‘You have come
with us, and the letter has not been delivered!’
The man was taken rather suddenly aback by the Marchioness’s
affirmation. He became confused, and turned away without replying.
 ‘You have deceived me!’ she continued with violence, ‘and I am
utterly lost. Now I see why you would not take a reward from me.
Where is the letter?’
‘I have not got it,’ replied the archer. ‘I can answer no more
questions, or I shall be punished.’ And he continued his march.
She would, in spite of this, have spoken to him again, but a
servant of the inn entered the room bearing a tray, on which was
some refreshment. Marie refused it, as the man placed it on the
table; but directly afterwards, correcting herself, told him to leave it
and retire. The archer glanced at the service to see that there was
nothing with which the Marchioness could commit suicide, and then
dismissed the attendant, as he continued his monotonous patrol
before the door. Suddenly Marie seized one of the drinking-glasses
and dashed it upon the ground, breaking it into several pieces. The
noise alarmed the sentinel, and as the Marchioness sprang forward
to seize one of the bits, with the intention of swallowing it, he also
rushed from his post and seized it from her.
‘Again foiled!’ she muttered through her teeth, as she retreated to
the table. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘My orders are to watch you closely,’ said the man, ‘and at present
I have nothing to do but obey the directions of Monsieur Desgrais.’
The Marchioness again was silent for some time. She pushed the
cover laid for supper away from her, and remained gazing intently at
the fire. At last she spoke.
‘My friend,’ she said to the archer, ‘I believe you have done well.
The moment of insanity has passed, and I am grateful to you; you
shall see that I will not forget you, in consequence.’
The man roughly inclined his head, and continued his promenade.
‘Does your condition of life please you?’ asked Marie.
‘Mass!’ replied the archer, as he stopped and leant upon his pike.
‘There might be better and there might be worse. I like it well
enough: there is no choice if I did not.’
‘You can leave it, if you choose,’ said the Marchioness. ‘Listen. I
have gold enough at Offemont to buy land in Italy that would
support you and yours for life. Is there no one you would care to
share it with?’
 The man did not answer. He looked at Marie, and vainly
endeavoured to fathom her meaning.
‘You are my only sentinel,’ she went on. ‘What is to prevent our
flying together. Once at my château, I will load you with wealth, and
you can pass the frontier before our flight has been discovered. I
can also put myself beyond the reach of——’
‘No more, madame!’ replied the archer sternly. ‘You have mistaken
your man. Has not one lesson been enough?’
The conversation was broken by the entrance of the servant of the
hotel—a powerful coarse Flemish woman, with a repulsive manner
and countenance, under whose charge Marie was to be placed for
the night, a change of guard being posted outside her chamber. She
shuddered at this ill-favoured creature, as she followed her to the
sleeping apartment, wherein six hours of repose were to be allowed
to her before they again started on their journey.
On arriving at Rocroy the next day she was taken before M. de
Palluan, as they had previously arranged, and subjected to a severe
examination. But unexpectedly as the interview was brought about,
the magistrate could elicit nothing from her; even in the face of a
confession in her own hand-writing, which a courier had brought
after her from Liége, having found it amongst some more of her
effects in her chamber at the convent. She met every question with
a firm denial or an evasive answer, given with a readiness and self-
possession that astonished her interrogators, who, finding that
nothing had been gained by this course, which they imagined would
have decided any question of her innocence, however slight, that
existed, broke up their court, and made arrangements for
proceeding with her at once to the Conciergerie—the chief prison in
Paris.21
 CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE LAST INTERVIEW.

A long and dismal interval followed the arrest of the Marchioness

before she was brought to trial. The chain of circumstances,
connected with the charges every day increasing against her, was so
intricate that it required the utmost attention and indefatigable
research to connect and arrange its links; and the first legal
authorities were engaged, both for the prosecution and the defence.
Meanwhile public excitement was raised to the highest pitch. The
mysterious circumstances connected with the deaths of M. d’Aubray
and his two sons; the station of society in which Marie moved; her
reputation for beauty and gallantry, and, more than all, the
revelations expected from the proces upon a subject of so dark a
nature—treating of a crime from the action of which no one felt
secure, and about which such terror prevailed, as the mortality by
poison hitherto attributed to unknown pathological causes increased,
forming so fearful an episode in the reign of Louis Quatorze; all
these things together invested the proceedings with a general
interest never equalled. The Provost of Paris, the Procureur du Roi,
the Lieutenant-Criminal of the Châtelet, and other dignitaries
arranged a terrible array of facts, fixing the guilt upon the
Marchioness beyond all doubt; whilst the officials of a lower grade
built up fresh accusations every day, by their ingenious connection of
circumstances that they arrived at by the strangest methods possible
to conceive.
But of all the pleadings connected with this interesting affair the
defence set up by M. Nivelle, the advocate of the Marchioness, was
most remarkable. Marie had contented herself with simply denying
every fact that was brought forward against her; but Nivelle took up
the charges in order, one after the other, and endeavoured with the
most consummate skill to refute the whole of them, even down to
the apparently most unimportant. The liaison between Marie and
Sainte-Croix he allowed,—indeed it was generally received; and, in
fact, avowed as the subject had been, it would have been ridiculous
to have attempted to deny it. But upon Gaudin he threw all the
blame. He endeavoured to show that, being a gambler, Marie’s lover
had not only thrown away his own property, but a large portion of
hers; and being subsequently thrown into the Bastille by M.
d’Aubray, had been influenced as much by avarice as by revenge,
and had made the unfortunate Marchioness of Brinvilliers his dupe
and instrument. He proved that Marie, with her husband, enjoyed a
fortune of more than eight hundred thousand livres; that every
advantage of position, wealth, and connections had fallen to her lot;
and that it was folly to think, for one instant, she would have thus
far placed herself in the fearful position which she was assumed to
have taken when there was nothing to gain, but everything, both in
this world and beyond it, to lose. ‘And, moreover,’ he added, ‘the
Marchioness of Brinvilliers is persuaded that the too common but
fatal mistake of trusting to popular prejudication can never have any
effect upon the minds of judges so eminent for impartiality, nor give
rise to any suspicions of the candour of their decision. She knows
that they would never condemn upon appearances alone, nor upon
common rumour. On the contrary, the more atrocious the crimes
were said to be by the popular tongue, judging from the mere form
of the accusation, the more care would be required to examine
closely all the evidence brought forward, and only to allow those
allegations to be received which were consistent with the common
course of justice. She hopes, also,’ he went on, ‘that the sacred laws
of religion are held in too much veneration by her judges to allow
them to give their countenance to any violation of a confession—one
of the most important mysteries of our religion: and that since the
present accusation brings forward an array of charges—the most
frightful and infamous—against a woman of birth and quality, she
trusts her judges will not place the least reliance upon the imperfect
attestations brought forward, when the clearest and most convincing
are necessary to enable them to form a just opinion. She has been
deceived by the arts of Sainte-Croix—the only author of all the
crimes laid to her charge—and, for the unfortunate connection which
placed her in the position to be thus deceived, she has already been
sufficiently punished by the misery she has since undergone, and a
series of wretched inflictions and trials, which are in themselves
sufficient to excite the compassion, not only of those who still think
well of her, but of her bitterest enemies.’
The original impression of the document is now lying before us;
and it is impossible to avoid being struck with the wondrous
ingenuity with which the whole paper is drawn up.
But cleverly as M. Nivelle advocated her cause, the collection of
facts was too strong to allow her defence to make the favourable
impression he desired. The prosecutors, aware of the importance
with which the trial was invested by the entire population of Paris,
comprising both those who were for and those who were against
her, were as keen in their search for condemnatory testimony as
Nivelle had been for any that might exculpate her. Amongst the
evidence brought forward was that of her servant Françoise Roussel,
who deposed to having been made sick, almost to death, by
substances which the Marchioness had administered to her in cakes
and confections. The archer, Antoine Barbier, related all that had
passed upon the road from Liége; Desgrais himself spoke of the
papers found in her chamber after she had been carried from that
town; and even Glazer’s assistant, the miserable Panurge, proved
that whilst Sainte-Croix occupied the rooms in his master’s house the
Marchioness was in the habit of coming there and preparing
compounds with him, which were afterwards ascertained to be
deadly poisons. There could not be the slightest doubt of her guilt.
The behaviour of Marie during this trying ordeal excited the
strangest feelings amongst the official dignitaries. Although the most
acute and experienced legal men in Paris were engaged upon the
side of the Crown, they found it impossible to elicit from her
anything that tended to prove, from her own actions, that she was
guilty, as long as the trial continued; but when it was brought to a
close, and the decision of the Chambers was finally given against
her, her stubbornness appeared to give way, and the Court, with
some respect for her rank, then requested the Doctor Pirot, of the
Sorbonne, to attend constantly upon her. There were always two
priests regularly attached to the Conciergerie; but constant
communion with the lowest of criminals had made them—so the
opinion of the Court went—unfit to administer to the Marchioness;
and the good father, who was esteemed highly in Paris for his gentle
piety, was accordingly chosen as her last religious adviser.
He attended at the prison every day, and every day he made an
impression upon his charge. He has described her as a woman
naturally intrepid, and rising above all difficulties, expressing herself
in but few words, yet always to the purpose, and finding, with the
most astounding readiness, expedients to free herself from any
charges that might be brought against her. She appeared in any
position of difficulty at once to decide upon what line of argument or
conduct she meant to pursue, even when she was in the most
embarrassing situations. Her physiognomy and conversation offered
no grounds for supposing that she was any other than a persecuted,
gentle, and confiding woman; and her beauty, which had become a
proverb, was of that class which appears inseparable from an equally
perfect morale. True it was, that the harassing trials she had lately
undergone had marked her face with a few lines, but ‘les yeux bleus,
doux et parfaitment beaux, et la peau extraordinairement blanche,’22
still remained; and these attributes, with her other singularly
fascinating qualities, were more than enough to enlist many
sympathies in her favour.
Day after day did Pirot seek the Conciergerie with the earliest
dawn, never leaving his charge but at night; and gradually he found,
to his gratification, that her proud spirit was yielding to his
unremitting and earnest attention. To him the task was allotted of
breaking to her the verdict of the assembled Chambers; and to his
gentleness was she indebted for the state of mind that enabled her
to receive the terrible tidings with comparative serenity. And so
things went on until the eve of the fearful day named by the Court
for the expiation of her crimes, Marie never feeling at rest but when
he was with her; and Pirot taking so deep an interest in his charge
that, although his meek disposition and retiring habits almost
disqualified him for the task imposed upon him by the Chambers, he
resolved never to leave her until the final parting should take place
in the Place de Grêve; and as that time drew nigh, the closer did
Marie cling to him for consolation and support. She watched the time
of his arrival, and regretted his departure, as earnestly as she would
once have done with less holy motives, when others were
concerned, until the period above alluded to drew nigh.
It was, then, the night before the execution. Pirot had business
which had taken him from the Conciergerie during the day, but at
nightfall he was once more at the prison, for the Marchioness had
promised to make a full confession of all the events of her life. In
the morning, during a brief interview of an hour, he had been
gratified to find that his unaffected simplicity, his piety, and gentle
manners, had in part elicited from Marie a circumstantial avowal of
many of the deeds with the commission of which she was charged;
and thus far he had accomplished more than her judges had done,
or the fear of the torture had led her to confess. As he entered the
cell in which she was confined, she rose to receive him with an
earnestness that showed how welcome his presence was to her; but
started back upon perceiving that the good old man was pale, and
evidently shaken.
‘You are ill, mon père,’ she said; ‘you are so good—so charitable
thus to bestow your time on me, that I fear your health is suffering.’
‘It is not that, madame,’ he said as he advanced; ‘but they have
been telling me news in the porter’s lodge that has thus affected me.
You have heard the sentence?’
‘The greffier has told it to me, but not formally,’ she said. ‘I am
prepared for everything. See—take my hand; is it trembling?’
Pirot seized the small hand presented to him: Marie had power
over every muscle to keep it immovable; but her skin was hot and
fevered.
‘You have heard that they were going to cut this hand off,’ she
said.
‘So they have told me,’ replied Pirot, in a low tone, almost choked
with emotion.
‘It is,’ she said, ‘but an idle story of the people about the prison.
On that point you can be calm. And, see,—they are bringing in my
supper. You must take some with me; it is the last, you know.’
Pirot gazed at her, as he listened to the calm manner in which she
spoke, with unfeigned astonishment; and ere he could reply, some of
the attendants had brought in a tray and placed it on the table;
whilst Marie almost led the doctor to one of the rude settles, and
placed herself opposite to him.
There was something terrible in her unconcern. Her face
preserved its usual unfathomable expression, and at times she
smiled; but an unwonted brightness sparkled in her eyes, and she
spoke in loud and rapid tones, somewhat resembling a person under
the first influence of opium. As she took her place at the table, she
did the honours of the homely repast as though she had been at the
head of a party in her own house; she even partook of some of the
dishes; but Pirot was too much overcome to swallow a morsel.
‘You will let me drink to your health,’ she said; ‘it is a compliment
you need not return.’ And with her own hands she filled Pirot’s glass,
continuing, as he bowed to her, ‘To-morrow is a fast-day. I will keep
it so—at least, as much of it as I shall enjoy. And yet I have much to
undergo.’ Then altering her voice, she added, ‘I would pay you more
attention, my father, and serve you myself; but you see they have
left me neither knife nor fork.’
And in this singular manner did she continue to talk until the meal
was over, when she appeared anxious that Pirot should take her
confession. He had writing things with him, and at her request
produced them, as she said—
‘Alas! I have committed so many sins that I cannot trust to the
accuracy of a verbal catalogue. But you shall know all.’
This document, for obvious reasons, remained a secret; nor has it
since been found. It occupied more than two hours in being drawn
up; and just as it was finished the jailor announced that a female
wished to see the Marchioness. It was the first request of the kind
that had been made since her imprisonment; but she gave orders
that the stranger should be admitted; whilst Pirot, remaining at her
own request, retired into a corner of the chamber and occupied
himself at prayer. The man of the prison ushered in a woman, with
her face carefully concealed. Marie advanced to receive her; when
the other threw back her veil and discovered the features of Louise
Gauthier.
The Marchioness recoiled a step or two as she recognised the
stranger, and her face underwent a rapid and fearful change.
‘You have done well,’ she said in irony, ‘to let me see you enjoy
this last triumph. A sight of me to-morrow, in the streets, was not
enough; you must come to gloat upon me here.’
‘By your hopes of heaven, speak not thus!’ cried Louise earnestly,
as she advanced towards her. ‘You are mistaken. I have come in all
good feeling—if you will but receive me.’
‘What would you do?’ asked Marie; ‘am I to believe you?’
‘By all that one who is not utterly lost can call to strengthen her
asseverations, you may,’ replied the Languedocian. ‘By the memory
of him whom we both loved—in the name of Gaudin de Sainte-Croix,
do not believe my nature to be so base.’
The Marchioness gazed at the girl for a minute with a glance of
most intense scrutiny. Then she said coldly, once more gaining a
command over her temper—
‘Well, mademoiselle, you can continue.’
‘At this terrible moment,’ said Louise, in a low impressive accent,
‘when your life is reckoned in the past, and the future is as nothing
on this side of the grave, you will perhaps listen to me, and believe
that I have come to you in charity and peace. I forget all that has
been; I have thought only that Gaudin loved you—and though—
heaven knows—you crushed my heart for ever in encouraging his
attachment, I have come at this fearful hour to seek you, and let you
know that there is one of your own sex who, for his sake, will
undertake any mission or pilgrimage that will serve you.’
Marie made no answer: her pride was struggling with her will, and
she could not speak.
‘You have seen no friend during your dismal imprisonment,’ said
Louise; ‘let me therefore be your confidant, if there is aught you will
stoop to trust me with. Remember that we shall meet no more. O
madame! for your own sake! as you valued Gaudin’s love! do not go
forth to-morrow in enmity against one who, if she wronged you, did
it innocently. What can I do to serve you?’
 She uttered the last words with such truthful earnestness that
Marie’s pride relaxed, and Pirot at the same instant rose from his
prie-dieu and came towards them. As Louise extended her hand the
Marchioness took it, and he saw, for the first time since he had been
with her, that she was weeping. He led them to one of the prison
seats, and in a few minutes Marie was confiding a message to
Louise, at his request, for her children.
The interview lasted half an hour; and when it finished the
Marchioness was perfectly exhausted. She had scarcely strength
sufficient to tell Pirot that she wished him with her at daylight, when
she fell back, unable to keep up any longer, against the damp wall of
the prison. The good doctor summoned the females who had
attended upon her since her capture, and then, when he saw she
was recovering, he took his leave, accompanied by Louise, who left
him in the Rue de Calandre to return to her friends at the boat-mill.
 CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE WATER QUESTION—EXILI—THE PLACE DE GRÊVE

The early morning of the terrible day arrived. With its first dawn the
good Pirot, according to his promise, was at the gates of the
Conciergerie; and being immediately conducted to the cell in which
Marie was confined, discovered that she had not been to bed that
night, but since the departure of Louise Gauthier had been occupied
in writing to various branches of her family.
She rose to receive him as he entered; and at a sign the person
who had been in attendance took her departure. Pirot observed that
her eyelids were red with watching, not from tears: but a fire was
burning in her eyes with almost unearthly brilliancy. Her cheek was
flushed with hectic patches, and her whole frame was trembling with
nervous excitement. As the doctor saluted her with the conventional
words of greeting she smiled and replied—
‘You forget, monsieur, that I shall scarcely witness the noon of to-
day. A few hours—only a few hours more! I have often tried to
imagine the feelings of those who were condemned; and now that I
am almost upon the scaffold it appears like some troubled dream.’
‘We will not waste this brief interval in speculations,’ replied Pirot.
‘The officers of the prison will soon interrupt us. Have you nothing to
confide to me before they arrive?’
‘They will take charge of these letters I have written, and will read
them before they send them forth,’ replied Marie. ‘But here is one,’
she continued, as her voice hesitated and fell, ‘that I could wish you
yourself would deliver. It is to M. de Brinvilliers, my husband; it
relates only to him, and—my children!’
Pirot looked at her as she spoke, and her face betrayed the violent
emotion that the mention of her children had given rise to. She
struggled with her pride for a few seconds, and then broke down
into a natural and violent burst of tears. Her sympathies had been
scarcely touched whilst merely thinking of her two little daughters;
but the instant she named them to another her wonderful self-
possession gave way. She leant upon the rude table, and covering
her face with her mantle wept aloud.
Pirot took the letter from her hand, and read as follows—thinking
it best to allow the violence of Marie’s grief to have full play, rather
than to attempt to check it by any reasoning of his own:—

‘For the last time, Antoine, and on the point of delivering up

my soul to God, I write to you, wishing to assure you of my
friendship, which will continue until the latest moment of my
life. I am about to suffer the degrading punishment my
enemies have condemned me to. Forgive them, I beseech
you, as I have done: and forgive me also, for the shame
which, through my actions, will fall upon your name.
Remember that we are but on earth for a short period; and
that, before long, you yourself may have to render a just
account to God of all your actions, even the most
insignificant, as I shall have to do in a few hours. Instruct and
watch over our poor children: Madame Marillac and Madame
Cousté will inform you of all they will require. Let your prayers
be continually offered up for my repose, and believe that I die
thinking of you only.
‘Marie.’

He had scarcely concluded the epistle when the Marchioness

recovered from the access of emotion, and raised her face towards
him, as she hurriedly wiped her eyes.
‘This is childish,’ she exclaimed. ‘What must you think of me,
monsieur? And yet I would sooner you should have witnessed this
weak ebullition than others in the prison. Come, sir, we will pray for
the forgiveness of those under whose directions and hands I am
about to suffer, and for the salvation of my own soul.’
She threw open the leaves of a religious book that was lying on
the bench, and prayed long and earnestly. Pirot joined her: and thus
they continued for more than an hour, until their devotions were
interrupted by the arrival of the concierge and one or two officers,
who came to announce to her that the chief greffier was waiting in
the lower room to read the sentence of the Court to her. Upon this
she arose, without betokening any fresh emotion, and wrapping a
cloak about her, accompanied by Pirot, preceded and followed by the
people of the prison, she quitted her cell.
They descended some steps, and led her into a low arched room,
but dimly lighted by a few glimmering lamps suspended in iron
frames from the ceiling. The walls were damp and rugged; and an
old and half-obscure painting of a holy family was suspended at the
end of the room. Under this was a common wooden prie-dieu, such
as we now see in the foreign churches, and near it some rude chairs
and a table, on which were materials for writing; and around it three
or four of the judicial functionaries were sitting, being now joined by
Pirot. Opposite to this, against the wall, was a low pile of what was
apparently furniture, covered entirely with a black tarpaulin, and on
the ground, near that, some brass and earthen vessels full of water.
The things here enumerated comprised all that was movable in the
dungeon.
As Marie entered one of the magistrates made a sign to the
concierge, who placed a seat for her near the table; and when she
had taken it the examination commenced. It was conducted by the
officials in turn, many questions being suggested by Pirot, and to all
of them the Marchioness replied with the most extraordinary
coolness and self-possession, although with a caution which
astounded her interrogators—avowing the fact of having
administered certain drugs to her father and others, but denying all
knowledge of their composition or antidotes—and also vehemently
declaring that she had no accomplices in the crimes with which she
was charged. But beyond this they could extract nothing from her;
and although the combined ingenuity of her examiners, deeply
versed as they were in every kind of method by which any
confession might be educed, was exerted against her during a
protracted sitting, she met every question with an exculpatory reply,
and nothing more could be obtained from her.23
 Seeing this, the examination was at length brought to a
conclusion, and one of the interrogators gave orders that the chief
greffier should read the arrest. The functionary hereon rose from his
seat with the paper in his hand, and commenced reading it in a
hurried voice, as if it were a task he was anxious to bring to a
speedy conclusion. The arrest was to the effect that the Court of the
Chambers assembled having found Marie-Marguerite d’Aubray, the
wife of the Marquis of Brinvilliers, guilty of the crimes attributed to
her, condemned her to do penance before the principal door of Notre
Dame, with a lighted torch in her hand weighing two pounds; and
there, whilst on her knees, to confess that she had wilfully poisoned
her father and brothers, and to demand pardon of God. And having
been brought hither on a tumbrel, with her feet naked, and a cord
about her neck, she should be carried on to the Place de Grêve, to
have her head cut off upon a scaffold erected for that purpose; after
which her body should be burned, and the ashes scattered to the
wind: the question—both ordinary and extraordinary—first being
applied. The document went on to speak of the confiscation of her
property, which was to go partly to the king, partly to defray the
expenses of the prosecutions connected with the affair, including
that of Lachaussée; and the residue for masses to be said in the
chapel of the Conciergerie, for the repose of the souls of her victims.
During the reading of this paper Marie continued to preserve the
same self-possession, even interrogating the greffier with a calm,
unshaken voice, upon certain points connected with it. As the
functionary concluded the magistrates rose, and another man
advanced, of whose presence Marie had not been before aware. He
was tall and pale, and he wore a tight fitting dress of unrelieved
black. Marie perceived by the cords in his hands that he was the
executioner; and to him alone she now belonged.
As the magistrates quitted the chamber he drew away the black
cloth that covered the apparatus of torture, and revealed the ghastly
paraphernalia. Pirot whispered a few words of encouragement in her
ear, and then followed the others, leaving Marie alone with the
executioner and the greffier, who remained at the table to take down
the answers of the prisoner. Marie glanced at the vessels of water
which stood upon the ground. She knew the nature of the terrible
ordeal she was about to undergo, but her courage failed her not.
‘You surely do not mean me to swallow all that water, monsieur?’
she said to the greffier; ‘small as I am, there is more than enough to
drown me.’
The officer returned no answer, but looked significantly at the
executioner. The man approached the Marchioness, and began to
unfasten her attire, removing one of her clothes after another, until
nothing was left her but an under-garment, in which she now stood
before the greffier, her limbs as white as the linen that scarcely
shrouded them, but exhibiting not the slightest signs of tremor.
Again the interrogator questioned her respecting her accomplices;
and again Marie firmly denied the existence of any. All his efforts
were vain, as had been those of the magistrates. The sentence was
ordered to be carried out.
The ‘water question,’ as it was termed, was one of the most
revolting punishments which the barbarous usages of the period
allowed in its criminal proceedings; the Marchioness of Brinvilliers
was one of almost its last victims, as it was then practised in all its
unmitigated severity. The sufferer was compelled to swallow a large
quantity of water, forced into the mouth by a horn; the body being
at the same time secured to a bench, in a most painful position,
whilst the hands and feet were attached to rings of iron in the wall
and floor of the chamber. For the ‘ordinary question,’ as it was
termed, the bench was two feet high, and the quantity of water to
be swallowed nearly twelve pints; for the ‘extraordinary’ ordeal a
trestle three feet high was substituted for the other, the hands and
feet still remaining fixed to the rings, and an additional quantity of
water, equal to the first, was forced down the sufferer’s throat. In
the event of the prisoner’s obstinacy, and a refusal to open the
mouth, the executioner closed the nostrils with his thumb and finger,
until the unfortunate person was obliged to part his lips to breathe,
when advantage was immediately taken of this to force the end of
the horn down his throat. The consequence of this barbarous
practice was, the distension of the chest by the introduction of the
water, causing such agonising pain that very few were able to resist
it.
The executioner approached Marie again, and leading her to the
bench rudely tied her feet to the rings in the floor. Then forcing her
back with brutal violence, he fastened her wrists to the links in the
wall, pulling the cords as tightly as they would come. Finally, he
fastened the edge of her garment round her knees with one of the
bands of her dress, and then announced that all was in readiness for
the torture.
The greffier gave the word, and the terrible operation commenced
in silence, broken only by an occasional ejaculation of Marie, as
measure after measure of the fluid disappeared. But beyond this she
spoke not a word: a low wail was her only reply to the questions of
the examiner, whilst she shook her head, as much as the hold of her
tormentor permitted her to do, in answer to all his energetic and
impressive requests that she would disclose all she knew. And in
these he was influenced as much by compassion as by the wish that
the ends of justice should be answered.
The limits of the ordinary torture had been reached without any
admission on her part, and the executioner stopped until he received
fresh directions from the greffier to proceed to the second stage of
the question. The bench upon which Marie was tied down was
removed, and one more than a foot higher was substituted for it—
wedged under her by the power of the torturer, without releasing
her hands and feet, now so tightly wrung by the cords that the blood
started from the parts where they cut into the flesh. Still no cry
escaped her lips; with superhuman endurance she went through the
continuation of the dreadful ordeal, betraying scarcely any signs of
life except the quivering of her limbs and an occasional violent
contraction of the muscles as she turned herself round upon the
trestle as far as the cords would allow of her doing. At last she cried
out, with a violence that for the instant startled the officials in
attendance, ‘Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! they have killed me!’ And this was
followed by a piercing cry of agony; after which all was still.
The greffier rose from his seat, and once more asked her
respecting her accomplices. But she returned no answer, nor indeed
gave the least sign of consciousness: upon which, fearing that the
punishment had been carried too far, he gave orders that she should
be unbound. The executioner obeyed; and then, calling in his fellows
to his assistance, they untied the cords from the rings and staples
and bore the unhappy woman into an adjoining chamber, placing her
on a mattress before a large fire that was burning in the huge open
chimney-place.
It was some time before her senses returned. When she came to
herself she found the good Pirot supporting her head, whilst the
greffier was communing with the magistrates respecting the
proceedings of the ordeal. They quitted the chamber soon after she
recovered, and then she was left alone with the doctor, who had
thrown his cloak around her thinly clad and shivering form, and was
now only waiting until she should be sufficiently brought round to
join him in assisting at the last offices of religion.
At last he half-led, half-carried her to a prie-dieu, and there prayed
with her until the cold and dismal light of morning, overcoming the
red glare of the fire, stole cheerlessly through the small and heavy-
barred loopholes of the chamber. And with it came something of
terrible import—the low murmur of the vast crowd already
assembled without the gates, and in the Cour des Miracles24—the
audible passing and repassing of the Royal Guard, as bodies of them
paraded the streets in the immediate line from the Palais de Justice
to Notre Dame, and thence to the Place de Grêve—and an unwonted
stir in the Conciergerie, as those friends of the officers and other
functionaries who had procured the entree to the prison arrived. Not
a sound escaped Marie’s ear, although Pirot strove in some measure
to drown the distant hum by his voice. Every nerve appeared
intensely sensitive, and the reaction of a terrible excitement had
brought the blood back to the surface of her flesh. Her eyes were
again blazing with fevered brilliancy; her cheek was flushed, and a
rapid shuddering movement kept every muscle in convulsive action.
Her prayers were only interrupted by the arrival of the same
magistrates who had before left her, followed by the executioner and
his assistants; and the Marchioness directly knew that the terrible
hour had arrived. Without a word she held out her wrists, now
discoloured and swollen by the question, to the headsman; and not
an expression of pain escaped her lips as he roughly bound them
together. The cloak which Pirot had lent her was then thrown on one
side; when, as she found her bosom exposed, she requested the
man to fasten the lappets of her garment together with a pin. He,
however, threw a large scarf over her shoulders, and part of this
formed a cowl, which she pulled down over her face as well as her
imprisoned hands enabled her to do. And when this had been
arranged she left the chapel, preceded and followed by the officers
of the prison.
Beyond the wicket some people had assembled in the court. As
she emerged from the building a man pressed rudely forward from
the little knot of gazers, and came close to her side, as he thrust a
small note almost in her face. Pirot took it from him, at Marie’s
request, and inquired what it was.
‘An account of money due to me,’ said the man, ‘for a tumbrel and
a horse, both ruined on the road from La Villette to Le Bourget.’
‘I know not what he means,’ said Marie.
‘You do—you do, madame,’ answered the intruder. ‘It was taken
from your hôtel in the Rue St. Paul for your flight to Liége.’
‘Another time will do to settle this,’ observed Pirot.
‘Another time will not do,’ answered the man. ‘Where will be my
chance of payment five minutes after madame reaches the Grêve?’
As he spoke the man was pulled forcibly away, and thrust on one
side, by one of the bystanders. Marie looked up to see who had thus
interfered, and her eyes met those of Philippe Glazer. Clasping his
hands together he gazed at her with a look of intense agony. Even in
the horror of the moment Marie perceived that he had placed in his
hat the clasp she gave him at Compiègne. She bowed her head in
recognition, and then passed on. Philippe never saw her again.
They moved forward through the courts of the Conciergerie, Pirot
never ceasing his religious consolations until they came to the lodge
of the prison. Here the cortege halted, and then the executioner
approached her with a long white garment hanging over his arm.
The ghastly toilette of the scaffold was to be made at this place. She
was about to surrender herself to the operation when a door at the
other side of the lodge was opened, and a large concourse of people
—so many that they nearly filled the apartment—entered eagerly.
They were chiefly females—women holding high rank in Paris, who
had met the Marchioness frequently in society. Amongst them were
the Countess of Soissons and Mademoiselle de Scudery.
The shock given to Marie by this unexpected sight was too great,
and she would have fallen but for the support of Pirot. He sustained
her whilst the executioner once more released her hands, and drew
the long white dress over that she was wearing, tying it up closely
round her neck, and knotting a large cord round her waist in lieu of
a girdle.
‘She has a neat foot,’ whispered the Countess of Soissons to M. de
Roquelaure, as she looked at Marie’s small naked foot, not covered
by the garment, planted upon the chill pavement of the lodge.
‘You told me she squeezed it into a shoe always too small when
we saw her at Versailles,’ replied the other. ‘O the jealousy of
women!’
‘You have smarted yourself, monsieur, when she has refused you
for a dance,’ returned the Countess; ‘she did not think you equal to
the gay Sainte-Croix.’
‘And yet he dazzled and went out like a firework,’ said Roquelaure;
‘I hope such will not be my fate.’
He smiled affectedly as he spoke. Marie heard the import of their
heartless conversation, and gazed at them with an expression of
withering contempt. They fell back abashed, and retreated amidst
the crowd.
‘In God’s name, monsieur,’ she said, ‘offer me some consolation. Is
there not something terrible and unnatural in such barbarous
curiosity on the part of these people?’
‘Madame,’ replied Pirot, in whose eyes the tears were standing,
from pity for the ordeal she was then undergoing, and that which he
knew was to come, ‘regard this curiosity rather as an additional
misery imposed upon you as a further expiation than as a wish on
the part of these ill-judging people to cause you further pain. Lean
on me if you need support. I will aid you as far as is in my power,
and the law permits.’
As he spoke the executioner approached, carrying a heavy lighted
torch, which he placed in her hands, according to the sentence of
the arrest; but her strained and swollen wrists refused to sustain it,
and it would have fallen to the ground had not Pirot held it up with
his hand, as Marie was leaning heavily upon his arm. The greffier
then read the paper a second time, and the dreary procession
moved on to the point that required all the nerve of Pirot, no less
than of the Marchioness, to encounter—the gate of the lodge that
opened into the thoroughfare before the Palais de Justice, which was
now nearly blocked up, as far as the eye could reach, in every
direction, by a vast and expectant crowd.
As the officers of the prison, with their wands, came forth on the
top of the flight of steps, the mass of people became suddenly
agitated, and their noise increased; but the moment Marie appeared,
prominent amidst them all by reason of her white dress and the
torch which she was carrying, a loud and savage roar—a wild
continuous cry of ferocious triumph and execration—burst as by one
impulse from the entire crowd, and this was caught up by those who
were not even visible from the Palais, and echoed along the quays
and places adjoining, until the whole of Paris appeared to be
speaking with one voice, and rejoicing at the ghastly ceremony
about to take place. Marie fell back, as though the uproar had been
endowed with material power to strike her; but the expression of her
features was not that which Pirot had expected. She was not
terrified; on the contrary, the demon appeared to be again reigning
in her soul; every line in her face gave indication of the most intense
rage; her forehead contracted; her eyes appeared actually
scintillating with passion; her under lip was compressed until her
teeth almost bit through it, and she clenched Pirot’s arm with a
grasp of iron.
‘Speak not to me at present, my friend,’ she said to him, as
noticing her emotion, he addressed to her a few words of intended
consolation. ‘This is terrible!’
 She remained for some minutes as if fixed to the ground gazing at
the sea of heads before her, and apparently without the power of
moving. Every eye was fixed upon her, for her now fiendish beauty
fascinated all who were near her, and no one more than the great
painter Lebrun, who was on the steps of the Palais. To the
impression made upon him at this fearful moment, and which
haunted him long afterwards, we owe the fine painting in the
Louvre.
A few minutes elapsed, and then Pirot, obeying the orders of the
officers, drew Marie towards the steps, the executioner assisting on
the other side. The archers in the street cleared a space with some
difficulty, almost riding the people down, who crowded about the
entrance to the court; and then they saw more plainly, in the middle
of the semicircle thus opened, a small tumbrel, with a horse
attached to it—a wretched animal, in as bad condition as the rude
dirty vehicle he dragged after him. There was no awning, nor were
there any seats; some straw was all for them to travel on. The back-
board of the cart taken out, with one end laid on the steps and the
other on the cart now backed against them, made a rude platform,
along which Marie hurriedly stepped, and then crouched down in the
corner, averting her face from the greater part of the crowd. Pirot
next entered, and took his place at her side; and then the
executioner followed them, replacing the board, upon the edge of
which he seated himself; one of his assistants climbed up in front,
and the other walked at the head of the horse, to guide the animal
along the narrow opening made by the crowd, which the archers
with difficulty forced.
Trifling as was the distance, a long space of time was taken up in
passing from the Palais de Justice to the Parvis Notre Dame. The
Rue de Calandre was blocked up with people, and it was only by
forcing the crowd to part right and left into the Rue aux Fèves that
sufficient room could be gained for the tumbrel to pass; and when it
halted, as it did every minute, the more ruffianly of the population,
who nested in this vile quarter of the city,25 came close up to the
vehicle, slipping between the horses of the troops who surrounded
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