Forget-me-not by Marjorie Bowen — Read

Lucille Debelleyme was lodged in the Conciergerie in a small room of the women's prison, a quadrangular building that looked on a small courtyard. She made no protest, but seemed to hold an amused contempt for all her surroundings. She had asked for all her possessions and they had been given her. When she was told that she might, if she wished, communicate with friends, she had replied: "I have none." When she was asked if she would have a lawyer, she replied: "I have no means whereby I can pay one," but when told that she would be brought before the examining magistrates on the following day, she demanded with impressive gravity: "Of what am I accused? I am in complete ignorance of all the details of this atrocious crime which you dare to charge to me. I demand to be enlightened. What occurred in the Faubourg St. Honoré last night? You say that M. du Boccage is a murderer," and with an emphasis of contemptuous passion she added: "Impossible! I know him well, the best, the most generous, the kindest of men, he would not lift his hand against a woman, against any creature. He must be as innocent as I am myself."

She spoke these words to the men who had been, since dawn, investigating the apartments and the inmates of the Hotel du Boccage; M. de Tassy, Prefet de Police and M. Mauzisse, the Public Prosecutor, who had been summoned from their beds to join the commissaries of the Quartier du Roule and the Quartier du Champs Élysées in the chamber of the murdered woman.