, by chance, opened a
door and stepped back astonished. It was a veritable temple, this
place of which respectable people only mention the name in English, an
original and charming sanctuary in exquisite taste, fitted up like a
pagoda, and the decoration of which must certainly have caused a great
effort.

They next visited the park, which was complex, varied, with winding
paths and full of old trees. But the journalist insisted on leaving;
and, with many thanks, he took leave of the master: As they left they
met a gardener; Patissot asked him: "Has Monsieur Meissonier owned this
place for a long time?" The man answered: "Oh, monsieur! that needs
explaining. I guess he bought the grounds in 1846. But, as for the
house! he has already torn down and rebuilt that five or six times.
It must have cost him at least two millions!" As Patissot left he was
seized with an immense respect for this man, not on account of his
success, glory or talent, but for putting so much money into a whim,
because the bourgeois deprive themselves of all pleasure in order to
hoard money.

After crossing Poissy, they struck out on foot along the road to Medan.
The road first followed the Seine, which is dotted with charming islands
at this place. Then they went up a hill and crossed the pretty village
of Villaines, went down a little; and finally reached the neighborhood
inhabited by the author of the Rougon-Macquart series.

A pretty old church with two towers appeared on the left. They walked
along a short distance, and a passing farmer directed them to the
writer's dwelling.

Before entering, they examined the house. A large building, square and
new, very high, seemed, as in the fable of the mountain and the mouse,
to have given birth to a tiny little white house, which nestled near it.
This little house was the original dwelling, and had been built by the
former owner. The tower had been erected by Zola.

They rang the bell. An enormous dog, a cross between a Saint Bernard
and a Newfoundland, began to howl so terribly that Patissot felt a
vague desire to retrace his steps. But a servant ran forward, calmed
"Bertrand," opened the door, and took the journalist's card in order to
carry it to his master.

"I hope that he will receive us!" murmured Patissot. "It would be too
bad if we had come all this distance not to see him."

His companion smiled and answered: "Never fear, I have a plan for
getting in."

But the servant, who had retur