with M. Zola's address? No, she could not; he had better
write, and his letter would be duly forwarded by me. Then the applicant
started on another story. It was no use his writing, he must see me.
Should I be at home on the morrow? The matter was of great importance, it
would mean a large sum of money for myself and so on. My wife had not
much confidence in what was told her, but she requested the visitor to
leave his name and address in order that I might make an appointment with
him, should I think such a course advisable.

She was, at the moment, far more amazed and amused than indignant. She
bade the gentleman keep his money, and then showed him to the door. To me
that evening she did not mention the incident, and, indeed, I only heard
of it after I had taken the trouble to communicate with M. Zola
respecting the gentleman's urgent private business, which (so it turned
out) was purely and simply connected with journalism, my visitor having
acted on behalf of the owner of a well-known London newspaper.

I do not know whether his principal had any knowledge of his impudent
attempt at bribery. For my own part I much regret that my wife (I suppose
in the interests of peace) should have kept it from me at that time as
she did, for the gentleman might otherwise have experienced, as he
deserved, a rather unpleasant ten minutes.

XII

THE FINAL RESTING-PLACE

At last the time arrived when it became necessary to remove M. Zola from
his country quarters, and by his desire Wareham and I then looked around
us for a suitable suburban hotel. The autumn was now far spent and M.
Zola felt confident that he would be back in Paris by the end of the
year. Had he foreseen that his exile would prove so long, he would
certainly have sent for a couple of his French servants, and have set up
a quiet establishment in some other furnished house. But for another
month or two he considered that hotel accommodation would well suffice.

The place selected for him by Wareham and myself was the Queen's Hotel,
Upper Norwood, and there he remained from late in the autumn of 1898
until his departure from England.

A glance at the Queen's Hotel shows one that it is composed of what were
once separate houses, now connected together by buildings of one storey
only. Each of these houses, or, as one may perhaps call them, pavilions,
has a separate entrance and staircase; and the advantage o