written the
_bordereau_, and others hereafter will tell us the exact circumstances
under which he did so. Colonel Sandherr, at whose bidding he says he
wrote it, is dead; but others who know a great deal about him are still
alive.'

While M. Zola thus expressed himself, we sat face to face, he in his
favourite arm chair on one side of the fireplace, and I on the other, in
the familiar room, with its three windows overlooking the lively road,
while all around curvetted the scrolls and arabesques of the light
fawn-tinted wall paper. And after chatting about Du Paty and Esterhazy we
gradually lapsed into silence. It was a fateful hour. There were
ninety-nine probabilities out of a hundred that the decision of the Cour
de Cassation would be given that same afternoon; and whatever that
decision might be we felt certain that before it was made public by any
newspaper in London we should be apprised of it. We knew that five
minutes after judgment should have been pronounced a telegram would be
speeding through the wires to the Queen's Hotel, Norwood.

M. Zola did not tell me his thoughts, yet I could guess them. We can
generally guess the thoughts of those we love. But the hours went by and
nothing came. How long they were, those judges! Whatever could be the
cause of their delay? Surely--trained, practised men that they were, men
who had spent their lives in seeking and proclaiming the truth--surely no
element of doubt could have penetrated their minds at the final, the
supreme moment.

Ah! the waiter entered, and there on his salver lay a buff envelope,
within which must surely be the ardently awaited message that would tell
us of victory or defeat. M. Zola could scarcely tear that envelope open;
his hands trembled violently. And then came an anti-climax. The wire was
from M. Fasquelle, who announced that he and his wife were inviting
themselves to dinner at Norwood that evening.

It was welcome news, but not the news so impatiently expected. And, at
last, suspense become intolerable, I resolved to go out and try to
purchase some afternoon newspapers.

There had been rumours to the effect that as each individual judge might
preface his decision by a declaration of the reasons which prompted it,
the final judgment might after all be postponed until Monday. Both M.
Zola and I had thought this improbable; still, there was a possibility of
such delay, and perhaps it was on account of a postponement of the kind
that the tel