considerations to a desire to write my story naturally and simply, in
much the same way as I should have told it in conversation with a friend.
Very rarely, I think, have I departed from this rule.

The book supplies an accurate account of Emile Zola's exile in this
country; but some matters I have treated briefly because he himself
proposes to give the world--probably in diary form--some impressions of
his sojourn in England with a record of his feelings day by day whilst
the great campaign in favour of the unfortunate Alfred Dreyfus was in
progress.

First, however, M. Zola intends to collect in a volume all his published
declarations, articles and letters on the Affair. Secondly, he will
recount in another volume his trials at Paris and Versailles; and only in
a third volume will he be able to deal with his English experiences. The
last work can scarcely be ready before the end of 1900, and possibly it
may not appear until the following year. And this is one of the reasons
which have induced me to offer to all who are interested in the great
French writer this present narrative of mine. Should the master's
promised record duly appear, my own will sink into oblivion; but if, for
one or another reason, M. Zola is prevented from carrying out his plans,
here, then, will at least be found some account of one of the most
curious passages in his life. And then, perchance, my narrative may
attain to the rank of _memoire pour servir_.

I have said that I claim for my book the quality of frankness. In this
connection I may point out that I have made in it a full confession of
certain delinquencies which were forced on me by circumstances. I trust,
however, that my brother-journalists will forgive me if I occasionally
led them astray with regard to M. Zola's presence in England; for I did
so purely and simply in the interests of the illustrious friend who had
placed himself in my hands.

That M. Zola should have applied to me directly he arrived in London will
surprise none of those who are aware of the confidence he has for several
years reposed in me. A newspaper referring to our connection recently
called the great novelist 'my employer.' But there has never been any
question of employer or employed between Mr. Zola and me. I should
certainly never think of accepting remuneration for any little service I
might have been able to render him; nor would he dream of hurting my
feelings by offering it. No. The simple truth is