‘If those flowers ware to be taken as an omen,’ said M. Zola to me, ’that happy pair will soon be in the Divorce Court.’

During the latter part of his stay at Norwood, when the door between his bedroom and sitting-room remained open, one could see on a chest of drawers in the former apartment a pair of life-size porcelain cats, coloured a purplish maroon, with sparkling yellow glass eyes, and an abundance of fantastic yellow spots.  These cats had been bought by him as a souvenir of England and English art, for he was much struck by their oddity.  He had been offered others—­for instance, white ones with little coloured landscapes printed all over their backs and sides—­surely as idiotic an embellishment as any insane potter could devise—­but although these had sorely tempted him he had finally decided in favour of the maroon and yellow abominations.

A little girl of mine, who found herself face to face with these cats one day in his room, was quite startled by them, and has since expressed the opinion that Sir John Tenniel ought to have seen them before he drew the Cheshire cat for ‘Alice in Wonderland.’  For my own part I can imagine the laughter and the jeers of M. Zola’s artistic friends when those choice specimens of British art are shown to them in Paris.

At intervals during his long sojourn at the Queen’s Hotel M. Zola received a few brief visits from French friends, chiefly literary men and politicians, whose names need not be mentioned, but who have identified themselves with the cause of Revision.  At times these gentlemen found themselves in London on other matters, and profited by the opportunity to run down to Norwood.  On other occasions they made the journey from France for the especial purpose of quieting M. Zola’s impatience, and telling him that he must not yet think of returning home.  Again, M. Fasquelle, the French publisher, came over four or five times, now on business and now in a friendly way.

I think that during the seven or eight months that M. Zola stayed at the Queen’s Hotel, he received altogether some ten visits from compatriots, which visits were often of only an hour or two’s duration.  Thus, Mme. Zola having returned to France, he was frequently very much alone.

During the last months of his exile my wife fell seriously ill, and I could not then go so often to Norwood.  Afterwards ague caught me in its grip, and my visits ceased for two or three successive weeks.  All I could do in an emergency was to place my eldest daughter or my son at M. Zola’s disposal.

The foreign visitors he received—­by foreign I mean non-French—­were (apart from the Warehams, myself and family) very few in number.  I think that an eminent Russian publiciste who happened to be a personal friend (M.  Zola has long been popular in Russia, where even the Emperor has read many of his books) saw him on one occasion.  Then, when M. Yves Guyot called, he brought with him an English friend who was pledged to secrecy.