to do so after he was dead; he suffered remorse about some of his creditors.  Reggie came in shortly afterwards much to my relief.  Oscar told us that he had had a horrible dream the previous night—­“that he had been supping with the dead.”  Reggie made a very typical response, “My dear Oscar, you were probably the life and soul of the party.”  This delighted Oscar, who became high-spirited again, almost hysterical.  I left feeling rather anxious.  That night I wrote to Douglas saying that I was compelled to leave Paris—­that the doctor thought Oscar very ill—­that ——­ ought to pay some of his bills as they worried him very much, and the matter was retarding his recovery—­a great point made by Dr. Tucker.  On November 2nd, All Souls’ Day, I had gone to Pere la Chaise with ——.  Oscar was much interested and asked me if I had chosen a place for his tomb.  He discussed epitaphs in a perfectly light-hearted way, and I never dreamt he was so near death.

On Monday, November 12th, I went to the Hotel d’Alsace with Reggie to say good-bye, as I was leaving for the Riviera next day.  It was late in the evening after dinner.  Oscar went all over his financial troubles.  He had just had a letter from Harris about the Smithers claim, and was much upset; his speech seemed to me a little thick, but he had been given morphia the previous night, and he always drank too much champagne during the day.  He knew I was coming to say good-bye, but paid little attention when I entered the room, which at the time I thought rather strange; he addressed all his observations to Reggie.  While we were talking, the post arrived with a very nice letter from Alfred Douglas, enclosing a cheque.  It was partly in response to my letter I think.  Oscar wept a little but soon recovered himself.  Then we all had a friendly discussion, during which Oscar walked around the room and declaimed in rather an excited way.  About 10.30 I got up to go.  Suddenly Oscar asked Reggie and the nurse to leave the room for a minute, as he wanted to say good-bye.  He rambled at first about his debts in Paris:  and then he implored me not to go away, because he felt that a great change had come over him during the last few days.  I adopted a rather stern attitude, as I really thought that Oscar was simply hysterical, though I knew that he was genuinely upset at my departure.  Suddenly he broke into a violent sobbing, and said he would never see me again because he felt that everything was at an end—­this very painful incident lasted about three-quarters of an hour.

He talked about various things which I can scarcely repeat here.  Though it was very harrowing, I really did not attach any importance to my farewell, and I did not respond to poor Oscar’s emotion as I ought to have done, especially as he said, when I was going out of the room, “Look out for some little cup in the hills near Nice where I can go when I am better, and where you can come and see me often.”  Those were the last articulate words he ever spoke to me.