After washing and winding the body, and removing the appalling debris which had to be burnt, Reggie and myself and the proprietor started for the Maine to make the official declaration.  There is no use recounting the tedious experiences which only make me angry to think about.  The excellent Dupoirier lost his head and complicated matters by making a mystery over Oscar’s name, though there was a difficulty, as Oscar was registered under the name of Melmoth at the hotel, and it is contrary to the French law to be under an assumed name in your hotel.  From 3.30 till 5 p.m. we hung about the Maine and the Commissaire de Police offices.  I then got angry and insisted on going to Gesling, the undertaker to the English Embassy, to whom Father Cuthbert had recommended me.  After settling matters with him I went off to find some nuns to watch the body.  I thought that in Paris of all places this would be quite easy, but it was only after incredible difficulties I got two Franciscan sisters.

Gesling was most intelligent and promised to call at the Hotel d’Alsace at 8 o’clock next morning.  While Reggie stayed at the hotel interviewing journalists and clamorous creditors, I started with Gesling to see officials.  We did not part till 1.30, so you can imagine the formalities and oaths and exclamations and signing of papers.  Dying in Paris is really a very difficult and expensive luxury for a foreigner.

It was in the afternoon the District Doctor called and asked if Oscar had committed suicide or was murdered.  He would not look at the signed certificates of Kleiss and Tucker.  Gesling had warned me the previous evening that owing to the assumed name and Oscar’s identity, the authorities might insist on his body being taken to the Morgue.  Of course I was appalled at the prospect, it really seemed the final touch of horror.  After examining the body, and, indeed, everybody in the hotel, and after a series of drinks and unseasonable jests, and a liberal fee, the District Doctor consented to sign the permission for burial.  Then arrived some other revolting official; he asked how many collars Oscar had, and the value of his umbrella. (This is quite true, and not a mere exaggeration of mine.) Then various poets and literary people called, Raymond de la Tailhade, Tardieu, Charles Sibleigh, Jehan Rictus, Robert d’Humieres, George Sinclair, and various English people, who gave assumed names, together with two veiled women.  They were all allowed to see the body when they signed their names....

I am glad to say dear Oscar looked calm and dignified, just as he did when he came out of prison, and there was nothing at all horrible about the body after it had been washed.  Around his neck was the blessed rosary which you gave me, and on the breast a Franciscan medal given me by one of the nuns, a few flowers placed there by myself and an anonymous friend who had brought some on behalf of the children, though I do not suppose the children know that their father is dead.  Of course there was the usual crucifix, candles and holy water.