d that until a house
could be secured, M. Zola should be installed at a country hotel; and he
mentioned two or three places which seemed to him of the right character.
One of these was Oatlands Park; and Wareham, who, although a solicitor,
claims to have some little poetry in his nature, waxed so enthusiastic
over the charms of Oatlands and neighbouring localities, that both M.
Zola and M. Desmoulin, fervent admirers of scenery as they are, became
curious to visit this leafy district of Surrey, where, as will be
remembered, King Louis Philippe spent his last years of life and exile.

One afternoon, then, I started with Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin for
Walton, from which station the Oatlands Park Hotel is most conveniently
reached. A Gladstone bag had now replaced the master's newspaper parcel,
and as M. Desmoulin's dressing-case was as large as a valise, there was
at least some semblance of luggage. I fully realised that it was hardly
the correct thing to present oneself at Oatlands Park and ask for rooms
there _ex abrupto_; as with hostelries of that class it is usual for one
to write and secure accommodation beforehand. However, there was no time
for this; and we decided to run the risk of finding the hotel 'full up,'
particularly as Wareham had informed us that in such a case we might
secure a temporary billet at one or another of the smaller hotels of
Walton or Weybridge. Thus we went our way at all hazards, and during the
journey I devised a little story for the benefit of the manager at
Oatlands Park.

That gentleman, as I had surmised, was a trifle astonished at our
appearance. But I told him that my friends were a couple of French
artists, who had been spending a few weeks in London 'doing the lions'
there, and who had heard of the charming scenery around Oatlands, and
wished to view it, and possibly make a few sketches. And, at the same
time, a solicitor's recommendation being of some value, since it might
mean a good many future customers, I handed the manager one of Wareham's
cards. There was, I remember, some little difficulty at first in
obtaining rooms, for the hotel was nearly full; but everything ended
satisfactorily.

I may mention, perhaps, that in describing Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin as
French artists, I had at least told half the truth. M. Fernand Desmoulin
is, of course, well known in the French art world; and, moreover, he had
already spoken to me of purchasing a water-colour outfit for the very