This, I thought, could be ascertained within the next forty-eight hours,
and meantime M. Zola might remain where he was, for I could not well
offer him an asylum in my little home. My connection with him as his
English translator being so widely known, newspaper reporters were
certain to call upon me, and what ever precautions I might take, his
presence in my house would speedily be discovered. On the other hand, M.
Desmoulin wished to go to Brighton or Hastings, but, in my estimation,
both those places, crowded with holiday-makers, were not desirable spots.

Leaving the Grosvenor, the three of us discussed these matters while
strolling up Buckingham Palace Road. It was a warm sunshiny afternoon,
and the street was full of people. All at once a couple of ladies passed
us, and one of them, after turning her head in our direction, made a
remark to her companion.

'Did you hear that?' Desmoulin eagerly inquired. 'She spoke in French!'

'Ah!' I replied. 'What did she say?'

'"Why," she exclaimed, "there's M. Zola!" Our secret is as good as gone
now! It will be all over London by to-morrow!'

We felt somewhat alarmed. Who could those ladies be? For my part I had
scarcely noticed them. Desmoulin opined, however, that they might
perchance be French actresses, members possibly of Madame Sarah
Bernhardt's company, which was then in London. And again he urged the
necessity of immediate departure. They must go to Hastings, Brighton,
Ramsgate--some place at all events where the author of 'J'accuse' would
incur less chance of recognition.