Then the Fasquelles, having been to the Oaks on the previous day, began to talk of Epsom, and the scene, unique in the whole world, which the famous racecourse presents during Derby week. M. Zola half regretted that he had missed going. 'But I will go everywhere and see everything,' he repeated, 'the next time I come to England. I shall then be able to do so openly, without any playing at hide and seek. Oh, it won't be till after the Paris Exhibition, that is certain, but I have written an oratorio for which Bruneau has composed the music, and if it is sung in London, as I hope, I shall come over and spend a month going about everywhere. But, of course,' he added, with a twinkle in his eyes, 'I have about two years' imprisonment to do as things stand, so I must make no positive promises.' The rest is soon told. Final arrangements were made, and we came away, M. and Mme. Fasquelle and myself, about ten o'clock. 'It is your last night of exile,' I said to M. Zola as I pressed his hand, 'and it will soon be over. You must try to sleep well.' 'Sleep!' he replied. 'Oh, there is no sleep for me to-night. From this moment I shall be counting the hours, the very minutes.' 'It will make a change for you, Vizetelly,' said M. Fasquelle, as he, Mme. Fasquelle, and myself walked towards the railway station. 'You will be missing him now.' This was true. All the routine, all the _alertes_, the meetings, the missions of those eleven months were about to cease abruptly. What had at first seemed to me novel had with time become confirmed habit, and for the first few days after M. Zola's departure I felt my occupation gone.