The story not only impressed my daughter Violette, but it greatly interested M. Zola, on whose behalf I made various inquiries.  For instance, I closely questioned an old gardener who had known the district for long years.  All he could tell me, however, was that there were certainly some strange rumours abroad among the womenfolk, but that for his own part he had never heard of any crime and had never seen any ghost.

And at last others told me quite a different story of the house’s abandonment, and this I here venture to give, though I certainly cannot vouch for its accuracy.  The place had been built, it seemed, some forty years previously by a retired and wealthy London pawnbroker, a gaunt, shrivelled old man, who, mounted on a white mare, had in his declining years been a familiar figure on the roads of the district.

Extremely eccentric, he had largely furnished and decorated the house with unredeemed articles that had been pledged with him.  There was nothing en suite.  Old chairs of divers patterns were mingled with odd tables and sideboards and sofas; there were also innumerable daubs ‘ascribed’ to old masters, and a wonderful display of Wardour-street bric-a-brac.  But, indeed, one has only to look at an average pawnbroker’s shop to picture what kind of articles the house must have contained.

It seems that the old fellow in question had three daughters, whom he kept more or less imprisoned on his recently-acquired property, though they were charming girls well worthy of being sought in marriage; and the story I heard was that three officers sojourning in the district had one day espied the three forlorn damsels over the garden hedge, and had forthwith begun to court them, much to the ire of the misanthropic, retired pawnbroker.  That stern old gentleman ordered his daughters into the house, and then kept them in stricter confinement than ever.

But love laughs at locksmiths, and the amorous officers eventually carried the place by storm, and beat down all parental resistance.  Three weddings followed on the same day, and all ended for a time as in a fairy tale.  But the old pawnbroker subsequently married again to relieve his solitude, and after his death his will was attacked, and an interminable lawsuit ensued, with the result that the property was left unoccupied.  Now, it appeared, it was for sale, and before long would probably be cut up into building plots.

Whatever romantic element there might be in the story of the pawnbroker and his daughters, M. Zola much preferred the popular and gruesome legend of the little girl murdered in the scullery; and, some time later, when he consented to write a short story for ‘The Star,’ it was this legend which he took as his basis, building thereon the pathetic sketch of ‘Angeline,’ the scene of which he transferred to France.