The Life of Emile Zola

Close that window!
- You want me to catch cold?
- But we'll suffocate.

That'll be better than perishing
from a draft.

Oh, you and your drafts.
It's the concierge...
...for the rent.
- He'll kick us into the street.

Don't let him in. Tell him I'm in bed.
Some horrible disease.
It's catching. Anything.

- Who is it?
- It's Émile's mother.

- Come in, Madame Zola.
- Thanks, Paul.

Émile, why are you in bed?
Are you ill?

It's tearing my heart out to see you
living like this, and now it must end.

Nonsense, Maman. I'm an
independent gentleman of letters...

...and soon the world will recognize me.
- Alexandrine, come in.
- Alexandrine, here? Where?

Alexandrine! Darling.
Oh, darling, we have
wonderful news for you.

- You have a job.
- You have a job.

A job?
I have a job?
Cézanne! Did you hear? I have a job!

What kind of job?
I'm not going to sell my talents
to any lying...

This is a job with La Rue,
the great book publisher.

You're to be a clerk. Oh, darling,
we can get married now.

That's marvelous!
Now I shall have time to finish my book.
Maybe even get La Rue to publish it.
Cézanne, take Maman's coat.
Paul, get meat and bread!