to get at her, she having taken vows against seeing strangers, in
consequence of various annoyances and persecutions, in and out of print,
which it's the mere instinct of a woman to avoid--I can understand it
perfectly. Also, she is in Paris for only a few days, and under a new
name, to escape from the plague of her notoriety. People said, "She will
never see you--you have no chance, I am afraid." But we determined
to try. At least I pricked Robert up to the leap--for he was really
inclined to sit in his chair and be proud a little. "No," said I, "you
_sha'n't_ be proud, and I _won't_ be proud, and we _will_ see her--I won't
die, if I can help it, without seeing George Sand." So we gave our
letter to a friend, who was to give it to a friend who was to place it
in her hands--her abode being a mystery, and the name she used unknown.
The next day came by the post this answer:

'"Madame, j'aurai l'honneur de vous recevoir Dimanche prochain, rue
Racine, 3. C'est le seul jour que je puisse passer chez moi; et encore
je n'en suis pas absolument certaine--mais je ferai tellement mon
possible, que ma bonne etoile m'y aidera peut-etre un peu. Agreez
mille remerciments de coeur ainsi que Monsieur Browning, que j'espere
voir avec vous, pour la sympathie que vous m'accordez. George Sand.
Paris: 12 fevrier '52."

'This is graceful and kind, is it not?--and we are going to-morrow--I,
rather at the risk of my life, but I shall roll myself up head and all
in a thick shawl, and we shall go in a close carriage, and I hope I
shall be able to tell you the result before shutting up this letter.

'Monday.--I have seen G. S. She received us in a room with a bed in it,
the only room she has to occupy, I suppose, during her short stay in
Paris. She received us very cordially with her hand held out, which