found a deep echo
in that of his wife, who much loved them.

From London they returned to Paris for the winter of 1855-6. The younger
of the Kemble sisters, Mrs. Sartoris, was also there with her family;
and the pleasant meetings of the Campagna renewed themselves for Mr.
Browning, though in a different form. He was also, with his sister,
a constant visitor at Lady Elgin's. Both they and Mrs. Browning were
greatly attached to her, and she warmly reciprocated the feeling. As Mr.
Locker's letter has told us, Mr. Browning was in the habit of reading
poetry to her, and when his sister had to announce his arrival from
Italy or England, she would say: 'Robert is coming to nurse you, and
read to you.' Lady Elgin was by this time almost completely paralyzed.
She had lost the power of speech, and could only acknowledge the little
attentions which were paid to her by some graceful pathetic gesture of
the left hand; but she retained her sensibilities to the last; and Miss
Browning received on one occasion a serious lesson in the risk of ever
assuming that the appearance of unconsciousness guarantees its reality.
Lady Augusta Bruce had asked her, in her mother's presence, how Mrs.
Browning was; and, imagining that Lady Elgin was unable to hear or
understand, she had answered with incautious distinctness, 'I am afraid
she is very ill,' when a little sob from the invalid warned her of her
mistake. Lady Augusta quickly repaired it by rejoining, 'but she is
better than she was, is she not?' Miss Browning of course assented.

There were other friends, old and new, whom Mr. Browning occasionally
saw, including, I need hardly say, the celebrated Madame Mohl. In the
main, however, he led a quiet life, putting aside many inducements to
leave his home.

Mrs. Browning was then writing 'Aurora Leigh', and her husband must have
been more than ever impressed by her power of work, as displayed by her
manner of working. To him, as to most creative writers, perfect quiet
was indispensable to literary production. She wrote in pencil, on
scraps of paper, as she lay on the sofa in her sitting-room, open to
interruption from chance visitors, or from her little omnipresent son;
simply hiding the paper beside her if anyone came in, and taking it
up again when she was free. And if this process was conceivable in the
large, comparatively silent spaces of their Italian home, and amidst
habits of life which reserved social intercourse for the close of the