rt together, and I shall listen to you."
[FOOTNOTE: The words are usually reported to have been "Vous jouerez
du Mozart en memoire de moi."] "And," added Franchomme when he told me
this, "the Princess has always been a good friend to me."

And George Sand? Chopin, as I have already mentioned, said two days
before his death to Franchomme: "She had said to me that I would die
in no arms but hers" [Elle n'avait dit que je ne mourrais que dans ses
bras]. Well, did she not come and fulfil her promise, or, at least, take
leave of her friend of many years? Here, again, all is contradiction. M.
Gavard writes:--

Among the persons who called and were not admitted was a
certain Madame M., who came in the name of George Sand--who
was then much occupied with the impending representation of
one of her dramas--to inquire after Chopin's state of health.
None of us thought it proper to disturb the last moments of
the master by the announcement of this somewhat late
remembrance.

Gutmann, on the other hand, related that George Sand came to the landing
of the staircase and asked him if she might see Chopin; but that he
advised her strongly against it, as it was likely to excite the patient
too much. Gutmann, however, seems to have been by no means sure about
this part of his recollections, for on two occasions he told me that it
was Madame Clesinger (George Sand's daughter, Solange) who asked if it
was advisable for her mother to come. Madame Clesinger, I may say
in passing, was one of those in loving attendance on Chopin, and, as
Franchomme told me, present, like himself, when the pianist-composer
breathed his last. From the above we gather, at least, that it is very
uncertain whether Chopin's desire to see George Sand was frustrated by
her heartlessness or the well-meaning interference of his friends.

During this illness of Chopin a great many of his friends and
acquaintances, in fact, too many, pressed forward, ready to be of use,
anxious to learn what was passing. Happily for the dying man's comfort,
most of them were not allowed to enter the room in which he lay.

In the back room [writes M. Gavard] lay the poor sufferer,
tormented by fits of breathlessness, and only sitting in bed
resting in the arms of a friend could he procure air for his
oppressed lungs. It was Gutmann, the strongest among us, who
knew best how to manage the patient, and who mostly thus
supported him. At the head of his bed sat t