. Great must, indeed, have been the
wrath of one of these irrepressibles, who, more obstinate than the rest,
failing by fair means to get an introduction to George Sand, calmly
pushed his way into Nohant unauthorized by anyone, whereupon her friends
conspired to serve him the trick it must be owned he deserved; and which
we give in the words of Madame Sand, writing to the Comtesse d'Agoult.
The story is told also by Liszt in his letters:--

M. X. is ushered into my room. A respectable-looking person there
receives him. She was about forty years of age, but you might give
her sixty at a pinch. She had had beautiful teeth, but had got
none left. All passes away! She had been rather good-looking, but
was so no longer. All changes! Her figure was corpulent, and her
hands were soiled. Nothing is perfect!

She was clad in a gray woolen gown spotted with black, and lined
with scarlet. A silk handkerchief was negligently twisted round her
black hair. Her shoes were faulty, but she was thoroughly
dignified. Now and then she seemed on the point of putting an _s_
or a _t_ in the wrong place, but she corrected herself gracefully,
talked of her literary works, of her excellent friend M. Rollinat,
of the talents of her visitor which had not failed to reach her
ears, though she lived in complete retirement, overwhelmed with
work. M. G. brought her a foot-stool, the children called her
mamma, the servants Madame.

She had a gracious smile, and much more distinguished manners than
that fellow George Sand. In a word X. was happy and proud of his
visit. Perched in a big chair, with beaming aspect, arm extended,
speech abundant, there he stayed for a full quarter of an hour in
ecstasies, and then took leave, bowing down to the ground
to--Sophie!

It was the maid that had thus been successfully passed off as the
mistress, who with her whole household enjoyed a long and hearty laugh
at the expense of the departed unbidden guest. "M. X. has gone off to
Chateauroux," she concludes, "on purpose to give an account of his
interview with me, and to describe me personally in all the _cafes_."

This anecdote however belongs to a much earlier period of her life, the
year 1837. Of her cordiality and kindliness to those who approached her
in a right spirit of sincerity and simplicity, many have spoken. For
English readers we cannot do bett