would have caused him disgust. And Mdlle. O'Meara, child as she
still was, watched what was going on from the corner of her eye and
thought: "Comme il aime cette femme!" [FOOTNOTE: Madame A. Audley gives
an altogether incorrect account of this incident in her FREDERIC CHOPIN.
Madame Girardin was not one of the actors, and Mdlle. O'Meara did not
think the thoughts attributed to her.]

Whenever Chopin's connection with George Sand is mentioned, one hears
a great deal of the misery and nothing or little of the happiness which
accrued to him out of it. The years of tenderness and devotion are
slurred over and her infidelities, growing indifference, and final
desertion are dwelt upon with undue emphasis. Whatever those of Chopin's
friends who were not also George Sand's friends may say, we may be sure
that his joys outweighed his sorrows. Her resoluteness must have been an
invaluable support to so vacillating a character as Chopin's was; and,
although their natures were in many respects discordant, the poetic
element of hers cannot but have found sympathetic chords in his. Every
character has many aspects, but the world is little disposed to see more
than one side of George Sand's--namely, that which is most conspicuous
by its defiance of law and custom, and finds expression in loud
declamation and denunciation. To observe her in one of her more lovable
attitudes of mind, we will transport ourselves from Chopin's to her
salon.

Louis Enault relates how one evening George Sand, who sometimes thought
aloud when with Chopin--this being her way of chatting--spoke of
the peacefulness of the country and unfolded a picture of the rural
harmonies that had all the charming and negligent grace of a village
idyl, bringing, in fact, her beloved Berry to the fireside of the room
in the Square d'Orleans.

"How well you have spoken!" said Chopin naively.

"You think so?" she replied. "Well, then, set me to music!"
Hereupon Chopin improvised a veritable pastoral symphony, and
George Sand placing herself beside him and laying her hand
gently on his shoulder said: "Go on, velvet fingers [courage,
doigts de velour]!"

Here is another anecdote of quiet home-life. George Sand had a little
dog which was in the habit of turning round and round in the endeavour
to catch its tail. One evening when it was thus engaged, she said to
Chopin: "If I had your talent, I would compose a pianoforte piece for
this dog." Chopin at once sat dow