ith the greatest taste, her whole
appearance and attitude, in its simple and lady-like dignity, presenting
an almost ludicrous contrast to the vulgar caricature idea of George
Sand. Her face is a very little like the portraits, but much finer. The
upper part of the forehead and eyes are beautiful, the lower strong and
masculine, expressive of a hardy temperament and strong passions, but
not in the least coarse, the complexion olive, and the air of the whole
head Spanish." This striking apparition was further commended in
Margaret's eyes by "the expression of goodness, nobleness, and power"
that characterized the countenance of the great French-woman.

Madame Sand said, "C'est vous," and offered her hand to Margaret, who,
taking it, answered, "Il me fait du bien de vous voir" ("It does me good
to see you"). They went into the study. Madame Sand spoke of Margaret's
letter as _charmante_, and the two ladies then talked on for hours, as
if they had always known each other. Madame Sand had at that moment a
work in the press, and was hurried for copy, and beset by friends and
visitors. She kept all these at a distance, saying to Margaret: "It is
better to throw things aside, and seize the present moment." Margaret
gives this _resume_ of the interview: "We did not talk at all of
personal or private matters. I saw, as one sees in her writings, the
want of an independent, interior life, but I did not feel it as a fault.
I heartily enjoyed the sense of so rich, so prolific, so ardent a
genius. I liked the woman in her, too, very much; I never liked a woman
better."

To complete the portrait, Margaret mentions the cigarette, which her new
friend did not relinquish during the interview. The impression received
as to character did not materially differ from that already made by her
writings. In seeing her, Margaret was not led to believe that all her
mistakes were chargeable upon the unsettled condition of modern society.
Yet she felt not the less convinced of the generosity and nobleness of
her nature. "There may have been something of the Bacchante in her
life," says Margaret, some reverting to the wild ecstasies of heathen
nature-worship, "but she was never coarse, never gross."

Margaret saw Madame Sand a second time, surrounded by her friends, and
with her daughter, who was then on the eve of her marriage with the
sculptor Clesinger. In this _entourage_ she had "the position of an
intellectual woman and good friend; the same