But Chopin said that they had already waited too long, it was time to depart.

Upon this there was a general commotion; the mistress of the house solicited and cajoled, the young ladies bashfully entreated with their eyes, and all pressed around the artist and supported the request, the postmaster even offering extra horses if Chopin would go on with his playing.

Who could resist?
Chopin sat down again, and resumed his fantasia.

When he had ended, a servant brought in wine, the postmaster proposed as a toast "the favourite of Polyhymnia," and one of the audience, an old musician, gave voice to his feelings by telling the hero that, "if Mozart had heard you, he would have shaken hands with you and exclaimed 'Bravo!' An insignificant man like me dare not do that." After Chopin had played a mazurka as a wind-up, the tall postmaster took him in his arms, carried him to the coach--the pockets of which the ladies had already filled with wine and eatables--and, bidding him farewell, said that as long as he lived he would think with enthusiasm of Frederick Chopin.
We can have no difficulty in believing the statement that in after-life our artist recalled with pleasure this incident at the post-house of Zullichau, and that his success among these unsophisticated people was dearer to him than many a more brilliant one in the great world of art and fashion.

But, it may be asked, did all this happen in exactly the same way in which it is told here?
Gentle reader, let us not inquire too curiously into this matter.