But I liked her.

I did not love her, but I felt the burning soul through all that quietness, and was not disappointed in George Sand.

When we rose to go I could not help saying, 'C'est pour la derniere fois,' and then she asked us to repeat our visit next Sunday, and excused herself from coming to see us on the ground of a great press of engagements.

She kissed me again when we went away, and Robert kissed her hand.
Lady Elgin has offered to take him one day this week to visit Lamartine (who, we hear, will be glad to see us, having a cordial feeling towards England and English poets), but I shall wait for some very warm day for that visit, not meaning to run mortal risks, except for George Sand.
_Nota bene._ We didn't see her smoke.
Robert has ventured to send to your house, my dearest friend, two copies of 'Shelley' besides yours--one for Mr.Procter, and one for Mrs.
Jameson, with kindest love, both.

There is no hurry about either, you know.