If I wished anyone to do her justice, I should say, as I have indeed said, 'Never read what she has written.' The letters, however, are individual, and full, I should fancy, of that magnetic personal influence which was so strong in her.

I felt drawn in towards her, during our short intercourse; I loved her, and the circumstances of her death shook me to the very roots of my heart.

The comfort is, that she lost little in this world--the change could not be loss to her.

She had suffered, and was likely to suffer still more.
And now, am I to tell you that I have seen George Sand twice, and am to see her again?
Ah, there is no time to tell you, for I must shut up this letter.

She sate, like a priestess, the other morning in a circle of eight or nine men, giving no oracles, except with her splendid eyes, sitting at the corner of the fire, and warming her feet quietly, in a general silence of the most profound deference.