I went to see her at her house, Place d’ Orleans. I found it a handsome, modern residence.... The servant who admitted me was in the picturesque costume of a peasant, and, as Mme. Sand afterward told me, her god-daughter, whom she had brought from her province. She announced me as “_Madame Salere_,” and returned into the ante-room to tell me “_Madame says she does not know you_.” I began to think I was doomed to a rebuff, among the crowd who deserve it. However, to make assurance sure, I said, “Ask if she has not received a letter from me.” As I spoke, Madame S. opened the door, and stood looking at me an instant. Our eyes met. I never shall forget her look at that moment. The doorway made a frame for her figure; she is large, but well-formed. She was dressed in a robe of dark violet silk, with a black mantle on her shoulders, her beautiful hair dressed with 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.... All these details I saw at a glance; but what fixed my attention was the expression of _goodness_, nobleness, and power, that pervaded the whole--the truly human heart and nature that shone in the eyes. As our eyes met, she said, “_C’est vous_,” and held out her hand. I took it, and went into her little study.... I stayed a good part of the day, and was very glad afterward, for I did not see her again, uninterrupted. Another day I was there, and saw her in her circle. Her daughter and another lady was present, and a number of gentlemen. Her position there was that of an intellectual woman and good friend,--the same as my own, in the circle of my acquaintance, as distinguished from my intimates. Her daughter is just about to be married. It is said, there is no congeniality between her and her mother; but for her son she seems to have much love, and he loves and admires her extremely. I understand he has a good and free character, without conspicuous talent. [Sidenote: Her conversation.] Her way of talking is just like her writing--lively, picturesque, with an undertone of deep feeling, and the same skill in striking the nail on the head every now and then with a blow. 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, there is so much in her of her kind. I heartily enjoyed the sense of so rich, so prolific, so ardent a genius.... I never liked a woman better. I forgot to mention, that while talking, she _does_ smoke all the time her little cigarette.