From that moment she heard no more; in a dream she sat till the end; in a dream she returned home. That was the 9th December 1832. But while the web of one part of my life was being woven on one side of the hall, on the other side another was in the weaving--compounded of the hatred and wounded vanity of Fétis. Before going to Italy I used to earn money by correcting musical proofs. Troupenas, having given me some Beethoven scores to do that had previously been revised by Fétis, I found them full of the most impertinent and unmeaning corrections. I was so furious that I went off to Troupenas and said: “M. Fétis’ corrections are criminal. They are entirely opposed to Beethoven’s intention, and if this edition is published, I warn you that I shall denounce it to every musician I meet.” Which I accordingly did and there was such an outcry that Troupenas was obliged to suppress the corrections and Fétis thought it politic to tell a lie and announce in the _Revue Musicale_ that there was no truth in the rumour that he had corrected Beethoven’s symphonies. In _Lelio_ I gibbeted him still farther by putting into my hero’s mouth quotations of his own that the audience recognised and applauded, with much laughter. Fétis, sitting in the front row of the gallery, got the blow full in the face, and needless to say, was thereafter more my inveterate enemy than ever. But I forgot all this next day when I went to call upon Miss Smithson and began that long course of torturing hopes and fears that lasted nearly a year. Her mother and sister and my parents were all opposed to our marriage, and while various distressing scenes were in progress, the English theatre closed in debt. To add to her misfortunes, getting out of her carriage, she missed her footing, and falling, broke her leg just above the ankle. The injury was most severe and it was feared that she would be lame for life. Her accident elicited the greatest sympathy in Paris. Mademoiselle Mars, particularly, came forward, placing her purse, influence, everything she had at poor Ophelia’s disposal. I managed to organise a benefit, in which Chopin and Liszt took part, which brought in enough to pay the most pressing debts. At last, in the summer of 1833, Henriette being still weak and quite ruined, I married her in the face of the opposition of our two families. All our resources on the wedding day were three hundred francs lent me by Gounet. But what did it matter, since she was mine? _To_ H. FERRAND.