He knows more and loves better than the world
    That never heard his name and never may, ... 
    What hinders that my heart relieve itself,
    O friend! who makest warm my wintry world,
    And wise my heaven, if there we consort too.

In the correction of Browning’s proof-sheets, and especially in regulating the punctuation of his poems, Milsand’s friendly services were of high value.  In 1858 when Browning happened to be at Dijon, and had reason to believe, though in fact erroneously, that his friend was absent in Paris, he went twice “in a passion of friendship,” as his wife tells a correspondent, to stand before Maison Milsand, and muse, and bless the threshold.[49]

Browning desired much to know Victor Hugo, but his wish was never gratified.  After December 2nd Paris could not contain a spirit so fiery as Hugo’s was in hostility to the new regime and its chief representative.  Balzac, whom it would have been a happiness even to look at, was dead.  Lamartine promised a visit, but for a time his coming was delayed.  By a mischance Alfred de Musset failed to appear when Browning, expecting to meet him, was the guest of M. Buloz.  But Beranger was to be seen “in his white hat wandering along the asphalte.”  The blind historian Thierry begged Browning and his wife to call upon him.  At the house of Ary Scheffer, the painter, they heard Mme. Viardot sing; and receptions given by Lady Elgin and Mme. Mohl were means of introduction to much that was interesting in the social life of Paris.  At the theatre they saw with the deepest excitement “La Dame aux Camelias,” which was running its hundred nights.  Caricatures in the streets exhibited the occupants of the pit protected by umbrellas from the rain of tears that fell from the boxes.  Tears, indeed, ran down Browning’s cheeks, though he had believed himself hardened against theatrical pathos.  Mrs Browning cried herself ill, and pronounced the play painful but profoundly moral.

Mrs Browning’s admiration of the writings of George Sand was so great that it would have been a sore disappointment to her if George Sand were to prove inaccessible.  A letter of introduction to her had been obtained from Mazzini.  “Ah, I am so vexed about George Sand,” Mrs Browning wrote on Christmas Eve; “she came, she has gone, and we haven’t met.”  In February she again was known to be for a few days in Paris; Browning was not eager to push through difficulties on the chance of obtaining an interview, but his wife was all impatience:  “’ No,’ said I, ’you shan’t be proud, and I won’t be proud, and we will see her.  I won’t die, if I can help it, without seeing George Sand.’” A gracious reply and an appointment came in response to their joint-petition which accompanied Mazzini’s letter.  On the appointed Sunday Browning and Mrs Browning—­she wearing a respirator and smothered in furs—­drove to render their thanks and homage to the most illustrious