She looked away, and said, “Ah! vous m’avez ecrit une lettre charmante” This was all the preliminary of our talk, which then went on as if we had always known one another.  She told me, before I went away, that she was going that very day to write to me; that when the servant announced me she did not recognize the name, but after a minute it struck her that it might be La dame Americaine, as the foreigners very commonly call me, for they find my name hard to remember.  She was very much pressed for time, as she was then preparing copy for the printer, and, having just returned, there were many applications to see her, but she wanted me to stay then, saying, “It is better to throw things aside, and seize the present moment.”  I staid a good part of the day, and was very glad afterwards, for I did not see her again uninterrupted.  Another day I was there, and saw her in her circle.  Her daughter and another lady were present, and a number of gentlemen.  Her position there was 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.

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 liked the woman in her, too, very much; I never liked a woman better.

For the rest I do not care to write about it much, for I cannot, in the room and time I have to spend, express my thoughts as I would; but as near as I can express the sum total, it is this.  S——­ and others who admire her, are anxious to make a fancy picture of her, and represent her as a Helena (in the Seven Chords of the Lyre); all whose mistakes are the fault of the present state of society.  But to me the truth seems to be this.  She has that purity in her soul, for she knows well how to love and prize its beauty; but she herself is quite another sort of person.  She needs no defence, but only to be understood, for she has bravely acted out her nature, and always with good intentions.  She might have loved one man permanently, if she could have found one contemporary with her who could interest and command her throughout her range; but there was hardly a possibility of that, for such a person.  Thus she has naturally changed the objects of her affection, and several times.  Also, there may have been something of the Bacchante in her life,