The passage from the letter of George Sand dated September 1, 1846, which I quoted earlier in this chapter, justifies us, I think, in assuming that, although she was still keeping on her apartments in the Square d’Orleans, the phalanstery had ceased to exist.  The apartments she gave up probably sometime in 1847; at any rate, she passed the winter of 1847-8, for the most part at least, at Nohant; and when after the outbreak of the revolution of 1848 she came to Paris (between the 9th and 14th of March), she put up at a hotel garni.  Chopin continued to live in his old quarters in the Square d’Orldans, and, according to Gutmann, was after the cessation of his connection with George Sand in the habit of dining either with him (Gutmann) or Grzymala, that is to say, in their company.

It is much to be regretted that no letters are forthcoming to tell us of Chopin’s feelings and doings at this time.  I can place before the reader no more than one note, the satisfactory nature of which makes up to some extent for its brevity.  It is addressed to Franchomme; dated Friday, October 1, 1847; and contains only these few words:—­

  Dear friend,—­I thank you for your good heart, but I am very
  rich this evening.  Yours with all my heart.

In this year—­i.e., 1847—­appeared the three last works which Chopin published, although among his posthumous compositions there are two of a later date.  The Trois Mazurkas, Op. 63 (dedicated to the Comtesse L. Czosnowska), and the Trois Valses, Op. 64 (dedicated respectively to Madame la Comtesse Potocka, Madame la Baronne de Rothschild, and Madame la Baronne Bronicka), appeared in September, and the Sonata for piano and violoncello, Op. 65 (dedicated to Franchomme), in October.  Now I will say of these compositions only that the mazurkas and waltzes are not inferior to his previous works of this kind, and that the sonata is one of his most strenuous efforts in the larger forms.  Mr. Charles Halle remembers going one evening in 1847 with Stephen Heller to Chopin, who had invited some friends to let them hear this sonata which he had lately finished.  On arriving at his house they found him rather unwell; he went about the room bent like a half-opened penknife.  The visitors proposed to leave him and to postpone the performance, but Chopin would not hear of it.  He said he would try.  Having once begun, he soon became straight again, warming as he proceeded.  As will be seen from some remarks of Madame Dubois’s, which I shall quote farther on, the sonata did not make an altogether favourable impression on the auditors.