The invalid [he writes] avoided everything that could make me sad, and, to shorten the hours which we passed together, generally begged me to take a book out of his library and to read to him.  For the most part he chose some pages out of Voltaire’s Dictionnaire Philosophique.  He valued very highly the finished form of that clear and concise language, and that so sure judgment on questions of taste.  Thus, for instance, I remember that the article on taste was one of the last I read to him.

What M. Gavard says of how slowly, in pain, and often in loneliness, the hours passed for Chopin in the spacious, rooms of his lodgings in the Rue Chaillot, reminds me of a passage in Hector Berlioz’s admirable article on his friend in the Journal des Debats (October 27, 1849):—­

His weakness and his sufferings had become so great that he could no longer either play the piano or compose; even the slightest conversation fatigued him in an alarming manner.  He endeavoured generally to make himself understood as far as possible by signs.  Hence the kind of isolation in which he wished to pass the last months of his life, an isolation which many people wrongly interpreted—­some attributing it to a scornful pride, others to a melancholic temper, the one as well as the other equally foreign to the character of this, charming artist.

During his stay in the Rue Chaillot Chopin wrote the following note and letter to Franchomme:—­

Dear friend,—­Send me a little of your Bordeaux.  I must take a little wine to-day, and have none.  How distrustful I am!  Wrap up the bottle, and put your seal on it.  For these porters!  And I do not know who will take charge of this commission.

  Yours, with all my heart.

  Sunday after your departure, September 17, 1849.

Dear friend,—­I am very sorry that you were not well at Le Mans.  Now, however, you are in Touraine, whose sky will have been more favourable to you.  I am less well rather than better.  Mm.  Cruveille, Louis, and Blache have had a consultation, and have come to the conclusion that I ought not to travel, but only to take lodgings in the south and remain at Paris.  After much seeking, very dear apartments, combining all the desired conditions, have been found in the Place Vendome, No. 12.  Albrecht has now his offices there.  Meara [footnote:  This is a very common French equivalent for O’Meara.] has been of great help to me in the search for the apartments.  In short, I shall see you all next winter—­well housed; my sister remains with me, unless she is urgently required in her own country.  I love you, and that is all I can tell you, for I am overcome with sleep and weakness.  My sister rejoices at the idea of seeing Madame Franchomme again, and I also do so most sincerely.  This shall be as God wills.  Kindest regards to M. and Madame Forest.  How much I should like to be some days with you!  Is Madame de Lauvergeat