L. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT Nohant, 4 March, 1867

Dear good friend, the friend of my heart, the old troubadour is as well as ten thousand men—­who are well, and he is gay as a finch, because the sun shines again and copy is progressing.

He will probably go to Paris soon for the play by his son Dumas, let us try to be there together.

Maurice is very proud to be declared cock by an eagle.  At this moment he is having a spree with veal and wine in honor of his firemen.

The American [Footnote:  Henry Harrisse.] in question is charming.  He has, literally speaking, a passion for you, and he writes me that after seeing you he loves you more, that does not surprise me.

Poor Bouilhet!  Give him this little note enclosed here.  I share his sorrow, I knew her.

Are you amused in Paris?  Are you as sedentary there as at Croisset?

In that case I shall hardly see you unless I go to see you.

Tell me the hours when you do not receive the fair sex, and when sexagenarian troubadours do not incommode you.

Cadio is entirely redone and rewritten up to the part I read to you, it is less offensive.

I am not doing Montreveche.  I will tell you about that.  It is quite a story.  I love you and I embrace you with all my heart.

Your old George Sand

Did you receive my pamphlets on the faience?  You have not acknowledged them.  They were sent to Croisset the day after I got your last letter.

LI.  TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT 14 March, 1867

Your old troubadour is again prostrate.  Every moment his guitar threatens to be broken.  And then he sleeps forty-eight hours and is cured—­but feeble, and he can not be in Paris on the 16th as he had intended.  Maurice went alone a little while ago, I shall go to join him in five or six days.

Little Aurore consoles me for this mischance.  She twitters like a bird along with the birds who are twittering already as in full spring time.

The anemone Sylvia which I brought from the woods into the garden and which I had a great deal of trouble in acclimating is finally growing thousands of white and pink stars among the blue periwinkle.  It is warm and damp.  One can not break one’s guitar in weather like this.  Good-bye, dear good friend.

G. Sand

LII.  TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT Friday, 22 March, 1867

Your old troubadour is here, not so badly off.  He will go to dine on Monday at Magny’s, we shall agree on a day for both of us to dine with Maurice.  He is at home at five o’clock but not before Monday.

He is running around!

He embraces you.

LIII.  TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT 1867 (?)

Then Wednesday, if you wish, my dear old fellow.  Whom do you want to have with us?  Certainly, the dear Beuve if that is possible, and no one if you like.